The kids fanned out like a disciplined army of sugar-crazed squirrels. Marc, holding the heavy crate like a general with a supply train, watched them go with a satisfied nod.
"Aurora Pudding! Get your Aurora Pudding!" Timmy, the bratty eight-year-old, shouted at the top of his lungs, fearlessly stepping into the path of a well-dressed Beastfolk couple. "Six Sol for one! Ten Sol for two! It's a steal!"
The Badger Beastman blinked, looking down at the scruffy human child. "Oh my. Aurora Pudding?" He bent down, his nose twitching. "Can I take a look, little one?"
Timmy grinned, revealing the gap in his teeth, and popped the tin foil lid off a jar. The sunlight hit the custard, and true to Sōma's alchemy, it shimmered with a mesmerizing, iridescent swirl of violet and green.
"Oh my!" the Beastman's girlfriend squealed, clutching his arm. "Look at that! It's beautiful! We should buy it, honey. It matches my scarf!"
"Okay, okay," the Beastman chuckled, reaching for his coin purse. "Get us two of these, little merchant."
Timmy pocketed the coins with the speed of a pickpocket and handed over the jars. "Pleasure doing business!"
Similar scenes played out all along the block. The novelty of the shimmering dessert, combined with the undeniable charm of street urchins actually working for a living, was a winning combination.
"Marc!" Cindy, a small girl with pigtails, came running back, pointing down the avenue. "There is a huge bunch of people over there! Like, a whole crowd!"
The other kids' ears perked up. "Let's go!" one shouted.
"Hey, relax guys," Marc chuckled, shifting the crate to his other hip. "We're almost sold out anyway. Don't rush."
"We still need to hurry!" Timmy argued, already sprinting. "The faster we sell out, the sooner we get our cheesecake! Brother Sōma promised!"
The kids scattered toward the gathering crowd. As Marc jogged to catch up, he realized this wasn't just a random assembly. It was a line. A long, well-dressed, impatient queue leading to a newly renovated building with a grand, pretentious sign: Jacquard's Café & Bistro.
Marc's stomach dropped. 'Jacquard. The world-famous restaurant family. They were opening a café right here? Near LeBlanc?'
Cindy, oblivious to the rivalry, marched right up to a tall, imperious-looking human man in a pristine white chef's coat who was overseeing the line.
"Sir!" she piped up, holding out her last jar. "Do you want to buy our Aurora Purin? It's super yummy!"
The man turned slowly. It was Gaylord de Jacquard. The same arrogant chef who had sneered at Sōma during the Grey Tide Festival. The same man who believed "simple" recipes are for peasant.
He looked down at Cindy as if she were a roach on his pristine tile. "Get off, kid," he spat. "It's the opening of my café. Don't clutter my sidewalk."
Cindy didn't back down. "You seem tired, mister! This purin is so good! Brother Sōma made it with love!"
The name hit Gaylord like a slap. Sōma. The red-haired menace. The "commoner" who had been disqualified for being too good. His nemesis.
Gaylord's expression shifted. A cold, predatory smile curled his lips. "Sōma, you say?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. "Let me buy one."
Cindy beamed. "Thank you!" She handed him the jar, jumping in excitement. "I'm sold out! I win!"
Gaylord opened the jar. He took a spoon from his own pocket—gold-plated, of course—and took a bite.
For a second, his eyes widened. The flavor was exquisite. The texture was divine. It was... better than anything he or his father had ever made.
Then, he spat it out onto the pavement.
SPLAT.
"WHAT IS THIS?!" Gaylord roared, slamming the half-eaten jar onto the ground, shattering it. "This shit! This poison made by a low-class chef!"
He pointed a shaking finger at Cindy. "AND YOU!!"
The kids froze. Terror replaced their excitement. They scrambled back, running to hide behind Marc's legs.
"So it was true," Gaylord sneered, his voice carrying over the shocked crowd. "That sorry excuse of a chef is working with demons now! Using children to pedal his filth!" He stepped closer to Marc, looming over him. "DO YOU HAVE A PERMIT?!"
"I... we..." Marc stuttered, trying to shield the trembling kids.
"Ah, ah, ah!" Gaylord cut him off, waving a finger. "Don't lie in public! You have no rights to sell in front of my café!"
Coincidentally a Watcher patrol car pulled up to the curb, its rune-lights flashing.
Gaylord's face lit up with malicious glee. "Officer! Officer! Help! These scoundreling fools are ruining my opening day!"
The car doors opened. Sergeant Wolfe stepped out, looking tired. And from the passenger side, Officer Erwin Smith emerged, his face unreadable.
"Good afternoon, sir," Erwin said, stepping between the trembling kids and the raging man. "Is there a problem here?"
Gaylord pointed an accusing finger at Marc. "This demon is peddling his filthy food around my café! Check his permit! No demon can have a peddling permit in this city! It's the law!"
Erwin nodded slowly, then turned his attention entirely to the group of children. He knelt down so he was eye-level with the smallest of them.
"Hello," Erwin said softly. "What's your name?"
"Timmy," the boy squeaked, clutching his batch.
"Hello, Timmy," Erwin said with a gentle smile. "Do you have a peddling permit?"
Timmy reached into his pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of parchment. He handed it over with a trembling hand.
Erwin unfolded it. It was a standard, legitimate Peddler's License, signed by Timmy's parents and stamped by the Merchant Guild of Evercrest. It authorized "The Sale of Homemade Confections" within the district.
Erwin patted Timmy on the head. "Looks like they got it."
Gaylord's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. "It's the demon! He sells these too! He can't have a permit! He is a demon!"
Wolfe stepped in, his voice a low, tired rumble that brooked no argument. "We have seen this young man around the block," he said, gesturing to Marc. "And he didn't sell anything. He just brings the goods. There is nothing illegal about carrying a crate."
He looked at Gaylord, his eyes narrowed. "Now, I think this can be easily solved just by asking them not to sell directly in front of your café." He turned to the kids. "You guys can do that, right?"
The kids, still terrified by the screaming chef, nodded frantically.
"See?" Wolfe said, spreading his hands. "It's all done."
"But these kids—!" Gaylord sputtered.
"We can't do anything else, sir," Erwin cut him off, his tone sharpening. "They haven't broken any law. And to be frank with you... your long lines are reaching onto the public pavement. I know it's your first opening day so you haven't prepared your waiting area, but your customer queue is obstructing the sidewalk. That is a code violation."
Gaylord froze. He looked at the line of wealthy patrons spilling into the street, then at the two Watchers. He was cornered. Seething, he smoothed his white coat.
"Tell whoever made those..." he pointed at the shattered jar on the ground, "shit... to give up cooking and back off."
He spun on his heel and stormed back into his café, barking at his staff to clear the sidewalk.
The tension broke. Cindy, the little girl who had been yelled at, suddenly felt the weight of the moment crash down on her. Her lower lip trembled, and she burst into tears.
"Cindy, it's alright," Marc said, rushing to hug her. "It's not your fault."
Wolfe sighed and knelt down again. "Hey. Cindy, right?"
Cindy nodded, sniffing loudly.
"Are you okay?" Wolfe asked gently.
Cindy shook her head. "I'm just embarrassed... Brother Sōma made those all night. He worked hard for those."
Wolfe smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his face. "Hey, hey. It's okay. You want to know what's embarrassing?"
Cindy stopped crying, looking at him with wide, teary eyes.
"It's me fully knowing I have an allergy to shrimp, but still insisting on eating it because it smells so good," Wolfe confided in a conspiratorial whisper.
"What happened?" Cindy whispered back.
"My stomach started to make weird noises," Wolfe said gravely. "And I pooped my pants."
The kids gasped in unison.
"You?!" Timmy shouted. "A Watcher?! Pooped your pants?!"
"Yes," Wolfe nodded solemnly.
Timmy dropped his head, looking at his shoes. "I did too sometimes."
Wolfe smiled and patted Timmy's head. "Let's both try not to do it again, shall we? If you can do it, I can do it."
"Yeaahh!" the other kids cheered, supporting their friend.
A series of giggles broke out, and even Cindy was smiling now.
"Thank you, sir. Alright, let's go guys," Marc said, gathering his troops.
"Ah, guys," Erwin called out, stopping them. He reached into his pocket. "Can we buy some too?"
Minutes later, Marc and the kids waved goodbye to the officers as they ran off down the block, their pockets heavier and their spirits lifted.
Erwin and Wolfe stood by the patrol car, eating the shimmering pudding with plastic spoons.
"Hmmm," Wolfe hummed, the flavor exploding in his mouth. "It's good."
"You pooped your pants, Sarge?" Erwin asked, staring straight ahead.
Wolfe swallowed a spoonful of iridescent custard. "Don't push it, Boot."
…
Night had fully draped its heavy cloak over the Royal Capital, muting the bustle of the streets but doing nothing to dim the city's inherent glamour.
High above Sapphire Row, in the Armani Studio, the lights still lit. Legolas stood before a mannequin, adjusting the lapel of a midnight-blue suit jacket. As he stepped back, the Phase-Silk woven into the fabric caught the studio lights, shimmering briefly with a metallic sheen before fading back to elegant matte wool. It was a subtle, masterful integration of materials and Ysolt's weaving technology.
"Modern man's suit of armor, indeed," Legolas whispered, a surge of pride warming his chest.
He slumped onto the plush velvet sofa, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He stared at the suit, his mind already racing ahead.
"I should hire talents once I get more orders," he mused aloud to the empty room. "Armani should cover the menswear... if I could acquire Delacroix completely and restructure it to be a female-oriented brand... or maybe I should penetrate the female nobility market with bags first. A 'Gucci' approach. Leather goods are timeless."
He sighed, rubbing his temples, and reached for the stack of mail delivered that afternoon. He sifted through the envelopes—heavy cream paper, wax seals, scented parchment. There were introduction letters from Barons, invitations to private viewings, and congratulations from high-ranking merchants.
"Is Delacroix having a share in my brand helping me this much?" he wondered. "The name opens doors I didn't even know were locked."
Then, he stopped. At the bottom of the pile was a simple, unadorned envelope. The sender's name was just a number: 0.
Legolas sat up straight. He tore it open. inside was a small, sealed vial containing a dark, dehydrated red powder, two familiar Gacha cards, and a handwritten note.
…
Legolas,
Here is Kaito Kid. Use him to put on a show for your turn on the runway. We need spectacle to be remembered.
Also, Sōma insisted I send you Izumi Miyamura. He says you need it to 'make yourself an anime protagonist' for the daily grind. Apparently, you're going to need the domestic skills.
Good luck.- Zero
…
Legolas chuckled, shaking his head. "Dehydrated blood, huh? Zero really thinks of everything."
He walked to the small pantry in the corner of the studio. He boiled water in a kettle and poured it into a delicate teacup, then tipped the vial of powdered blood into the steaming liquid. It dissolved instantly, turning the water a deep, iron-rich red.
He took a sip and immediately winced. "Blegh. This ruins the taste completely. Now I get why Zero uses espresso to mask it."
He steeled himself and drank the rest in one go. Then, he picked up the first card.
[Kaito Kid]The Phantom Thief.
Legolas pressed the card to his forehead.
The sensation was immediate. His body didn't just shift; it dissolved. He became a pool of blood on the studio floor, but instead of pooling sluggishly, the liquid coiled and danced, defying gravity. It swirled upward, solidifying into a figure clad in a pristine white suit, a blue shirt, a red tie, and a tall white top hat. A monocle glinted over his right eye.
Legolas—now Kaito Kid—flared his white cape.
"Ha!"
A sudden, inexplicable wind whipped through the sealed room, fluttering the cape dramatically.
"Hooo," Legolas murmured, checking his reflection in the mirror. His voice had taken on a playful, melodic lilt. "It seems his knack for drama really changes my perspective a bit. The world feels... like a stage."
He grabbed the teapot to pour another cup of the blood-tea mixture. But he didn't just pour it. He spun the pot on his finger, tossed it behind his back, caught it, and poured the tea from a full arm's length height without spilling a single drop.
He set the pot down with a flourish. "I can't even pour tea normally anymore, huh?"
He took a sip, then picked up the second card.
[Izumi Miyamura]The Gentle Protagonist.
He pressed it to his forehead. Once again, he melted into blood, swirling and reforming. When the liquid settled, he stood as a slender young man with long, messy black hair, piercings on his ears and lip, and an aura of profound, quiet gentleness.
Legolas blinked. The frantic energy of Kaito Kid vanished, replaced by a sense of calm ease. His mind felt lighter. And strangely... he suddenly knew the exact baking temperature for a sponge cake.
"It feels... gentle," Legolas whispered. "Like the world is softer."
He willed himself back to his base Legolas form, returning to his Elven appearance. He felt refreshed, the fatigue of the day washed away by the transformations.
He smiled, looking at the half-finished suit on the mannequin.
"It's great," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's do the second suit, shall we?"
…
Back in Evercrest, the night sky was a blanket that cloaked the city. Erwin stood alone on the rooftop of a high-rise building, the wind whipping his coat around his legs. Far below, the city moved like a clockwork toy, but up here, it was just him and the silence.
Erwin closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing.
He could feel the new power humming in his veins. The Tobio Kageyama card had fundamentally altered his perception. He opened his eyes, and the world snapped into a terrifyingly high-definition focus. He could track the flight path of a feline fowl above him. He could calculate the trajectory of the wind against the building he stand on. His spatial awareness was absolute.
"Is an athlete in anime always this overpowered?" Erwin muttered, flexing his hands. "Or is it just that my past life as Kaelan was lame? Well... I suppose never playing sports due to my bad luck didn't help."
He smiled, a flicker of reminiscence crossing his face. Then, he got to work.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the heavy black scroll Chief Black had given him. He unrolled it on the concrete, bit his thumb, and smeared a line of blood across the seal.
HISS.
Red light flared. The Runic Weapons—rifles, spears, shields—floated up from the parchment, hovering around him in a menacing red halo. They hummed with aggressive, chaotic energy.
"Now," Erwin whispered. "The King."
He activated the Noctis Lucis Caelum card.
The air pressure dropped instantly. A spectral, crystalline blue light erupted around him, clashing with the red glow of the runic weapons. Four ethereal weapons materialized from thin air, shimmering like diamonds.
The knowledge flooded his mind. He knew their names. He knew their weight. Sword of the Wise, a blade of ancient kings, heavy with authority. Axe of the Conqueror a brutal, devastating weapon meant to shatter absolute defenses. Sword of the Wanderer, a Swift, dual blades for the agile warrior. Blade of the Mystic, a weapon that bridged the physical and the magical.
"Interesting," Erwin murmured, feeling the phantom weight of the Armiger Arsenal.
But then, the harmony broke.
CRACKLE.
The red runic weapons went berserk. They began to spin violently, forming a chaotic tornado of steel and magic around him. The Armiger Arsenal reacted instantly, the blue spectral weapons circling Erwin like loyal guard, deflecting the wild red weapons with sparks of colliding mana.
"This never happened before," Erwin realized, his mind racing. "The runic weapons usually follow my command. But they are rejecting the King's power."
The Armiger Arsenal shifted from defense to attack. The Axe of the Conqueror slammed into a floating runic shield, shattering it. The Sword of the Wanderer intercepted a runic rifle, slicing it in half.
It was a civil war of magical artifacts, and Erwin was the battlefield.
'Focus,' Erwin commanded himself. 'Awareness, sense your surrounding.'
He activated Tobio's [King's Toss]. Time seemed to slow. He saw the trajectory of every weapon. He saw the flow of mana connecting them. And beneath the chaos, he felt something deeper.
He felt the Kings of Lucis. A connection to the Royal Arms.
He heard a voice, ancient and wise, whispering in his ear. 'A king built a mighty wall and protected the realm.' The Sword of the Wise pulsed, its blue light deepening.
He felt a crushing weight on his shoulders, the burden of expansion and war. 'A king performed great feats of arms, expanded his realm, and made his people prosper.' The Axe of the Conqueror roared with power.
He felt the wind on his face, the thrill of the unknown. 'A king was quick like the wind and went where no man had gone before.' The Sword of the Wanderer became a blur of speed.
And finally, he saw a vision of a future yet to come, a destiny woven in starlight. 'A king rose to protect the world with the Oracle.' The Blade of the Mystic sang a high, pure note.
"I am the King," Erwin whispered. "And you..." He looked at the frantic red runic weapons. "You are my subjects."
He reached out with his mind, projecting the absolute authority of the Lucian bloodline.
SHATTER.
The resistance of the runic weapons broke. They didn't just stop; they exploded into fragments of red light. But they didn't dissipate. The shards were pulled into the Armiger Arsenal, absorbed into the spectral blades like iron filings to a magnet. The blue weapons turned a deep, royal purple as they consumed the runic magic.
Then, silence.
The Armiger deactivated on its own, the weapons fading into nothingness.
Erwin fell to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at the concrete. The Rune weapon scroll, the gift from Chief Black, was torn cleanly in two, its magic completely drained.
"Fuck," Erwin muttered, staring at the ruined parchment. "How am I going to explain this to the Chief?"
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**