Morning light spilled over the stone streets of Kiten, warm and golden, as the final touches were made on the front entrance of the newly restored restaurant.
Not "Home Hearth" anymore.
Rebecca stood outside with a nervous smile, staring up at the freshly carved sign that Lencar had quietly shaped from earth magic in the dead of night:
"Scarlet Hearth."
Her fingers brushed the letters with awe. The wood was smooth, polished, warm to the touch.
She turned to Lencar, who stood beside her, cloak neat, expression neutral as ever.
"…You carved this," she whispered.
"Yes," he said simply.
"It's beautiful."
He didn't reply — but Rebecca thought she saw the faintest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
Behind them, the door creaked open as her younger siblings peeked out, excitement bubbling in their voices.
"Is it really today?!"
"People are coming, right?"
"Rebecca, can I stand near the kitchen? I want to see!"
Rebecca laughed softly. "Calm down, all of you. And yes — today is the opening."
She glanced at Lencar again, gratitude shimmering in her expression.
He nodded once.
"Let's begin."
Word traveled fast in small towns.
By noon, a crowd had gathered outside the newly opened Scarlet Hearth — curious townsfolk, merchants, traveling adventurers who followed their noses toward unfamiliar scents drifting from the kitchen.
Rebecca moved between tables with a bright, focused smile.
"Please try our ginger roast!"
"And don't miss the herb-salt stew!"
The siblings helped as best they could — one carrying water, another seating guests, the youngest handing out menus with proud determination.
People laughed, praised, ate, and filled the space with warmth.
But behind the counter, hidden in the shadows cast by the shelves, stood Lencar.
Quiet. Watching. Calculating.
He had prepared nearly half the dishes offered today himself — not through magic, but from memories of his previous life. The spices, the balance, the heat — all blended precisely.
To the crowd, he was merely a helpful, silent partner.
To Rebecca, he was the reliable researcher who always seemed calm.
But beneath this calm façade, another layer of thought churned.
Mana flow is unusually dense around this district today.
Possibly due to increased magical activity from the patrons? No… inconsistent. More likely residual traces from—
He paused.
Rebecca approached, gently nudging him with her elbow.
"Lencar," she whispered, smiling softly, "stop analyzing the air. Eat something."
He blinked once. "…I wasn't analyzing the air."
"You were. I can tell."
She set a plate in front of him — lightly glazed stir-fried vegetables, one of the first recipes he had recreated in this world.
"Try it," she insisted.
He obeyed, mostly because it seemed expected.
Rebecca's joy was subtle but radiant.
On the surface, everything looked normal — a quiet restaurant, smiling children, a grateful young woman fulfilling her dream.
But beneath their feet, in the underground section Lencar had also created with careful earth and space manipulation the previous night, a far darker purpose thrummed.
A sealed stone chamber — hidden behind layered mana barriers — held:
• his research into magic runes
• the notes taken from Dominante
• the ancient spell diagrams from the treasury
• scrap crystal fragments from his fight with Mars
• blank spell pages
• and an incomplete reconstruction of a new composite formula
The chamber pulsed faintly, reacting to his presence above.
Rebecca didn't know.
The townsfolk didn't suspect.
No one felt the mana fluctuations.
Because Lencar willed them not to.
Whenever he stepped behind the kitchen curtains under the excuse of "checking supplies," he actually descended through a tiny fold in space — silent, seamless — into the chamber below.
There, he scribbled new equations:
> Crystal mana conduction speed — slower than lightning, faster than fire.
If fused with chain magic, possible to form a semi-living binding structure… but unstable.
Then he erased the thought and began again.
After a few minutes, he returned upstairs carrying a basket of vegetables as though nothing happened.
The Scarlet Hearth was overflowing now.
A couple wiped tears from their eyes after tasting the broth.
A group of wandering mages argued over how the dishes were seasoned.
Children begged to come back again tomorrow.
Rebecca stood at the center, overwhelmed but glowing with pride.
"This is… amazing," she whispered to Lencar during a quiet moment. "I never imagined so many people would come."
"You worked hard," he said simply.
She smiled. "…You helped."
A child tugged her sleeve, asking for seconds, and she hurried away.
Lencar watched her for a moment.
Joy motivates people. Good.
She'll maintain this place without suspicion.
The restaurant gave him cover — a perfect one.
No one questioned a quiet researcher who helped at a local eatery.
No one questioned why he sometimes disappeared at night — Rebecca assumed he was studying.
And no one would ever imagine that beneath their feet, Lencar was constructing the foundation of a power system Clover Kingdom had never seen.
The last customers left near sunset.
Rebecca cleaned the tables while her siblings prepared for bed. The warm hum of the lanterns washed over the room like a soft blanket.
"Thank you, Lencar," Rebecca said quietly, almost shy. "For… everything."
"You're welcome," he replied.
She hesitated, then asked:
"Will you stay for dinner? With us?"
He considered the request.
"…Yes."
Her smile bloomed — gentle, relieved, human.
And Lencar sat with them that night, eating Rebecca's simple stew, letting the peaceful moment settle around him.
Even as his mind quietly calculated mana equations and future threats, he found… the warmth wasn't unpleasant.
The Hearth had opened.
Both above — and below.