Late afternoon, the wind felt heavier than usual, carrying with it a pressure that did not quite belong to the season itself. Only about a month remained before the new season arrived, yet the air already felt different, as if it had quietly begun to forget warmth. It seemed denser, slower in its movement, and even the sun struggled more than usual to bring comfort to the ground below. Change was coming, and Hanabi could already feel the weight of the stress it would bring settling somewhere within him, quiet but persistent.
Funny how a single incident could change a person. Hanabi remembered the market incident clearly, almost too clearly. Before that, he had begged for change just to get a little, completed minor chores, or performed small tasks that carried no meaning beyond survival. But ever since he took the pouch, everything had shifted in ways he still did not fully understand. He found treasure, discovered magical items, and learned magic itself. The transformation had been gradual enough that he could not even remember the last time he had acted as a beggar. Now, he took only what he needed from the treasury and that alone was enough to sustain him.
His training progressed steadily, though slowly, and while he could feel himself improving, the progress never felt complete or satisfying. He did not know how long he should continue, nor what point he was truly aiming for, but he could sense that he had not yet reached a satisfactory level. Today, however, felt different. A lingering pain from his near-daily practice pressed on him more than usual, forcing him to pause and instead read through magic articles, as though even thinking about energy felt safer than using it. Even a simple controlled release of power left him weary in a way that felt heavier than physical exhaustion.
As the day wore on, the air grew colder, the wind stronger, and the sun's warmth slowly faded behind gathering clouds. Summer's lingering heat gave way to an early chill that crept in quietly, unnoticed until it was already present. Hanabi would miss the season, it had given him freedom, time, and countless memories that did not feel hollow. A faint smile formed on his lips as he listened to the steady beat of his heart, grounding himself in that small certainty, though the silence around him felt almost deafening. The wind continued to rustle the grasses, yet everything felt too quiet, too distant, as if the world itself had slightly pulled away from him. He could even hear his own breath more clearly than usual, as though the space around him had tightened without reason.
A strange unease began to rise within him. His surroundings felt off, not visibly changed, but fundamentally different in a way his instincts could not ignore. Each passing second deepened that feeling, growing into something ominous and familiar at the same time, though he could not explain why.
"Hello, brat."
A masked man appeared behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder without warning. The moment it touched him, a dangerous intent radiated from the man, pressing into Hanabi in a way that made his body weaken instinctively, as though his strength had been slightly stolen. He instinctively stepped back, distancing himself without thinking.
"Don't scare the kid too much," another voice said, and a figure manifested in the distance behind him, as if he had always been there and only now chose to be seen.
One by one, more appeared in the same manner, each revealing themselves from a presence that had been hidden moments before. From afar, Hanabi noticed one of them holding a glowing item, and his instincts immediately told him it was a magic tool meant to conceal their presence, masking not only their bodies but even their intent.
"We should not be confident against that kid," said a woman in a mask, her voice calm but carrying quiet caution.
Thirteen masked figures now surrounded Hanabi, clad in full-body dark-gray suits that concealed everything except their eyes. Four of them wore noticeably different attire, and even without understanding why, Hanabi could feel that distinction carried meaning.
The moment they fully revealed themselves, the danger radiating from them froze Hanabi in place, not through fear alone, but through sheer pressure that his body could not immediately interpret.
"Why? It's just a kid. And it's not the first time we've done this," the first man argued, almost dismissively.
"That kid sensed something was wrong even before you approached him," the masked woman replied.
Among the thirteen, nine seemed to be mere subordinates, forming a loose perimeter while the four continued their discussion.
"In that case, tie him up as a precaution," suggested a man wielding a medium-sized sword.
"Okay! But I don't understand why you're so cautious over a single child," the first man muttered, clearly unconvinced.
Hanabi's training, manifest, control, conceal, and spread surfaced in his mind. Once these four aspects were enforced simultaneously in a single instant, they formed a pure magical energy shockwave: not lethal, but capable of disrupting senses for a few seconds and interfering with raw detection magic. He did not yet have full control over it, not even close, but the situation left him no room for hesitation.
The first man approached with a rope in hand. "Don't resist, kid, if you know what's good for you."
Even though one of them had warned against underestimating him, it was clear they all had. Hanabi understood the situation with quiet clarity. He had only two options: submit and pray, or resist and pray. There was no favorable outcome in submission. Gathering what little resolve he could, he planted his feet firmly, bent his knees slightly, positioned his fists near his chest, and lowered his gaze as he focused inward. Then, with a controlled exhale, he thrust his palms outward, releasing his transparent magic.
The attackers froze for a split second too late. The shockwave hit them, disrupting their balance and senses, causing several of them to collapse in disorientation.
Hanabi did not waste that moment. He ran toward the market immediately, his magic draining a significant portion of his energy in a way that made his body feel noticeably lighter and weaker. His legs were fragile, unsteady, so he forced himself to remain calm, pacing his escape step by step.
One man scrambled to his feet, brandishing his sword to block Hanabi's path, but even his movements were unsteady, as though his balance had not fully returned. Hanabi remembered a dream, one he could not clearly explain that gave him a strange, instinctive idea.
Charging forward without hesitation, he closed the distance. As the man reached him, Hanabi struck a precise blow to his loin. The masked man groaned in pain, dropped his sword, and knelt instinctively. Hanabi seized the weapon without delay and, without giving himself time to think, struck him across the ear, knocking him unconscious.
No time to relax. Adrenaline surged through him as his consciousness wavered under strain.
The remaining conscious attackers began to recover, though their knees were still weakened from the shockwave. They could only take a few unsteady steps before collapsing again. Hanabi focused on regaining control of his breathing, forcing calm into his movements while maintaining awareness of his surroundings.
From a distance, murderous intent flared sharply. Hanabi saw a fire spell charging toward him at high speed. It grazed him briefly, scorching the ground and leaving a burning trail behind. Though it missed, the heat seared his skin, and the dust kicked up by the impact provided only a fleeting moment of cover.
The ground itself quaked violently. Hanabi lost his balance and fell, his body hitting the dirt before he could recover. Before he could fully react, a force struck him in the stomach, launching him toward the trees and draining what little strength remained in his body. Then, grasses and plants grew unnaturally around him, blanketing him and pinning him in place with unnatural force.
Minutes later, the attackers had regrouped, still recovering from Hanabi's disruptive shockwave.
"YOU MOTHERLESS PEASANT!" the first man yelled, swinging at him.
"STOP!" the masked woman intervened, Hanabi recognized her as the third voice from before.
He focused despite his condition, noticing distinctions among the four leaders. Each wore a colored belt: blue for the first man, red for the woman, black for the sword-wielder, and white for the silent but dangerous fourth. Hanabi could even sense the energy being used to forcefully grow the plants around him.
"Why?!" the blue-belted man demanded.
"He's proven his value. We can sell him for a high price," the red-belted woman replied calmly.
The blue-belted man had more complaints but eventually held his tongue and complied.
Knowing his potential fate, Hanabi struggled against the plant bindings, trying to free himself even as his strength continued to fade.
"That act is meaningless," said the white-belted man, who had been mostly silent. "These plants carry a toxin that will soon paralyze you." He removed the plants, which withered and died in a small radius as if their life had been cut off.
Hanabi felt the paralysis creep in immediately, spreading through his body and leaving him only able to watch.
"Your medium is as formidable as ever," the blue-belted man commented.
"How long will the toxin last?" the black-belted man asked.
"Twelve hours, or so," came the reply.
"Good. Tie him with a rope," the black-belted man ordered.
"Are we selling him immediately?" someone asked.
"No," came the cold answer. "He might know something about what happened to my brother."