The air in the narrow alley was thick, heavy with the scent of damp stone and faint traces of lingering smoke. Thin strands of morning sunlight filtered between the crumbling buildings, casting long, twisted shadows across the cracked cobblestones.
Every small sound seemed amplified in the tense stillness: the distant echo of a lone footstep, the soft rustle of leaves, the metallic clatter of a loose shutter swaying in the wind. The alley felt almost alive, as if it were holding its breath, watching.
The scarfed man stood directly in front of Milo, motionless yet radiating a sharp, calculating alertness. His eyes tracked every subtle movement Milo made, analyzing him with unnerving precision, as if predicting his next reaction before it even formed.
Beside him, the tall blond man with thick hair stepped forward. The morning light caught his stern features, and his glare locked onto Milo with a disturbing mix of challenge, excitement, and barely concealed anticipation, as if he had been waiting for this confrontation.
Milo fixed his gaze on the blond.
"Take another step if you want what happened at your hideout to happen again."
The blond's face twisted with anger.
"Are you challenging me, you bastard!" he shouted.
Before he could move further, the scarfed man stepped in, placing a firm hand to stop him.
The blond grudgingly stepped back, tension still radiating from him, but he didn't dare advance again.
Milo looked at the scarfed man with a serious gaze.
"Do you want something?" he asked.
The scarfed man didn't answer; he just stared at Milo silently.
Suddenly, Milo tried to move past him, but the scarfed man stepped in front, blocking his path.
Milo looked at him, and then realization dawned.
"So... you're trying to delay me, so I won't find Toxivar," he said, his voice sharp.
Finally, the scarfed man spoke under his scarf.
"Go… away."
Milo looked at him, slightly surprised that he was speaking at all.
"Go…?" he echoed.
The scarfed man continued, his voice calm but firm.
"You won't see Toxivar again. So just leave. This no longer concerns you."
Milo stopped and let out a slow sigh.
"Fine… looks like I won't get anything done right now."
Milo walked away, leaving them behind.
The blond spoke, a note of concern in his voice.
"Wait… he knows a lot about us… even where our hideout is."
The scarfed man replied calmly,
"Don't worry. He won't expose us according to what Lucas said."
The scarfed man and the other figure turned and left, leaving the blond alone.
The blond called after them, his tone sharp.
"And do you really trust Lucas, for your sake?!"
The scarfed man shook his head slightly, motioning a quiet "yes."
The blond's anger flared further.
"Damn it!" he muttered, clenching his fists.
Milo returned to the heart of the city, where the middle-class district lay. The streets were wider here, cleaner, and more organized than the narrow alleys of the poorer district. Shops opened their doors, merchants called out their goods, and the sound of daily life filled the air. Children ran freely, laughing and playing, while adults moved with purpose through the bustling streets.
Milo arrived home and found that his sister had already prepared food for him before leaving for work.
He smiled warmly and said,
"Thank you, Milena…"
Milo sat down, leaning back comfortably.
"Damn… this finally means I've gotten rid of the hassle," he muttered to himself.
His brown hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his sharp eyes carried a hint of weariness. His jaw was set, and his posture relaxed yet alert, reflecting both relief and the lingering tension of the past events.
"But… those talented ones… I don't know what their plan is. I'm afraid they might target my sister," he thought, frowning slightly.
Milo reached up and gently held the pendant around his neck, his fingers tracing its contours. He glanced at it for a moment, lost in thought, while leaning back comfortably, trying to let himself relax amidst the lingering tension.
His phone rang. Milo picked it up, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah… it's you, Herax,"
Herax shouted through the phone, his voice sharp and frantic.
"Miloooo! Where have you been hiding? Solir before, and now you!"
Milo replied, chuckling softly.
"I've just been a little busy, sorry about that."
Herax fell silent for a moment, realizing that Milo was hiding something.
"Oh, I just remembered! Milo, I met Solir… he's changed, man."
Milo raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"We haven't even seen him for just a few weeks, and you're saying he's changed?"
Herax replied firmly,
"I'm serious, man. He really has changed!"
Through the phone, Milo heard someone calling for Herax.
Herax replied, slightly annoyed,
"Wait, Mom! I'm coming. I'm just talking to Milo for a bit."
He glanced at Milo.
"I have to go, sorry. We'll talk later."
Herax ended the call.
Milo let go of the phone, and it fell onto the couch. He leaned back, letting himself relax even more.
"Damn… I'm really tired!" he muttered.
Milo dozed off for a few minutes, drifting into a strange dream.
He saw a small child with green hair, crying alone, while a few ominous shadows loomed around, frightening him. The child shouted,
"Leave me alone!"
Milo stepped closer, ready to help.
"It's me… stop this!" he called out.
Suddenly, dark threads shot out, wrapping around him and binding him tightly.
A strange, eerie voice echoed around him, repeating slowly,
"This is the final form!"
Milo opened his eyes.
"Ah… what just happened?" he muttered.
"Ah… maybe it was just a dream."
He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about, but it slipped from his mind.
"Damn… I forgot!"
"The final form…", he murmured, sighing.
"What a strange phrase… what could it even mean? I feel like I've heard it somewhere before… but when?"
Milo sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the slightly messy strands. His brown eyes, still carrying a hint of weariness, scanned the room for a moment.
He let out a long yawn, then stood up.
"I'm still tired… but I think I'll go out for a bit, get some fresh air," he muttered to himself.
Milo glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.
"Ah! It's two in the afternoon… I thought I had only slept for a few minutes. What the heck is happening?" he muttered, incredulous.
Milo pushed himself up from the couch and walked to the bathroom.
He splashed cold water on his face, letting the chill wake him fully. Then he grabbed a towel and wiped his face dry with a firm motion, as if trying to erase the exhaustion along with the water.
He lifted his gaze to the mirror.
His brown hair was messy, his eyes still holding a faint look of fatigue, but beneath it was that stubborn determination he always carried.
He let out a breath and muttered to himself:
"Alright… alright… I should be a bit more optimistic!"
Milo sat at his desk, tapping his pen against the notebook. The test to join the guilds was only 19 days away.
"Not much time left… I need to focus, train harder, and prepare for everything," he muttered, clenching his fists. His heartbeat quickened with a mix of anxiety and determination.
Milo stepped out of his home, the afternoon sun casting a bright glow over the streets of Novara. The city buzzed faintly with daytime activity merchants calling from their stalls, distant footsteps echoing through the alleys.
He walked calmly, no rush, no worry. The warmth of the sun on his shoulders gave him a small sense of comfort as he made his way toward the Guild Agency. His steps were steady, blending with the hum of the city around him.
Milo arrived at the Guild Agency. Some people were already leaving, their conversations fading as they stepped out into the streets, but the agency was still crowded. The air inside buzzed with energy candidates discussing strategies, guild members sorting documents, and the faint smell of ink and parchment lingering in the room.
Milo walked in calmly, scanning the room. He noticed the mix of tension and excitement on the faces around him. Some glanced at him briefly, sizing him up, while others were too absorbed in their own preparations to notice.
Milo's eyes caught a familiar figure near the entrance. Lilithia, her long dark hair slightly damp from training, spotted him and waved with a small smile. She was carrying a gym bag over her shoulder, the kind that clearly indicated she had just finished training.
"Hey, Milo!" she called softly, her voice calm yet bright. "Just finished my session. Didn't expect to see you here!"
Milo walked over, a grin forming. "Hey, Lilithia! You've been training again, huh?"
She chuckled lightly, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Yeah, can't slack off, you know. What about you?
Milo scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. "I've been a little busy these past few days… but I'm back to training. I need to get stronger."
Lilithia looked at him, seemingly understanding. A soft smile appeared on her lips.
"Getting stronger… did you face an opponent who shook your resolve again?"
Milo froze for a moment, surprised at how close she came to discovering his recent struggles.
Lilithia smiled gently at him. "Alright then. Good luck, Milo."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, a mix of thoughts swirling in his mind.
Lilithia grabbed her phone and answered the call.
"What happened!?… Oh, alright. I'm coming… Solir."
She quickly adjusted her bag on her shoulder, her expression shifting to one of focus and determination. Without another word, she started heading toward the source of the call.
Milo watched her as she left.
"Did she just say Solir…?" he muttered to himself.
He shook his head quickly.
"I need to focus now."
With that, he stepped through the door, leaving the fading sunlight behind him.
Milo stepped inside and approached the girl at the counter.
"Can you give me the key, please?" he asked.
She handed it over without hesitation.
With the key in hand, Milo made his way to the training courtyard. The space was buzzing with activity. Some people were chatting casually, others were observing the training halls, their eyes following the movements of those sparring inside. Milo paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The atmosphere was charged, a mix of anticipation and quiet tension.
Suddenly, Milo looked ahead and froze.
She was standing right in front of him.
Celestine.
Her presence was calm yet commanding, her gaze steady and piercing. Milo's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected to see her here. For a moment, the noise of the training courtyard faded, leaving only the sharp clarity of her presence.
Celestine held a cigarette, standing confidently in front of Milo. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke, letting it curl in the air as her sharp eyes met his. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.
"Ah… we meet again, little Arthur…" she said, her voice calm but teasing.
Her long hair, a deep black with faint violet highlights that shimmered under the light, was neatly tied back this time, emphasizing the elegance of her posture. She wore a tailored coat over her outfit, paired with high heels that added to her commanding presence. Every movement was deliberate, radiating confidence and control.
Celestine muttered to herself, the faint curl of smoke still lingering in the air as Milo stood frozen, stunned by her sudden appearance.
"Ah… I remembered, I shouldn't be smoking here," she whispered, flicking the cigarette to the ground.
"Who cares? No one saw me anyway…" she added, glancing up at Milo with a playful glint in her eyes.
"Well then… what are you doing here, you naughty one?" she said, her voice teasing, yet carrying a sharp undertone that hinted she was fully aware of his presence.
Milo stammered, his voice tense, saying only one word:
"Father…"
Celestine's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him.
"What?" she asked, tilting her head with a curious calmness.
Milo's gaze hardened, a mix of suspicion and determination in his eyes.
"How… how did you know my father's name? And how did you know I'm his son?"
Celestine raised her hands slightly toward him, as if to clarify the situation.
"Calm down. Everyone knows about your father here… and I'm one of them."
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a card.
"Look."
Milo took the card, reading it carefully. On it was her name, her title, and her position in the Guild Agency. It clearly indicated that she worked here, overseeing the monitoring of trainees and external threats.
Milo handed the card back to her, still wary.
"Aren't you supposed to be working right now?" he asked, suspicion still in his tone.
Celestine replied calmly, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Well… my deputy is handling my duties at the moment. I'm currently occupied with another task."
Celestine slid her hands into her coat pockets and took a few calm steps toward him.
"My late friend's daughter asked me to help a boy who got into some trouble," she said softly, her voice measured. "He might now be considered a target by the strongest gang in Novara… the Talented."
Her eyes never left Milo, sharp and observant, as if weighing his every reaction.
Milo paused, reviewing her words, and realized she was talking about him.
"Do you mean…" he started.
Celestine interrupted, stepping closer and placing her hand lightly on his head, stopping him mid-sentence.
"Yes," she said calmly, "I mean you."
Her gaze held his, steady and unwavering.
Milo took a small step back, keeping his guard up.
"How…? And why would you even want to help me?" he asked, a mix of confusion and suspicion in his voice.
She looked at him, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"Ah… you don't trust me, do you? That's understandable…"
She grabbed the left side of her coat and shifted it slightly, revealing her figure in a more striking and alluring way. Then, she took her phone from her inner pocket and straightened the coat back into place.
At that moment, Milo stole a quick glance at her figure, his eyes dropping slightly in embarrassment.
Celestine picked up her phone and dialed a number. A voice answered.
"Ah… hello, Celestine…"
Milo froze, recognizing the voice immediately it was his sister, Melina.
Celestine handed the phone to him. Milo took it and answered.
"Melina… it's me…"
Melina spoke from Celestine's phone, while Celestine remained busy with her work.
"Oh, Milo… you're with Celestine."
Milo's eyes narrowed as he replied,
"Do you know her? Did you tell her anything about me?"
Melina hesitated, then said,
"Uh… well… yes, I told her to watch over you… not to spy, just to make sure you're safe… I thought you might get hurt…"
Milo immediately ended the call, letting the phone drop to the ground.
Celestine picked up the phone.
"Whoa, boy… you could have broken it!" she said.
When she lifted her head, Milo was gone.
"W-what!? He was just here…" she muttered.
"Oh… you're smarter than I thought," she added with a small smirk.
Celestine closed her eyes, sensing Milo's faint energy.
He hasn't gone far… I'll catch up to him.
As she took a step forward, the loudspeaker in the agency blared:
"Someone is skipping work! Name: Celestine."
Celestine froze, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
"Damn… that girl is watching me…" she muttered.
"I have to get going… need to finish my work…"
Milo walked slowly, a hint of sadness on his face.
"Am I still… weak?" he whispered.
A voice echoed inside his mind:
"But you are weak. You almost lost if it weren't for Celestine's help.
You're not strong enough.
You won't join any guild.
You're not at your father's level… not at your age."
Milo stopped and muttered in a low, tense voice:
"Damn it… shut up, me…"
As the hours passed, the courtyard slowly surrendered to the evening. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of deep orange and purple. Shadows stretched long and dark across the cobblestones, merging with the dim glow of the fountain's water. The air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of ivy and wet stone. Milo stood silently, the quiet of the place amplifying his thoughts, his own heartbeat sounding unusually loud against the hush of the night. Somewhere, a soft rustle of leaves whispered, as if the courtyard itself was alive, observing him.
Milo kept walking, his steps echoing softly on the quiet streets. He checked his phone and noticed a few calls from his sister but didn't answer them. The streets were mostly empty now, shadows stretching under the faint glow of street lamps. He arrived at a vacant spot in a middle-class district of Novara. Though the buildings here were modest, the area was protected by the city's barrier, so any disturbance would be immediately detected. The air was calm, with a faint scent of stone and distant food markets, but Milo felt the weight of isolation pressing around him, a perfect place to think… or to train.
Milo stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
"Oh… you're still following me."
Behind him, Raiza drew her katana from its sheath with a smooth, deliberate motion. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim evening light, and the soft hiss of the blade slicing through the air sent a shiver down Milo's spine. The street seemed narrower now, shadows stretching around them, and the quiet hum of the city faded into the tense silence between them.
A faint, almost amused smile played on her lips, as if she had been expecting him all along. "Hmm… so you knew I was following you," she murmured, her voice low but cutting through the silence like a blade.
The alley seemed to shrink around her presence, her aura radiating calm danger. Milo could feel the weight of her gaze, the certainty in her stance, and the deadly promise in her tone.
"This time," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly, "no one will come to save you."
Her hair danced in the wind, the red streaks catching the fading light, and Milo realized that every movement, every detail of her appearance, screamed lethal precision and unyielding strength.
Milo stood still, calm, his dark brown hair swaying slightly with the wind. His eyes locked onto Raiza, a mixture of anger and disdain flickering within them.
"You're alone this time," he murmured, tightening his fists, pointing them subtly in her direction. "I didn't train today… so you'll be my training session."
Raiza's sharp eyes caught the glint of fury in his gaze. She tilted her head slightly, murmuring to herself, curiosity and caution mingling in her tone:
"Strange… he was usually calm when I first fought him."
The narrow alley seemed to hold its breath, as if anticipating the clash between them. The tension between them crackled, the wind tugging at their hair and clothes, adding a raw energy to the confrontation.
Milo sprinted forward, his feet pounding the cobblestones, energy crackling faintly around his fists. He swung his arm back, then leapt into the air, aiming a powerful punch straight at Raiza.
Raiza, calm and focused, met his attack instantly. Her crimson sword rose, intercepting Milo's punch with a sharp, ringing clash. Sparks flew, and the force of the strike sent a ripple through the air, yet Raiza barely shifted her stance, her eyes cold and unyielding.
Raiza raised her sword, pushing Milo's hand aside with precision. She swung a quick, sharp strike toward him, but Milo ducked instinctively and leapt back, landing two small jumps on the tips of his toes.
He pivoted to the right in a half-circle, his energy flaring around him like a blazing aura. He swung a powerful kick toward Raiza, which she blocked effortlessly with her hand.
Without hesitation, Raiza thrust her sword forward, aiming to strike Milo directly. But he twisted mid-air, spinning gracefully, then lifted his leg high and brought it down rapidly toward her head.
Raiza met the second kick with her sword again, the clash echoing through the narrow street. Sparks flew with each strike, the intensity of their battle lighting up the dark alley as if the cobblestones themselves were trembling from the force.
Milo stepped back from her again, his eyes still burning with that agitated intensity.
Raiza whispered to herself, evaluating the situation with cold logic:
"No doubt… Novara's protection system has already detected our fight. We're in the middle-class zone after all. But… it hasn't reacted yet."
She glanced at Milo—he was rolling his shoulders, loosening his wrists, warming up like a predator preparing for a second hunt.
"Good… I'll use this to my advantage," she thought, her expression sharpening. "I'll beat him quickly and drag him straight to Tavian's estate."
Raiza then raised her voice, aiming for Milo's pride, her words sharp like her blade:
"Even if you're angry, even if you're worked up… your strength and speed are still far too weak to even make me laugh."
Milo froze mid‑warmup.
Then, slowly… a strange smile curled on his lips.calm, unsettling, completely different from earlier.
Milo lifted his head, eyes sharp and cold.
"I won't deny… you really provoked me. But I'm not in the mood to even react to your taunts."
With that, he surged forward at incredible speed.
Raiza's eyes widened in surprise—but then a small, confident smile played on her lips.
"Hasty, boy… attacking so quickly," she muttered, swinging her sword toward his neck.
Milo lowered his body with astonishing agility. Raiza froze for a split second, caught off guard.
He clenched his fist, and with explosive force, struck her in the stomach.
Raiza cried out, a sharp pain ripping through her midsection, saliva escaping her mouth. She clutched her stomach with her left hand while holding her sword tightly in the other.
Milo didn't stop. With a swift motion, he slammed his right palm into her stomach again, sending her flying backward. She hit the ground hard, rolling slightly before coming to a stop, gasping from the impact.
Milo stood upright, shoulders steady, his gaze locked on her with a calm intensity that didn't match the chaos of moments before.
He didn't move a single step… only his eyes followed her as she struggled to rise.
Raiza planted the tip of her sword into the ground, leaning on it as she lifted herself slowly, then coughed forcefully, a thin trickle of blood slipping from the corner of her mouth.
She wiped it away with the back of her hand, staring at him with anger… yet in her eyes, there was undeniable acknowledgment of his strength.
She raised her head toward him and spoke in a harsh tone, half anger, half acceptance:
"I see that now you are serious… and want to defeat me, boy."
Her words trembled slightly, but a faint smile despite the pain curved her lips, as if she had finally found the fight she had been searching for.
Raiza lifted her sword high into the sky, her crimson energy surging and radiating like a burning red flame refusing to be extinguished.
Every strand of her black hair, streaked with red, fluttered in the wind, as if the air itself was alive and joining her in this charged moment.
Milo stood ready, fists clenched tightly, his body coiled for any attack. His eyes gleamed with focus and caution, every muscle tense, waiting for the decisive moment.
The narrow street of Novara sank deeper into shadow, the crumbling buildings looming like silent witnesses, the air thick with tension and energy, as if the entire world around them held its breath, anticipating the imminent clash.