For the first time in a week, I woke without an alarm.

  No training schedule waiting.

  No combat drills.

  No midnight lessons involving blunt-force education.

  Just quiet.

  Ada had said to rest.

  So I did something radical.

  I left the academy.

  The city outside the academy walls was already alive.

  Morning light spilled across the streets, reflecting off glass towers and old stone buildings that had clearly survived several architectural trends and refused to apologize for it. Mana-powered street lamps dimmed automatically as the sun rose, their faint blue glow fading into the daylight.

  The roads were crowded but not chaotic.

  Office workers hurried past in pressed suits. Adventurers in light armor moved through the crowd with the relaxed confidence of people who made a living fighting things that could eat them. Vendors were already shouting over one another.

  “Fresh mana herbs! Direct from Verdant Valley!”

  “Dungeon gear repairs! Half price before noon!”

  “Breakfast skewers! Hot!”

  I walked slowly through the crowd, hands in my pockets.

  No schedule.

  No expectations.

  Just movement.

  The city smelled like cooking oil, roasted meat, coffee, and faint traces of mana drifting through the air like invisible pollen.

  For a moment, it felt… normal.

  A Small Restaurant

  Eventually hunger reminded me that even resting required calories.

  I stopped at a modest restaurant tucked between two larger shops. The place was small but clean, with wooden tables polished smooth from years of use. Steam rose from the open kitchen where a cook worked with the speed of someone who had long ago stopped measuring ingredients.

  A waitress approached.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Something with chicken,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Try the Highridge Flame Chicken. Raised on a high-density mana mountain. Strong flavor.”

  “…That sounds expensive.”

  “It’s Sunday special.”

  “Good enough.”

  A few minutes later the dish arrived.

  Golden roasted chicken, sliced over a bed of rice infused with herbs and lightly charred peppers. The meat carried a faint warmth — not spicy, but energized somehow, like the mana-rich environment it came from had seeped into the fibers.

  I took a bite.

  …Okay.

  That was actually worth the money.

  The meat was firm but tender, the flavor deep and slightly smoky. Mana-raised livestock apparently had advantages beyond combat applications.

  I finished the meal slower than usual.

  No rush.

  No next task.

  Just food.

  Riverside Park

  After leaving the restaurant, I wandered toward the quieter part of the district.

  A small park stretched along the river that cut through the city. Stone walkways curved between old trees whose roots had pushed the pavement into gentle waves over the decades.

  People sat along the riverbank reading, sketching, or simply watching the water.

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  I found an empty bench facing the river and sat down.

  The water moved slowly, reflecting the sky like cracked glass.

  Peaceful.

  Which made the sudden arguing voices nearby stand out immediately.

  “Just listen to me, Little Star.”

  A woman’s voice.

  Tired. Pleading.

  “I have nothing to do with you.”

  Iris.

  Her voice wasn’t loud — but the sharpness in it cut through the quiet park like broken glass.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  I glanced sideways.

  A few meters away, Iris stood facing a woman dressed in simple but elegant clothing. The woman looked older, maybe mid-forties. Her expression carried the fragile tension of someone walking on ground that might collapse under the next step.

  “I only want to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Iris—”

  “Don’t.”

  The word came out sharp enough to end the sentence.

  “I told you before,” Iris said, her voice rising now, “I have nothing to do with you.”

  Silence followed.

  Heavy.

  The woman opened her mouth again, but the words seemed to stall somewhere between thought and voice.

  Then Iris turned.

  Her gaze swept the park—

  —and stopped on me.

  For a second we just looked at each other.

  Then Iris walked straight toward me.

  She dropped onto the bench beside me without asking.

  The woman remained standing where she was.

  Watching.

  I pretended very hard to be interested in the river.

  Then Iris spoke.

  “What’s with your eyes?”

  I blinked.

  Right.

  Glasses.

  I had forgotten them.

  “…Side effect,” I said. “Overused my ability.”

  She studied my eyes for another second.

  “Okay.”

  No suspicion.

  Just acceptance.

  Then silence.

  The kind that stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

  Wind moved through the trees.

  The river continued its slow journey past us.

  Finally Iris spoke again.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  She hesitated.

  Then:

  “What if your mother left you when you were a child… and suddenly came back asking for forgiveness?”

  Her voice stayed controlled, but the tension inside it was obvious.

  “How would you feel?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “I don’t know.”

  Not the most impressive answer.

  But honest.

  “Only someone who went through that can really understand it.”

  Silence returned.

  I glanced sideways.

  Iris was looking at me.

  Or rather—

  Through me.

  For a moment I didn’t understand what was wrong.

  Then I noticed.

  Tears were sliding quietly down her cheeks.

  She seemed to realize it at the same moment.

  Her hand moved quickly, wiping them away as if embarrassed by their existence.

  I looked back at the river.

  I had absolutely no training for this situation.

  After a moment Iris took a slow breath and steadied herself.

  “Then what would you do if you were in my place?” she asked quietly.

  “Could you forgive her?”

  I considered that carefully.

  “I don’t know about forgiveness,” I said.

  Another pause.

  “But I’d probably ask why.”

  Iris didn’t respond.

  “I’d ask why she left,” I continued. “Shout if I had to.”

  The river water shifted gently against the stone bank.

  “And I’d hear her explanation.”

  “Why?”

  “For my own peace of mind.”

  The silence on the bench stretched for several seconds.

  Iris stared at the river, her breathing slowly evening out. The tears had stopped, though the faint redness around her eyes remained.

  Then she stood.

  “I guess…” she said quietly, almost to herself, “…I also need some peace of mind.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Iris turned and walked back toward the woman who had been waiting a few meters away the entire time.

  The woman straightened immediately when Iris approached, hope flashing across her face so suddenly it was almost painful to watch.

  Iris stopped in front of her.

  “Give me your contact.”

  The woman blinked, clearly caught off guard.

  “…What?”

  “Your contact,” Iris repeated, her voice steadier now. “Phone. Message line. Whatever you use.”

  The woman fumbled slightly, quickly pulling out her phone.

  Iris took out hers as well.

  “I’ll contact you,” Iris said, her tone calm but firm, “when I’m ready to talk.”

  A small pause.

  “Not today.”

  The woman nodded quickly.

  “Of course. Of course.”

  They exchanged contact information in silence.

  When it was done, the woman lowered her phone slowly.

  Her eyes had filled with tears again.

  But this time she was smiling.

  A fragile, relieved kind of smile that looked like it had taken years to appear.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Iris didn’t answer.

  The woman turned and began walking away along the river path.

  Her shoulders trembled slightly, but she didn’t wipe the tears away.

  For the first time since I had noticed her, she looked… lighter.

  Iris watched until the woman disappeared behind a row of trees.

  Then she turned.

  Her eyes met mine.

  I hadn’t moved from the bench.

  “Don’t you dare spread my nickname,” she said.

  I raised both hands slightly in surrender.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She studied me for a moment longer, as if deciding whether I was trustworthy enough to leave alive.

  Then she nodded once.

  And walked away.

  Unknown Location

  The room was dim, lit by a single lamp above a round table.

  Five people sat inside.

  Three men.

  Two women.

  Akira occupied the head of the table, relaxed, one arm resting against the chair. The others naturally faced him without being told.

  Ada leaned against the wall nearby, arms folded.

  The silence broke when the largest man spoke.

  “So,” he said bluntly. “Did he join?”

  Akira shook his head.

  “No.”

  The man clicked his tongue.

  “Tch. Then we make him.”

  A softer voice interrupted.

  It sounded almost like a child speaking, yet the tone was calm and controlled.

  “That would defeat the purpose.”

  The young-voiced woman watched Akira carefully.

  “Does he suspect anything?”

  “Some things,” Akira replied.

  Ada scoffed lightly.

  “He suspects everything.”

  The third man spoke next, voice steady and practical.

  “Just tell me what needs to be done.”

  Akira answered simply.

  “We wait.”

  “How long?” the big man asked.

  “A year.”

  The large man frowned.

  “A year’s too long.”

  The calm man beside him shrugged.

  “If that’s the requirement.”

  The young-voiced woman tilted her head slightly.

  “You’re certain about him?”

  Akira didn’t hesitate.

  “We need him.”

  Silence followed.

  The big man cracked his knuckles.

  “If he refuses, I’ll handle it.”

  The woman rolled her eyes.

  “Shut up, gorilla.”

  He slowly turned toward her.

  “…What did you call me?”

  “Gorilla.”

  He grinned.

  “Shut up, dwarf.”

  Her chair scraped slightly as she leaned forward.

  “Say that again.”

  “Dwarf.”

  The air in the room tightened—

  “Enough.”

  Akira’s voice cut through instantly.

  Both stopped.

  Ada sighed from the wall.

  “Every meeting.”

  Akira ignored the comment.

  “Meeting’s over.”

  Outside the window, the distant city lights flickered quietly.

  The plan had already been decided.