"Don't close the door yet," a voice from the Hub commanded gently.
Zero, who was about to flip the sign to Closed and lock up for the night, paused. He recognized the mental signature immediately—it was Erwin. But there was something different about it—a heaviness, a hum of strain.
"Alright," Zero replied, flicking the main lights back on. "I'll make you some calming tea. You sound like you just wrestled a tiger."
Several minutes later, the bell chimed. Erwin Smith walked in, looking more disheveled than Zero had ever seen him. His usually pristine coat was dusty, his tie was loose, and there was a subtle tremor in his hands.
"Welcome home, Erwin," Zero said warmly from behind the bar, sliding a steaming cup of chamomile and lavender tea across the polished wood.
Erwin managed a tired smile. He walked to the bar, sank onto a stool, and wrapped his hands around the warm mug. "Thank you, Zero."
For a moment, peace cloaked the café. The silence was comfortable, the kind shared by family who didn't need words to understand exhaustion.
Then, the soft thud-thud of footsteps came from the stairs. Gellert walked down, holding a book, but his eyes were fixed on Erwin.
"Erwin," Gellert said, his voice laced with curiosity. "I can feel mana radiating from you. It's erratic. I guess the Noctis card came with magic as well?"
"Not now, Gel," Zero warned gently, wiping a glass. "Let him breathe."
Gellert paused, then nodded. He walked over and sat on the stool next to Erwin. "Alright. I'll join in on the tea then."
Zero poured a third cup without asking. The three of them sat in respite, the steam rising in curling wisps.
As Erwin drained his cup, he finally spoke. "I've never felt like that before."
Gellert looked at his own hand, flexing his fingers. "Can't say I have either. When I absorbed the Gellert and Kaecilius cards, I felt their magic, their power, their knowledge. It was instant integration. It felt as if it had always been part of me."
"Yes," Erwin nodded, staring into the dregs of his tea. "But this... in that moment, I felt a connection. Not just to power, but to a lineage. I felt the weight of the Lucis bloodline. It was as if the previous Kings were standing right there, judging my worth."
"What did you feel at that moment?" Gellert pressed, his mismatched eyes intense.
Erwin looked up, his gaze distant. "I felt... as if I would die if I wasn't qualified in their eyes. The rejection from the runic weapons was violent, but the acceptance from the Kings? It was terrifying."
He stood up and stepped back from the bar. He swiped his hand through the air.
SHING.
The air shimmered and cracked. Thirteen phantom weapons materialized in a spectral arc behind him—the Armiger Arsenal. Most of them were hazy, indistinct mists of blue light. But four of them glowed with a solid, ethereal brilliance, shimmering like diamonds.
Erwin pointed to the four distinct weapons. "Sword of the Wise. Axe of the Conqueror. Sword of the Wanderer. Blade of the Mystic."
Zero and Gellert looked at the lineup. The gap between the four solid weapons and the nine misty ones was stark.
"What about the rest?" Zero asked.
"I know them," Erwin said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I know their names. I know how to wield them. But they can't materialize. It's as if I don't have an established connection with them yet. As if bridge isn't built."
Gellert stood up from his chair. "May I?"
Erwin nodded.
Gellert walked closer to the floating Axe of the Conqueror. It was a massive, brutal thing, glowing with a deep, authoritative blue. He reached out to touch the blade, his movement slow and careful.
SSSS.
He barely grazed the edge with his fingertip, yet a thin line of red appeared instantly on his skin. He pulled his hand back, watching a drop of blood well up.
"Incredibly sharp," Gellert murmured, inspecting the cut. "For an ethereal weapon... this is physical. Even the rune weapons Black gave you weren't this high quality." Zero hurriedly handed him a napkin.
"But how do they materialize?" Gellert asked, pressing the napkin to his finger.
Erwin gestured, closing his hand into a fist. In that second, the entire arsenal vanished into mist.
"Like this," Erwin said.
He stepped forward and performed a sharp, downward slashing motion with his empty hand.
FLASH.
At the exact moment of the strike, the Sword of the Wise materialized in his grip, solid and heavy. The air whistled as the blade cut through it. As soon as the slash was complete and his momentum stopped, the sword de-materialized back into light.
"I can summon it with intention," Erwin explained, looking at his empty palm. "The moment I strike, it appears. The moment I stop, it's gone. It's faster than drawing a weapon. It's... part of the movement."
Gellert smiled, a look of pure academic delight on his face. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"
…
Sunrise bathed Evercrest in the pale, hopeful light of a new day. The city stretched out below them, a slumbering giant beginning to stir with the clatter of carts and the hum of rune-cars.
On the rooftop of Café LeBlanc, the air was crisp and cold.
"So," Erwin said, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. He looked at Gellert, who was adjusting his cufflinks with maddening calm. "Where are we going to train? The abandoned district?"
Gellert smiled, a thin, sharp expression. "Right here."
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to alert the entire block?"
Gellert smirked. He lifted his foot and stomped once on the concrete.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't of stone breaking, but of reality fracturing. The rooftop didn't crumble; it rippled like water disturbed by a stone. The horizon tilted. The sky folded inward.
"What the..." Erwin looked to his side. The familiar skyline of Evercrest was twisting into impossible angles. Buildings bent like origami, the streets coiled into loops, and the clouds formed geometric patterns on the ground.
Erwin realized instantly. He smiled. "Heh. Mirror Dimension, huh?"
"I want to see you warp, Erwin," Gellert commanded, his voice echoing strangely in the folded space. "Show me the King's stride."
Erwin nodded. He made a sharp throwing motion with his empty hand.
FLASH.
In that split second, the Sword of the Wise manifested in his grip—a heavy, regal blade of ancient design. He launched it with the supernatural precision of Tobio Kageyama. The sword flew true, embedding itself deep into the side of a building that was currently floating upside down.
As the sword struck concrete, Erwin's form blurred.
ZIP.
He became a speck of blue light, dissolving into pure momentum. In the blink of an eye, he rematerialized hanging from the sword hilt, perfectly balanced on the vertical surface.
"Good," Gellert observed, floating on a shard of pavement. He waved his hand, and the Mirror Dimension shifted violently. "Warp through this."
In front of Erwin, a complex formation of buildings folded together, creating a dense, chaotic obstacle course. There was only a single, sword-sized gap threading through the center of the mess.
Erwin narrowed his eyes. He calculated the angle, the trajectory, and the distance.
Throw.
The sword left his hand. It was a needle threading the eye of a hurricane. The blade flew straight and true, passing through the narrow gap in the first building, then the second, then the third.
Gellert watched the sword clear the final obstacle. As it embedded itself in the target wall, he snapped his fingers.
Close the gap.
Erwin warped. He phased. His body became a streak of light that navigated the impossible path, passing through the narrow holes in the buildings as if he were water. He materialized at the hilt of his sword, landing with a heavy, solid impact.
"Alright," Gellert said, calming the dimension. The kaleidoscope slowed, the buildings untwisting until they stood on a recognizable, flat rooftop again.
"It seems it has the same principle as teleportation," Gellert mused, landing beside him.
"Essentially, yeah," Erwin agreed, pulling the spectral sword from the wall before letting it fade. "It's teleportation with extra steps. I have to throw the anchor first."
"I wouldn't say that for sure," Gellert corrected. He pointed a finger, and two chunks of concrete rubble floated toward them.
"This small impact," Gellert said, pointing to a shallow crater in the first chunk, "comes from the first warp. Short distance."
He then pointed to the second chunk. It was shattered, a deep, spiderwebbed crack radiating from the center. "This is from the warp through the formation. Much farther distance."
"I know," Erwin shrugged. "It creates a different impact based on the force of my throw."
Gellert shook his head. "Look closer."
Erwin leaned in. The first impact was singular. But the second... it had a double crater. A subtle, secondary shockwave pattern lay beneath the first.
"The force of your warp," Gellert explained, his eyes gleaming, "was greater than the weapon itself. You are not just arriving at the sword; you are crashing into reality at the destination. The longer the warp, the more momentum you build."
He looked at Erwin. "We need more training. Strategies to use this momentum. You are a projectile."
"I thought you wanted to train me with the magic Noctis had," Erwin said, wiping sweat from his brow.
"One thing at a time," Gellert said. "I feel like I can implement your warp into my magic as well. Imagine spells that don't travel... but arrive."
Erwin looked at the horizon, which began to fold once again. The buildings twisted into a new, complex kaleidoscope of geometry.
He smiled, summoning the Sword of the Wanderer into his dual grip.
"Fine," Erwin said. "Let's do this."
…
Back at Café LeBlanc, Zero woke up late. A rare, blessed day off. He took his time, soaking in a hot bath, humming tunelessly to himself. As he dried his long hair with a magical hair dryer that hummed with a soft, warm breeze, he sang into the handle like it was a microphone.
"I remember when, I remember when I lost my mind..."
He pulled on a simple, oversized hoodie and soft sweatpants—courtesy of Legolas's prototypes. Zero had pestered the elf for weeks to make him "comfortable clothes that didn't itch," and Legolas had delivered with a fabric that felt like wearing a cloud.
He looked around the loft. "No Gellert," he noted. "Well, I guess he's off training with Erwin."
Zero padded down the stairs to the café floor. "Sōma! What did you cook today?"
Silence greeted him. The café was empty. On the counter sat a covered plate of simple, golden fried rice and a note scrawled in Sōma's messy handwriting:
'I gotta do errands real quick. Eat up!'
"Errands?" Zero muttered, lifting the cover. "We have an unlimited storage room. What errands?" He smirked, taking a bite. "Maybe he's stalking Officer Monet. Hehe."
The fried rice was, as usual, transcendent. Simple, perfectly seasoned, with just the right amount of wok hei. Zero ate happily, then stood to make himself a glass of iced tea.
As he raised the glass to his lips, a commotion erupted outside. Through the window, he saw a blur of motion. It was the kids—Marc, Cindy, Timmy—sprinting toward the café, their faces pale with panic.
Zero sighed, unlocking the door as they crashed against it. "Guys, we're closed today—"
"Owner!" Timmy gasped, doubling over. "It's Brother Sōma!"
"That's right!" Cindy cried, tears in her eyes. "Brother Sōma is in trouble! The bad chef man..."
"What!?" Zero's relaxed demeanor vanished instantly. "Lead me to him."
…
In front of Jacquard's Café & Bistro, a full-blown spectacle was unfolding.
Sōma was being physically restrained by two burly security guards—an elf and a beastman—but his mouth was unbound and firing at full auto.
"You think you're a big shot, huh?!" Sōma shouted, struggling against the grip. "You bully kids because your food tastes like wet cardboard!"
Gaylord de Jacquard stood on the steps of his bistro, wiping a smear of blood from his lip where Sōma had evidently landed a punch. He sneered, his face twisted in high society disdain. "Savages. This is why lowborns should stay in the gutter."
"Savage, huh?" Sōma laughed, a wild, dangerous sound. "Call your daddy and see who cooks a better dish! Or is he too busy jacking off hard in his ivory tower to teach you how to season a steak?" He made a crude, unmistakable gesture with his free hand.
Gaylord turned purple. "YOU—!"
At that exact moment, a sleek, black luxury car pulled up to the curb. The back door opened, and an older man stepped out. He wore a suit that cost more than the entire block, and his presence radiated icy authority.
Pissque de Jacquard, the head of the Jacquard culinary empire.
From the other direction, a Watcher patrol car screeched to a halt. Officer Valdi—the lazy, snack-loving officer—stepped out, looking annoyed at having to do actual work.
And from the alley, Zero and the kids arrived at a run.
"What is going on here?" Pissque demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he walked toward his son.
"Father!" Gaylord cried, pointing. "This... this animal assaulted me!"
Valdi strolled into the middle of the chaos, scratching his stomach. "Alright, alright, break it up, guys. Too much noise for a sunny day."
Zero pushed through the crowd and grabbed Sōma by the shoulders. "Hey! Calm down! What are you doing?"
"This guy," Sōma snarled, glaring at Gaylord, "dared to scare the kids. If I hadn't overheard the people in the market talking about it, I wouldn't even have known! He threatened Cindy!"
Gaylord puffed up his chest. "I was protecting my business from illegal peddlers!"
Valdi looked between them, clearly not wanting to file paperwork. But Pissque had heard enough.
"Enough!" Pissque barked. He ignored Valdi and looked straight at Zero. "You! Demon! You are the owner where this redhead works, correct?"
Zero straightened up, his eyes cold. "He is my Chef. Address him correctly."
Pissque sneered, looking Sōma up and down. "Just because you can wield the hearth... you think you are a Chef?"
Officer Valdi, oblivious to the tension, blinked and took a bite of a pastry he had pulled from his lunch paper bag. "Isn't that what a chef does, Chef Pissque?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Zero and Sōma looked at each other. They blinked. Then they looked at the famous chef.
"Pissque?" Zero whispered.
"Your name is... Piss?" Sōma wheezed.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The two of them broke into raucous, uncontrollable laughter. They clutched each other for support, pointing at the furious culinary tycoon.
"Chef Piss! Oh my god!" Sōma howled.
Pissque's face turned a shade of red that defied culinary science. The heated commotion dissolved into surreal ambiguity—one side seething with murderous rage, the other laughing with joyful, disrespectful abandon.
Pissque de Jacquard's face was mottled with a fury that transcended the professional. It was personal. It was rage distilled into a single, trembling snarl.
"SHUT UP!" Pissque roared, his voice cracking. "You uncultured mongrels! How dare you sully the hearth's warmth with your vile nature! My name is an ancient moniker of purity!"
Sōma was doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears streaming down his face. "Okay... okay, Mr. Piss," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "I'll definitely follow the words of a guy named Piss. Ahahahaha!"
"Shut up!" Gaylord screamed, stepping forward as if to strike Sōma again. "Officer! Throw those two in jail! They are disturbing the peace!"
"I'll sue your establishment into dust, you demon!" Pissque added, pointing a shaking finger at Zero.
Officer Valdi sighed, the sound heavy with the exhaustion of a man who just wanted to eat his pastry in peace. He stepped between them, ushering Zero and Sōma back toward the patrol car. "Alright, guys. That's enough. I'm taking you both to the precinct for the write-up. Disorderly conduct, public disturbance..."
"What? Wait!" Zero protested, digging his heels in. "They are the ones who started it! He assaulted my chef!"
Valdi didn't look impressed. He looked ready to book them just to end the noise.
Then, Zero remembered. Erwin had mentioned this officer in his reports. 'Officer Valdi. Lazy. Does the minimum possible. Avoids paperwork like the plague. But... he never does anything strictly illegal according to the Watcher's Guide Book.'
Zero's eyes lit up. He planted his feet.
"Wait!" Zero shouted. "COOK OFF!"
The words hung in the air. Pissque and Gaylord, who had turned their backs to leave in triumph, froze.
Zero looked at Valdi with desperate intensity. "Officer! If we solve our problem ourselves through a civil duel, you don't have to do any paperwork on us. It's in the bylaws! Conflict resolution via sanctioned competition!"
Sōma caught on instantly. He straightened up, wiping the mirth from his face. "That's right! And I heard paperwork involving rich snobs like the Jacquards has to be incredibly detailed. Triplicate forms. Witness statements. It'll take you all night."
Valdi paused. He already imagine the paperwork in his hand. He looked at the sun, estimating how much time he had left before his shift ended. He really needed to relax and do his pre-Silent Night barbecue ritual.
"Fine," Valdi grunted, lowering his notebook. "But if both parties don't agree to solve it, you guys are coming with me. Right now."
Pissque spun around. "What are you doing, Officer? Arrest them!"
"A cook-off," Zero declared, stepping forward. "To settle the problem between us. Once and for all."
Pissque scoffed. "You want my son to do a cooking battle with your chef?"
Zero smirked, a cold, challenging glint in his eye. "No, no. Your son is clearly not good enough for my chef. I want him to battle you."
The crowd gasped. Pissque de Jacquard was a titan of the industries. To challenge him was a monumental event.
Pissque sneered. "Get them to jail, Officer. This is a waste of time."
"Then you're not as good as you said, then!" Zero shouted, holding his ground.
The vibe on the street dropped instantly. The playful tension evaporated, replaced by something sharp and dangerous.
Pissque stopped. He turned slowly, walking back toward Zero until he was inches from his face. "Careful with your filthy, tainted mouth, you horn-cunt."
Zero didn't flinch. He smiled, a beatific, serene expression. "As expected. You're just an overhyped cook all along. Afraid of a little competition from the 'gutter'?"
Pissque's eye twitched. The provocation had landed. His pride wouldn't allow him to walk away now.
"Hooo," Pissque breathed, his voice dripping with malice. "Getting cocky, are we? Fine. As soon as I beat your chef, I want your café to close. Forever. You will burn the deed and leave this city."
"And if my chef wins?" Zero countered instantly.
"My son will apologize to both of you," Pissque said dismissively.
Zero scoffed loudly. "That's it? That's not even equal consequences! I'm putting my entire livelihood on the line! I want you to close this café," he pointed at the new bistro, "and pledge to never open a Jacquard establishment within five miles of mine again."
Pissque's mouth twitched at the sheer audacity. The confidence of this demon was infuriating.
"Fine," Pissque hissed. "Time and place."
"The Square," Zero said. "Mid-day before the Silent Night."
"Letting me bask in glory with the Aurora Ribbon as my backdrop?" Pissque laughed, a harsh bark. "You are a fool."
"I wouldn't be so confident if I were you," Zero said quietly.
"Deal?"
"Deal."
They shook hands. Pissque's grip was like iron, but Zero's Archdemon strength met it easily.
As Zero and Sōma turned to leave, walking away with their heads held high, Zero glanced back. He saw Pissque take a silk handkerchief from his pocket and vigorously wipe his hand, as if scrubbing away a disease.
Zero smiled. 'He's rattled.'
"You better win this, Sōma," Zero whispered.
Sōma cracked his knuckles, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. "Don't worry, Boss. I'm going to serve him a dish he'll never forget."
**A/N**
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**A/N**