The morning sun over the town of Nairn was different from the Royal Capital. In the Capital, the light filtered through high stone spires and reflected off the polished armor of the Magic Knights, feeling cold and distant. In Nairn, the sun felt tangible, warming the muddy streets, the thatched roofs, and the bustling market stalls where commoners haggled over the price of turnips and firewood.
Lencar sat at a corner table in a small, weathered eatery known as "The Rusty Spoon." It was a local spot, the kind of place where the tables were sticky with years of spilled ale and the air smelled permanently of frying grease and baking bread. It was loud, chaotic, and utterly irrelevant to the grand schemes of the Clover Kingdom.
It was perfect.
Lencar took a sip of water from a cracked wooden cup. He was dressed in his plainest tunic, his hood down, revealing his unremarkable face. He had adjusted his posture to slump slightly—the universal body language of a young man who had tried to touch the sun and burned his fingers.
Objective: Secure a long-term base of operations.
Through the kitchen doors, a blur of red hair moved with frantic energy. Rebecca Scarlet was currently balancing three plates of steaming stew on one arm while dragging a sack of flour with her foot.
"Coming! Coming! Table four, hold your horses!" she yelled, her voice a mix of cheerfulness and exhaustion.
Lencar observed her. She was roughly his physical age, perhaps a year younger, but she carried the weight of a parent. Around her legs, two small children—her younger siblings, Marco and Luca—were playing tag, weaving dangerously close to the customers' legs.
"Marco! Luca! Not in the dining area!" Rebecca scolded without looking down, expertly dodging a toddler while placing a bowl of soup in front of a burly woodcutter.
She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and turned toward Lencar's table. She hurried over, looking flustered.
"I am so sorry for the wait!" Rebecca said, placing a plate of bread and stew in front of him. "The morning rush is crazy today, and my brother knocked over the salt, and—"
She stopped.
She looked at Lencar. Really looked at him.
Lencar met her gaze with a polite, tired smile. "It's fine, Miss. I'm in no rush."
Rebecca's eyes widened slightly. She tilted her head, a flash of recognition crossing her features. "Wait... I know you. I saw you."
Lencar raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
"In the Capital!" Rebecca pointed a finger, then realized it was rude and retracted it. "A few days ago. I went to the capital to deliver some special pastries for the festival. I saw the group of mages marching toward the Colosseum for the Entrance Exam. You were there. In the back. You were wearing that same cloak."
Lencar looked down at his stew, his smile fading into a look of quiet resignation. "Ah. You have a sharp memory."
Rebecca's face lit up with curiosity. "So? How did it go? Which squad did you get into? The exam is super hard, right? I heard only monsters get into the Magic Knights!"
Lencar didn't answer immediately. He picked up his spoon and stirred the stew slowly. He let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable, but not rude.
"I didn't," Lencar said softly.
"You didn't what?"
"I didn't get in," Lencar said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. He projected an aura of deep, swallowed shame. "No Captain raised their hand. I was rejected."
The excitement vanished from Rebecca's face instantly. She brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh... oh my god. I am so sorry! I shouldn't have asked! That was so insensitive of me!"
She looked genuinely mortified. Her face turned a shade of pink that matched her hair.
Lencar shook his head gently. "Don't apologize. It's the truth. I wasn't strong enough. That's simply how the world works."
"So..." Rebecca hesitated, her voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper. "Are you... heading back home now? To your village?"
Lencar sighed. This was the pivot point.
"No," he said, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "I can't go back yet."
"Why not?"
"My village... it's poor. Poorer than here," Lencar lied seamlessly. "My parents spent their life savings to send me to the capital. They believed in me. If I go back now, a failure, with empty pockets... I don't think I could face them. I need to earn back what they spent. I need to send money home."
He looked at her with determined, desperate eyes. "I'm looking for work. Any work. I don't care if it's cleaning stables or washing dishes. I just need to support my family."
Rebecca stared at him. The word "family" seemed to resonate within her like a struck bell. She looked at her own siblings running around the shop. She knew exactly what that pressure felt like—the crushing, driving need to provide for the people who depended on you.
"You... you want to work?" Rebecca asked.
"Desperately," Lencar nodded. "Do you know anyone in Nairn hiring? I'm strong, I'm fast, and I don't complain."
Rebecca bit her lip, thinking. Then, she slammed her hand down on the table, startling Lencar (mostly theatrically).
"Wait here!"
She spun around and marched into the kitchen. Lencar heard a heated conversation involving the words "understaffed," "cheap labor," and "he looks honest."
Five minutes later, a large, sweating man with a grease-stained apron came out. He looked Lencar up and down.
"Rebecca says you're a mage who needs work?" the owner grunted.
"I failed the exam, sir," Lencar stood up respectfully. "But I can work."
"Can you wash dishes? Can you chop vegetables without cutting your fingers off? Can you handle screaming kids?"
Lencar nodded to each question. "Yes. Yes. And yes."
The owner huffed. "Fine. Rebecca keeps complaining she can't watch the brats and serve tables at the same time. I'll give you a trial run. Minimal wage, but you get lunch."
Lencar bowed. "Thank you. You won't regret it."
"Hey," Rebecca popped up from behind the owner, beaming. "And... about a place to stay. If you really are broke... we have a spare room at my house. It's small, and it's loud because of the kids, but... if you help me watch them sometimes, you can stay there until you get on your feet."
Lencar looked at her. It was almost too easy. Her kindness was a gaping security flaw, but for him, it was a sanctuary.
"I don't know what to say," Lencar said, putting a hand on his chest. "Thank you, Rebecca. I'm Lencar."
"I'm Rebecca! And those terrors," she pointed to the kids, "are the reason I'm always tired. Now, put on an apron, Lencar! Lunch rush isn't over!"
For the next six hours, Lencar Abarame, the man who possessed the potential to shatter the laws of magic, washed dishes.
He did it with the same efficiency he applied to combat. He optimized the soap usage. He stacked the plates in geometric patterns to maximize drying speed. He moved through the kitchen like a phantom, anticipating Rebecca's needs before she even voiced them.
"Order up!"
"Dishes clear."
"Table six needs water."
"Already done."
Rebecca paused in the middle of the rush, holding a tray. She looked at the spotless sink, then at Lencar, who was currently peeling potatoes at inhuman speed.
"Wow," she breathed. "You're... really good at this."
"Work is work," Lencar said, not breaking his rhythm. "Efficiency is key."
By the time the sun set, the owner was grinning. "Kid, you're a machine. You're hired. See you tomorrow at dawn."
Lencar took off the apron. He felt a strange kind of fatigue—not mana exhaustion, but physical repetition. It was grounding.
"Ready to go?" Rebecca asked, holding a sleeping baby in one arm and dragging a tired toddler with the other.
"Lead the way," Lencar said, taking the hand of the teenager (Luca) without hesitation.
Rebecca smiled, tired but grateful. "Welcome to the Scarlet household, Lencar. Warning: It's about to get chaotic."