The streets of the capital were busier than usual that morning. Lencar walked through the narrow lanes with measured steps, his cloak drawn tight against the wind. The market smelled of baked bread, herbs, and roasted meat — a scent he'd grown to appreciate since moving to Rebecca's town.
Rebecca had told him once, half-jokingly, that she wanted to open a small restaurant one day.
"Not something big," she'd said, laughing. "Just a cozy place where everyone feels like they belong. A home that smells of warm food."
At the time, Lencar had only nodded. But now, that idea had become something more.
He stopped in front of a quiet building near the market square.
Its wooden sign was faded, the shutters half-broken, and the faint smell of dust lingered in the air. But the structure was solid — and the location was perfect.
The owner, an older man with gray hair and tired eyes, looked at Lencar curiously.
"You're really planning to buy this place?" he asked. "It's been empty for years. The last owner couldn't keep it running."
Lencar nodded. "Yes. I'll pay in gold. Fifty thousand Jule, upfront."
The man blinked in shock. "That's… more than it's worth."
"It's not about the price," Lencar said simply, handing over a heavy pouch. "It's about opportunity."
The man hesitated, then nodded slowly, shaking Lencar's hand. "Then it's yours."
Later that day…
Rebecca stood in front of the old restaurant, her eyes wide.
"L-Lencar… what is this?"
He handed her a document — the ownership deed.
"The restaurant. It's in your and my parents' names — half each. You'll run it together."
She froze, staring at the paper. "Wait. You… bought this? But why?"
"Didn't you say this was your dream?" Lencar asked quietly. "A place where you could cook for others… build something that's yours?"
Rebecca blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. "I… I said that months ago. I didn't think you remembered."
"I remember everything that matters."
His tone was calm, but there was warmth behind it — not affection exactly, but a quiet understanding.
She stared at him, unsure what to say. "You… you're unbelievable."
"So I've been told." Lencar looked around the dusty room. "It needs cleaning. Renovation. A new stove, tables, rune lighting."
Rebecca laughed, tears threatening to spill. "You sound like you're planning to open it tomorrow."
"Three weeks," he corrected. "We'll take our time. Quality over speed."
She frowned slightly, studying him. "You really think this can work?"
"I know it will." He turned to face her. "Because you'll make it work."
The next few days…
Lencar rarely spoke about himself. To Rebecca and her siblings, he was just the quiet, reliable researcher who lived with them — always calm, always helpful, always reading strange books about mana and runes.
They didn't know he'd walked through dungeons and fought living weapons.
They didn't know he'd faced Mars in a battle that shook the earth.
To them, he was just Lencar — the kind man who fixed furniture with a flick of mana and told bedtime stories when Rebecca was too tired.
He preferred it that way.
Every morning, he helped her carry supplies. He taught her younger siblings how to draw simple runes that made bread rise evenly. He tested mana-stabilized stoves in secret, making sure they'd never overheat or explode.
Rebecca, watching him from across the counter one evening, smiled faintly.
"You really do know everything, huh?"
"Not everything," he replied, adjusting a rune circuit on the wall. "Just enough to make things work."
She folded her arms. "You act like some old scholar, but you move like someone who's been through wars."
He paused for a moment, then said softly, "Experience is just survival repeated often enough."
Rebecca didn't quite understand what he meant — and maybe that was for the best.