It’s already six p.m. Even though I enjoy both of their company, I should leave before it gets too dark.

  “Well then,” I say, “see you at your next appointment.”

  “Yes.” She smiles simply, but at least the ending feels good.

  As I head down the stairs—

  “Hey.”

  I turn to look at her.

  “I might be the last person you want to hear this from,” she chuckles, “but… why are you walking like that?”

  “Huh…”

  I can’t tell her the truth. That would only lead to more questions, and tonight the tension has been crashing back and forth like ocean waves.

  “It’s just… I’m sore,” I say.

  “What? What happened?” she asks.

  “Daryn,” her mother steps in, “Cantheris is right. Look at how dark it is—it’s too dangerous. Why don’t you stay the night?”

  “Yes—wait, what? I never—” Cantheris starts.

  “Of course, I accept the invitation,” I say quickly.

  “Wait, you can’t—” she groans, then sighs. “Fine. You can stay, but on one condition.”

  “Yes, anything.”

  “Tomorrow I need to go to a magic potion store. If you take me there, we’re even.”

  “Sure!”

  Oh shit. I’ll be sleeping at Cantheris’s house. We’ll stay up late, talking, playing games—sharing music, tasting her cooking.

  And maybe I’ll see her in her pajamas.

  Not like this morning.

  This time, really wearing them—just enough to admire how perfectly they fit her splendid body.

  They don’t have more rooms only cantheris

  My breathing quickens as I climb back upstairs.

  There’s only one room.

  We’ll have to share the bedroom.

  This is my fantasy.

  “Hahaha.”

  “Why are you laughing?”

  It seems my laughter is contagious, because she laughs too.

  The hours pass with nothing more than tea, cookies, and a bit of arguing.

  But at least now it’s nine p.m.

  I can almost smell the bedroom from here.

  —-----------------------------------------------

  “Ah… right. The sofa…”

  “Good night, Daryn,” they both say as they retreat to the bedroom.

  “And remember to keep a watch on the door.” the mother winks

  “Funny…”

  –

  It’s two a.m., and I can’t sleep. Even though this is Cantheris’s house, the silence—being somewhere that isn’t my home—keeps me restless.

  The night unfolded too quickly. One moment it was just their usual mother-and-daughter arguments about likes and dislikes, and the next I was using their washing machine. Even that small thing somehow made sleep harder to find.

  The good part is they lent me some of Cantheris’s old shirts and a pair of shorts.

  Her mother gave a herb cream that was good for my legs and knees.

  It’s embarrassing… but at least the blanket is warm.

  Even so, at this hour, all I can do is think.

  I step outside.

  “I can’t sleep, not knowing what comes next for my future.”

  Should I apply for another job? Or beg to keep the one I have?

  The thoughts keep rocking in my head. One moment I decide one thing; the next, I change my mind.

  I groan.

  “This is so hard to decide.”

  “What are you doing here?” Cantheris asks, her voice still heavy with sleep.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Dude… you’re literally on the stairs.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  She crosses her arms. “So what’s going on? Since this afternoon you’ve been acting weird. I mean, you’re always weird—but this is different.”

  I sigh. “You know that vacation I said I was on?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, the thing is—”

  “Quickly,” she interrupts, rubbing her arms. “It’s cold out here.”

  “I actually lost my job.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “Oh.”

  That’s all she says.

  “So what?” she adds after a moment. “You can find another one.”

  I look up at the sky. “Yeah… you’re right. But I don’t think I’ll feel okay until I actually get one, you know?”

  “I understand,” she says.

  Then she sits beside me on the stairs.

  We both look up at the stars.

  She chuckles softly.

  “You know… your problem is kind of similar to mine, I think.”

  “Hm?”

  “You see, I always wanted to be like a hero.”

  “A hero?”

  Her cheeks turn red.

  “Wait!” she blurts out. “Not like that hero—Bael, I mean.”

  She clears her throat and regains her composure.

  “More like the Hero Elf. Being the protector of the villages.”

  “He sounds cool”

  “I know. His biography is incredible. It’s like reading a fantasy novel… except everything in it is real. Someone who truly mattered.”

  “I didn’t know you had that kind of dream in you.”

  She smiles. “Really?”

  Then she pauses. “The truth is, I’ve always wanted to write a book about my own adventures.”

  “A biography like the Hero Elf’s?” I say. “That sounds pretty cool.”

  “I don’t know if I want it to be a biography exactly,” she admits.

  “A biography has to stick to real life… but maybe I’d want to add more romance. Like the heroine ending up with the Blue Knight.”

  She lets out a small laugh. “And then it wouldn’t really be a biography anymore.”

  She sighs, her voice growing quiet.

  “That’s my dream.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Well… I lost my party.”

  She hesitates. “They were the only people who accepted me when I first joined the adventurers’ guild. Now, without them, my second choice is to just write stories in books. And don’t get me wrong—I love fiction and romance. But…”

  Her voice softens. “I really wanted to live it.”

  She looks away.

  “Either way… who would want me now?”

  A pause.

  “I couldn’t protect my team.”

  Another pause.

  “Even though I was born to protect.”

  “What are you saying?” I say, my voice is firmer than I expect.

  “You’re indispensable. You’ll find a new party soon enough.”

  Her eyes widened for a moment.

  “…Just like you said,” she murmurs.

  “I’ll feel more comfortable once I’m actually in one.”

  Without much to say we only look to the stars for a moment before we head to the department without much to say.

  —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  For a moment, I wake up suddenly as the blanket slips off me.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead!” Cantheris says loudly.

  Cold air rushes in the second I let go of the blanket.

  “W–what—?” I stutter.

  Behind her, her mother appears, holding a cup of coffee.

  “What’s going on?” I mumble.

  “It’s time for you to go find a job,” she says calmly.

  “What?” I check the time. “It’s 7 a.m.”

  “And?” She hesitates, a little embarrassed. “You should’ve been awake at five… but I couldn’t wake you up.”

  “But what about the potion store you were talking about yesterday”

  “We can do that another day. Now go on—hurry. Quickly.”

  I change into the clean clothes from the dryer and take a sip of the coffee.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I still don’t know what to do.”

  “Just go out,” her mother replies. “Check every store.”

  The day doesn’t go as planned.

  Every place I apply to offers pay nowhere near what I earned before.

  The factories don’t even consider me—looking at me like I’m not a professional, just a worn-out bag of old carbon.

  I return to Cantheris’s house around five in the afternoon.

  She and her mom are fixing the door like carpenters

  My chest tightens. I feel embarrassed—but it’s too late to turn back. They’ve already seen me.

  “So?” Cantheris asks. “Did you find anything?”

  “Yeah…” I scratch the back of my neck. “But the pay is terrible.”

  “I figured,” she says. “People are barely managing their own food and rent. They’d rather work alone or keep things within their family.”

  I sigh.

  “Was it really that bad—what you did?”

  “Hm. Not really.”

  She puts a finger to her chin, thinking.

  “If it wasn’t that bad,” she says slowly, “why don’t you ask someone for help? Don’t you have a friend there?”

  “A friend? No. I mean… coworkers, but—They’re all terrified of Paul. No one would risk helping me.”

  “Sounds like a dead end—” she starts, then pauses, thinking deeper. “But if you got in once, you can get in twice.”

  She looks at me curiously.

  “How did you get in the first time? I don’t think a mining company is easy to apply to.”

  “It wasn’t,” I admit. “It’s one of the best companies in the kingdom—at least that’s what my dad said. I just got lucky because he knew a reference—”

  “Daryn?” she says. “Why did you stop talking?”

  “Reference…” I whisper. “Right!”

  I straighten so fast the chair nearly tips behind me.

  “Cantheris,” I breathe, staring at her like she’s just split the sky in half, “you’re a genius.”

  She lifts her chin, coughing lightly into her sleeve as if the praise is something she has to politely endure. “Am I?”

  “Yes!”

  A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It feels strange—light—like something I haven’t used in a while.

  “If I can contact that reference,” I say, pacing now, thoughts finally aligning instead of spiraling, “if I can actually reach him, I might have a real chance. Not just rumors. Not just sympathy. A real entry point.”

  Hope is dangerous. I know that.

  But it feels good.

  Without giving myself time to doubt it, I grab my phone and call my father.

  The ringing stretches longer than it should.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Each tone feels like a test of patience I barely possess.

  Finally, the line clicks.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of my own son calling me?” His voice is dry, edged with habitual suspicion.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  A pause.

  “I don’t have money.”

  Flat. Immediate. Defensive.

  I close my eyes. Of course.

  “Believe me,” I reply, rubbing my temple, “I would never, ever ask you for money.”

  “Then why are you calling?”

  Straight to the point. No warmth. No curiosity. Just a transaction.

  “Do you remember the reference name you told me before? The one you said could help me?”

  Silence hums through the line. I can almost hear him scratching his chin.

  “Hmmm… Walle.”

  My heart jumps. “Walle? Walle what?”

  “Walle what?” He snorts. “I don’t know. Who cares about last names either way?”

  I freeze.

  “Wait—” his voice sharpens suddenly, “you didn’t talk to him as soon as possible? What the hell is wrong with you? You piece of-”

  I stare at the wall.

  “Thanks, Dad. Bye.”

  I hang up before the lecture can fully load.

  The room feels smaller now.

  “But how am I supposed to find Walle without his last name?” I mutter under my breath. “Or his workplace? Or literally anything? He could be anywhere in the kingdom…”

  The hope I just felt starts thinning again, leaking out through logic.

  “Why don’t you just go to their reception desk?”

  I blink.

  “Huh?” I turn toward Cantheris.

  “There is no such thing as a reception desk,” I say, slipping into that automatic tone I use when I’m sure I’m right. “You might be an adventurer, but I actually know how real jobs work.”

  She crosses her arms, unimpressed.

  “I mean their main office,” she clarifies slowly, like she’s explaining something to a child. “A headquarters. The place where they process applications. Where people ask questions. Where employees exist.”

  I open my mouth.

  Close it.

  “…Cantheris, I can’t just go there.”

  “Why not?”

  The question is simple.

  Too simple.

  “Huh…”

  The word leaves me because there’s nothing else. No excuse forms fast enough.

  I look away.

  The truth presses against my throat—stubborn, humiliating.

  At first, the idea hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  It’s hard to explain it to her. I’m the man. I’m supposed to be the one who finds solutions, not the one waiting for them. Not the one being helped.

  And I didn’t want to involve the company. I didn’t want this to become public. I didn’t want to beg Paul in front of everyone—didn’t want to ask a coworker and risk whispers spreading through the halls, turning into gossip that would quietly ruin my reputation.

  “I… it’s embarrassing,” I admit softly, the words scraping on their way out. “They’ll recognize me. Or worse—they won’t.”

  Cantheris watches me carefully now. Not mocking. Not teasing.

  Silence stretches between us.

  Then she steps closer.

  “You think they’re sitting behind that desk waiting to judge you?” she asks. “You think they keep a board with your name crossed out in red?”

  I don’t answer.

  “They’re busy,” she continues. “Busy with their own lives. Their own problems. You’re not the center of their disappointment.”

  That stings.

  Because she’s right.

  “You’re not asking for charity,” she says more softly. “You’re asking for information. For a chance. That’s not shameful.”

  I swallow.

  The embarrassment is still there, thick and stubborn—but beneath it, something steadier begins to form.

  Resolve.

  “If you don’t go,” she adds, “then you’re choosing rejection without even giving them the opportunity to reject you.”

  That lands.

  I let out a slow breath.

  “…You’re really enjoying being right, aren’t you?”

  She smiles, smug but warm. “Immensely.”

  After that, I leave.

  She receives a call from the hospital—about Colt. She has to go.

  Part of me wants to go with her, but she tells me I should focus on my own things. She’ll go with her mom.

  So I let her.

  —---------------------------------------

  The next day, I have to be there by six in the morning. Early enough that the halls are still half-asleep. Early enough that no one important sees me.

  The lobby is quieter than I expected.

  Then a girl comes out. She looks surprised to see me—and I’m even more surprised, because I’ve never seen her before. The previous receptionist was an older woman, always irritated.

  She looks at me and says, “Good morning.”

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  I nod and reply in kind.

  “Give me a second,” she says, moving behind the desk. “I just need to open everything up”

  She’s small—no more than 154 centimeters—with the kind of posture people adopt when they’re trying to look more authoritative than they feel. Her brown hair is cut into a neat bob that frames her face, soft and carefully maintained, the ends brushing her jawline. When the light hits it, there’s a faint cooler tint near the underside, subtle enough to miss unless you’re paying attention.

  Her eyes are large behind round black glasses, amber with a warm reddish glow near the center. Expressive eyes.

  White blouse. Black ribbon tied neatly at the collar. Dark vest fitted cleanly over her frame. Everything about her outfit says corporate precision. Everything about her expression says new hire.

  I explain the situation.

  Now that I have both his name and last name of the reference, things move more smoothly than I expected.

  She types carefully, reading the screen twice before speaking, as if afraid of making a mistake.

  Everything is going according to plan until—

  “Three months?” I repeat, the words tasting bitter. “Three whole months?”

  She adjusts her glasses—nervous habit. “Mr. Ters is a very busy person. Most of his meetings are already occupied.”

  “I know he must be busy,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “But a day has twenty-four hours. I just need five minutes.”

  Her lips press into a thin line. Not annoyed. Not dismissive.

  Cornered.

  “Listen,” she says quietly, her professionalism tightening around her like armor, “I’m just a worker. I don’t make the rules. So if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “But—anything. Check again, please.”

  Her fingers pause above the keyboard. Slowly, she looks up at me. The softness in her eyes hardens just a little.

  “Listen,” she repeats, this time firmer. “I’m being nice. But if you keep insisting, I might have to write a report about possible harassment.”

  I gulp.

  The word lands heavier than I expected.

  “Fine…” I mutter.

  She exhales—almost a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry,” she adds, and this time it sounds genuine. “I don’t want to give you false hope. Even the date I gave you… that’s only if someone cancels that day.”

  So even the three months isn’t guaranteed.

  She turns back to the monitor, posture straight again. But I can tell she’s still aware of me standing there. Waiting. Hoping.

  There’s nothing left to say.

  I leave.

  Back home, I collapsed onto my bed without even taking off my shoes.

  “I think it’s over…” I mutter to the ceiling. “She said there’s even a chance I could lose that appointment.”

  I roll onto my side, staring at the wall, frustration knotting in my chest. Three months. And even that isn’t certain.

  As I shift again, something catches my eye.

  A small white shape on the table near the window.

  It’s thin, almost blending into the surface. That’s why I didn’t notice it when I walked in. But now, the light hits it just right.

  I sit up.

  “What’s that…?”

  I walk over and pick it up.

  A card.

  Plain. White. Slightly bent at one corner.

  There’s handwriting on it. Small. Uneven. Almost hard to read.

  The name written there is Miyu.

  The letters are barely understandable, shaky like someone still learning how to control a pen.

  My fingers trace over the ink.

  There’s more written underneath—but I can’t quite make sense of it.

  “Hmmm… what?”

  I stare at the shaky letters, trying to decipher them.

  She’ll come.

  I know she will.

  Maybe not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But she always comes back eventually.

  “Right… Miyu—” I shake my head dramatically, as if she were standing right in front of me. Then I straighten up, forcing firmness into my voice. “I can’t give up. You hear me?”

  I imagine her there, arms crossed, pretending not to care.

  I imagine tomorrow morning—her quietly asking for food like nothing happened. She might’ve been too busy outside these past days. Maybe she got carried away. Maybe she even feels guilty.

  Of course she’d apologize.

  She’d lower her head slightly and mumble, “Sorry for making you worry… sorry for missing training…”

  If she had been here these last few days, she could’ve helped me more. Things wouldn’t have felt this heavy.

  “Oh no, no, no,” I say quickly, correcting myself as I pace the room. “I won’t accept you that easily, Miyu.”

  I point at the empty space in front of me.

  “Tomorrow you’ll be like—‘Please, Daryn, I’m sorry for my immature behavior.’”

  I nod seriously.

  “Right. Right.”

  She has to learn responsibility.

  She has to understand I’m not the only one carrying everything.

  Then reality settles in.

  She reminds me—without even being here—that I’m not the only mouth that needs feeding.

  The room feels quieter after that thought.

  My frustration shifts into something sharper. More focused.

  I look back at the card in my hand.

  Three months.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe not at all.

  “I guess…” I mutter, a slow smirk forming despite everything, “it’s time for plan two.”

  —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The Knights, an official force of the Kingdom, respond to public calls for help as long as the situation falls within the reach of the capital. Their duty is to protect the realm, not to answer every personal request.

  For the lower citizens, help is never guaranteed.

  They rarely attend to individual pleas from common citizens that's usually for the lower ranks such as Squire. Only when a call comes from a body listed by the Kingdom as high priority does it receive immediate attention. All other matters are often ignored—or left to rumor, delay, or the mercy of whoever happens to hear the news.

  When a call came from the mining company, the situation was immediately clear. The company wanted everything cleaned up—no loose ends, no connections traced back to them.

  If any of their workers had been present, they demanded medical transport at once. If the monster was still alive, it was to be exterminated without delay. Above all, the company wanted assurance that whatever had occurred would not be linked to their operations.

  Efficiency mattered. Responsibility did not.

  A captain had to be assigned to investigate the incident, oversee the response, and formally close the case with a report to the company.

  Most Captains dismissed the request without hesitation.

  They were rarely stationary, constantly moving from province to province a lapse from every few weeks to a month or two maximum. Some rejected it simply because they were too far from the affected zone. That excuse, at least, was reasonable.

  But the Captains stationed closer had different reasons.

  Once they read that the matter involved a group of lower-rank adventurers and a single monster, they deemed it beneath their attention. A trivial disturbance. Hardly worth the deployment of a Captain of Solmire.

  Reports were signed. Seals were stamped. The request was quietly declined.

  Captain Redux had been assigned to a region near the incident. On paper, he was the most suitable candidate.

  In reality, he was already drowning.

  Endless meetings at the castle consumed his mornings. Strategic briefings devoured his afternoons. Evenings were reserved for audiences with nobles, merchants, and influential figures whose favor the Crown could not afford to lose. His obligations stretched longer than the days themselves.

  When the notice finally reached his desk, buried beneath stacks of parchment and urgent decrees, he read it once.

  “Didn’t you say you were in charge of training the new knights this month?” Setsunai asked.

  Redux didn’t look up. “I did.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be better if you accepted? You could teach them how to write proper reports.”

  Redux finally met her gaze, his expression serious.

  “Teaching them how to write reports isn’t part of my plans this season.”

  Setsunai leaned back in her chair. “You also said you wanted to take every opportunity that came your way. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

  He paused.

  Without wasting more time, Redux approved the assignment—not because he saw Shila as a daughter, but because her reasoning was sound.

  He sealed the application and left immediately for the site of the damage.

  The situation proved easier than expected. By the end of the day, no workers had suffered major injuries, making the case simpler to close.

  Redux ordered interviews with everyone involved—miners and nearby workers alike—to gather as much information as possible.

  The forest was in disarray.

  “Adventurers these days are getting more irresponsible,” Redux muttered.

  “Sir,” a knight reported, “ The knight originally assigned to interview the adventurers is sick and won’t be coming today.”

  Redux frowned. This assignment was meant to earn recognition and save time—not create more work. For a moment, he almost regretted listening to Shila.

  “Fire him,” Redux said flatly.

  “Yes, sir. But who will question the main culprits?” The knight hesitated. “If you wish, I can handle it.”

  Redux groaned, irritation clear on his face. He hated unnecessary labor, but he hated incompetence more.

  He had already separated the knights, assigning each one a specific part of the investigation to complete the reports. Bringing in someone unfamiliar with the case now would only lead to misinformation.

  He waved his hand.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it myself,” Redux said. “Just make sure the monster’s body is cleaned up before the day ends.”

  —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As his carriage approached the hospital, Redux reviewed every piece of information available.

  He knew the incident involved an adventuring party that had entered one of Mother Earth–protected territory without permission. The violation alone was enough to justify punishment.

  Redux also knew what had to be done. The case needed culprits—quickly. Sentences would close the matter, satisfy public expectation, and end the inconvenience. Whether those blamed were truly responsible mattered less than efficiency. The longer this dragged on, the more time it stole from him.

  He studied the party’s record. They rarely entered dungeons, preferring surface expeditions—unusual, but not illegal. What concerned him was their performance: incomplete missions, repeated failures, and a full year of permits wasted.

  Amateurs, Redux decided. Or worse—thieves hiding behind licenses.

  Only three had survived: Daryn, Cantheris, and Colt.

  The name Daryn stirred something faint in his memory. Redux dismissed it without interest. Names were irrelevant.

  What mattered now was simple.

  From the three of them, someone would break.

  As he steps into the hospital—

  “That smell…”

  It hits him immediately.

  Not a scent, not truly. No one else would notice it. To ordinary people, the air is sterile—clean, sharp with disinfectant and quiet machinery.

  But to him—

  It is something else.

  A presence.

  A pressure in the air.

  A dark aura woven into the silence, thick and suffocating, pressing against his skin like invisible fingers. It cannot be seen. It cannot be heard.

  Only felt.

  And he knows it.

  He knows it better than his own reflection.

  He has chased that presence for years. Dreamed of it. Hated it. Longed for it.

  That odor.

  That darkness.

  The very thing he has been yearning for.

  His lips part slightly. A tremor runs through him. His vision sharpens as if the world has suddenly gained color. His face twists into something dangerously close to ecstasy.

  His body feels too small to contain what rises inside him.

  His heart slams against his ribs—once, twice, faster, faster—until it feels ready to burst.

  “It’s here…”

  As he felt the uncontrollable beat of his heart, he forced himself to calm down, maintaining his composure so that no one could notice even the slightest change in his expression. He knew the world was full of strange people, and he didn’t want to take any risks. Immediately, he began checking the rooms for the two he was supposed to find—and end this.

  As he approached the side where Colt was, he realized that the closer he got, the stronger the negative aura emanating from the room became. Oddly, it amused him.

  He entered and saw Colt in a coma.

  “So, in the end, destiny really does have a role for both of us,” he chuckled.

  He stands next to the body.

  “I don’t know if you foresaw this, but I do know one thing—you gave me this because you knew I could do something… amusing.” He paused, then picked up the Syringe and the liquid, carefully preparing to pour the liquid into the Syringe. “Let’s see if it’s worth it”

  The voice returned to his mind, dragging the memory along with it.

  --------------------------------------------------------------

  A couple of Years Ago

  A soft tap echoed across the table as a small syringe was set down beside a vial of clear liquid.

  “You’re not going to pay this month?” Redux asked.

  The man smiled slowly, then placed a thick stack of bills into a leather case.

  “I am a man of my word.”

  “Then what’s in the bottle?”

  “Straight from the house.”

  “I don’t care.”

  The man’s voice shifted—subtle, but deliberate.

  “This is worth more than several months of payment,” he said, pausing. “But what would a cavern man know about real technology?”

  The smirk unsettled Redux.

  “If it’s that valuable,” Redux replied, “you wouldn’t be giving it away for free. Doesn’t make sense”

  The man smiled again, smaller this time—confident.

  “Of course not. Not if it were the final product.” He tapped the vial. “This is only a prototype. I need subjects. Ordinary people… and others more peculiar. Like your knights.”

  Redux laughed. The suggestion was absurd. Insane.

  “You’re telling me to poison my own men? Turn them into test subjects?”

  “Poison?” The man tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

  “No, no, no.” He picked up the small bottle in his hand. “This… this could be the future of medicine.”

  He straightened, adjusting his posture before continuing.

  “I only need confirmation that it works. No one would ever suspect you.”

  Redux felt his hands were tied. If he were suspected of injecting unknown substances into his own knights, the consequences would be severe—dismissal at best, expulsion from the Kingdom at worst.

  Yet the amount of liquid was small. Enough for one man. Maybe two.

  Before Redux could argue, the man spoke.

  “You’re already involved, Redux.” He paused. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that refusing me makes you free. You and I are bound now. We might as well be useful to each other.”

  He stood, brushing dust from his clothes, then looked back at Redux.

  “You don’t need to worry. Once the formula is complete, I won’t be sharing it—no matter how much you beg for it.”

  His smirk widened.

  “Don’t reject the very thing that might save your life.”

  At that moment, Redux didn’t understand what he meant; all he could think was, Why would I need another portion?

  —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “Piece of crap, I hope you are right” He injects the syringe to colt’s neck

  He waits.

  Nothing happens. Almost two minutes pass, and still no result.

  “This piece of crap is nothing more than garbage,” he exclaims, his voice sharp enough to draw a few nurses out of their stations.

  He rises, fully aware that the aura originates from him. It’s something he could not forcibly remove—but it must either submit willingly or be detached from that body.

  Killing him would only complicate matters. Even if Redux managed to convince the hospital of the story he fabricated, the family or other involved parties would meddle, creating layers of problems. And he knows there’s no guarantee that he will end up as the next host of this darkness.

  Then he notices it.

  His eyes can’t believe it.

  A twitch—barely there—at the tip of the fingers. At first, Redux thought it was his imagination, a reflex, nothing more. Then it happened again. Slower this time. Deliberate.

  The man’s face tightened, eyelids fluttering as if fighting against weight. A shallow breath scraped through his throat. His expression shifted—not awake, not asleep—caught somewhere in between.

  Moments passed before his eyes finally opened.

  They didn’t focus.

  The gaze drifted, unfixed, pupils struggling against the light. His mouth parted as if to speak, but only a weak breath came out. Confusion clouded his face, panic threatening to surface before his body could even respond.

  He was awake.

  Not whole. Not aware. But awake.

  His thoughts spiraled.

  Was he conscious this entire time?

  Damn it.

  He knows. He knows I injected him.

  If the man recovered fully, there would be questions. Accusations. Proof.

  Redux’s mind jumped ahead—too far, too fast.

  No.

  What if the liquid was the reason? .

  A bead of sweat slid down his forehead. Redux wiped it away and forced his expression to remain calm.

  Second by second, the man improved—barely. Small movements. A twitch of the arm. A weak attempt at speech.

  “You—”

  “Be proud, young adventurer,” Redux said smoothly. “You fought well. You’ve just awakened from a coma.”

  “I… heard your voice,” the man said, his throat raw.

  For a moment he pauses before saying the next word.

  “Don’t strain yourself,” Redux interrupted. “Your mind may be awake, but your body is still recovering from the battle.”

  “Where am I?”

  “In a hospital”

  Colt seems confused but can’t think other than the person next to him.

  “I think I’ve seen you somewhere—”

  “Oh?” Redux replied lightly.

  “I know, but—” He paused, focusing harder. “You’re Captain Redux!”

  “You know who I am.”

  “Yeah. You’re like my hero.”

  He smiles gently, almost falling asleep.

  Redux tilted his head. “And what honor do I owe for that title?”

  “When I was a kid… you saved me and my parents during one of the Demon Lord’s attack”

  For just a moment, Redux’s smile vanished.

  “I see,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause, “Can you stand?”

  The question caught the man off guard resulting in awakening him.

  He tried to answer with movement instead of words—and failed.

  “I can’t,” he admitted. His arm trembled uselessly as he struggled. “I can’t move.”

  “Incomplete,” Redux murmured under his breath.

  “Did you say something?”

  “No. Just thinking.”

  Redux now understood. He could resolve two matters at once.

  He reached beneath the blanket and pressed lightly against the man’s foot.

  “Can you feel this?”

  “…No.”

  Redux nodded. “That’s not good. The trauma may have been severe. There’s a chance you may never walk again.”

  “What? No— I need to talk to the nurse—”

  “Of course,” Redux said gently. “But let me give you some advice—from someone who understands these things.”

  He leaned closer.

  “We often deny what frightens us,” Redux said softly, “and choose to believe only what makes us feel safe.”

  “But I’m awake,” Colt said. “I might heal soon. I know someone who recovered from severe injuries—”

  He talked fast and nervously trying to take out forces from out of nowhere.

  “I know. I know,” Redux interrupted gently, almost with pity. “Those cases are rare.”

  He lowered his voice.

  “The nurses will come. They’ll tell you exactly what you want to hear.” A pause. “And then, when the night grows quiet, they’ll turn off the machines and put you back to sleep. Like a lost puppy with no owner.”

  Colt’s breath hitched.

  “I won’t let that happen to you,” Redux continued. “Not if I can help it. I won’t let you end like my friend.”

  “What… what happened to your friend?” Colt asked.

  Redux closed his eyes.

  “He was dying,” he said. “Stabbed by some bastard. His eyes were ruined. He grabbed my shoulders, begging me to take him to the hospital—clawing at my clothes because he didn’t want me to let go.”

  Redux opened his eyes and looked directly at Colt.

  “But I knew it was already too late. He was bleeding out—like a shattered bottle.” His voice remained steady, controlled. “So I lied to him. I told him everything would be fine. That I was taking him to the hospital.”

  Colt swallowed.

  “It made his death easier,” Redux said. “And it made it easier for me to carry him.”

  He paused.

  “In the end, he still died.”

  Redux straightened slightly.

  “The point is this: when the proof is right in front of you, you don’t fight it. You don’t panic.” His gaze hardened. “You accept it.”

  Redux smiles faintly.

  “If that sounded rude, I apologize.”

  He takes a slow breath, then exhales.

  “You must be tired. I’ll let you rest. Either way, I’ll come back tomorrow… just to make sure they don’t kick you out of here while you recover.”

  After leaving the room, Redux went straight to the hospital’s main administrative wing, accompanied by the chief physician.

  He was a man with influence and he knew very well how the organization works. He needed a mask to hide his true acts.

  The solution was simple.

  He paid the hospital director. Generously.

  Colt was to be isolated—completely. His ties to Cantheris, Daryn, and even his family were to be severed. If Colt asked for them, the staff would tell him they couldn’t come. If any of them attempted to visit, the hospital would intervene.

  A dose of paralytic liquid.

  A staged relapse.

  Clean. Quiet. Unquestioned.

  Then If anybody comes they would notice Colt like he is still in coma.

  During each therapy session—and often at night—the staff administered small injections designed to drain specific nutrients from his body. Not enough to weaken him visibly. Not enough to trigger alarms.

  Just enough.

  They maintained him in a carefully measured state of equilibrium: never improving, never worsening. His body was denied the resources needed to recover, yet supplied with just enough to prevent starvation or suspicion.

  Each day, during weeks. Redux visited Colt, carefully extracting information, watching his responses, measuring fear, creating inside of his Col’t brain the thought of dependence on him, trust. He waited patiently, letting the pressure build.

  Colt could feel something was wrong, but nothing was clear enough to doubt. No pain severe enough to protest. No evidence strong enough to accuse.

  Only stagnation.

  And stagnation was exactly what Redux wanted.

  Until Colt reached the perfect state.

  Only then one day would Redux begin to cook it.

  “How was today’s therapy?” Redux asked.

  Colt answered without energy. “I can move my arms now. But when I try to hold a sword… it just slips.”

  “You shouldn’t be holding a sword,” Redux said gently. “Clinging to what you were only hurts you more in the long run. Believe me.”

  “I know,” Colt muttered. “Your friend, right?”

  “No.” Redux shook his head. “I had a wife and a child.”

  Colt looked up.

  “I know that feeling,” Redux continued. “That refusal to let go. Wanting those years back. Don’t you?” His voice softened. “You want to leave this hospital. You want to be with the people you love.”

  Colt’s face crumpled. Tears spilled before he could stop them.

  “I understand,” Redux said quietly. “But those are only sweet dreams. And they will stay dreams.” He leaned closer. “You’ll always wonder what if things had been different. I know that pain.”

  Colt’s hands trembled.

  “But this,” Redux said, steady and final, “this is reality.”

  Something snapped.

  “I KNOW!” Colt screamed. “I fucking know!”

  His voice broke, turning into a raw, choking sound as his body shook.

  After a few hours—

  “Colt… I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but they’re transferring me to a different area. I won’t be coming anymore.”

  “But—no—you can’t.” Colt’s voice cracks. “I don’t have anyone else.”

  He clings to Redux, not as a friend, but as an anchor. Without him, Colt knows what he becomes: an abandoned body, a futureless piece of meat waiting to rot.

  “I have an idea.”

  Redux draws his sword and holds it out.

  “Take this. A gift.”

  He forces a smile. “With this blade, I killed a hundred demons. Even in your condition, none of them would stand a chance and most importantly you would never feel alone.”

  “Thanks…”

  “What’s wrong?” Redux asks. “Don’t you like your present?”

  Colt hesitates. His fingers tremble.

  “My nurses said I only have a couple of weeks left…”

  Redux stiffens. “They really said that?”

  “Yeah…” Colt’s voice shrinks to a whisper. “Cantheris… why isn’t she here?”

  Redux exhales slowly. “What do you think? She realized her party member is an invalid. Instead of wasting time, she joined another group.”

  “No—” Colt shakes his head. “Cantheris isn’t like that.”

  His words choke halfway out. “Please, Redux. Let me see her one last time.”

  “That would violate hospital protocol,” Redux says, voice firm. “I’m a captain. I can’t risk my position for a favor.”

  “Please,” Colt begs. “Listen… I know I’ll never be an adventurer again. I don’t care about that anymore.”

  Tears slip free. “I just need to tell her how I feel before I die.”

  From the shadows, Colt pulls out the cursed sword, its presence heavy and wrong.

  “Please,” he says. “Take me to Cantheris… and I’ll give you this blade.”

  He paused, beginning to stutter. “I was saving this sword… for when I could return to adventuring, but—” He swallowed. “But if that’s not possible—” His voice breaks. “Then it shouldn’t rot with me. It deserves someone who can still fight. Someone who isn’t… this.”

  Redux’s eyes gleam. A slow smirk spread across his face.

  He took the sword from Colt’s trembling hand.

  “I knew it… The cursed sword.”

  “Now please,” Colt whispered. “Take me to Cantheris.”

  Redux laughs—loud, unrestrained. “Finally,” he says. “The last piece.”

  Colt frowned, confusion blooming—

  then pain.

  The cursed sword pierced his heart, driven clean through his chest. His breath shattered, eyes widened, body frozen in disbelief.

  Redux leans closer, voice calm, almost polite.

  “I’m not entirely sure how this sword works,” he said. “But I’d rather avoid complications—just in case you can summon it back to your hand.”

  Colt’s blood darkened the floor as understanding arrived far too late.

  Colt tried to speak his last words but only blood came out of his mouth.