The night had settled over Mondstadt like a velvet curtain, its indigo depths pierced by the twinkle of stars and the soft glow of lanterns swaying along the cobblestone streets. Within Galehaven Comics, the shop hummed with a fading warmth, its narrow confines bathed in the flicker of a single lantern hanging from the ceiling, its golden light dancing across the hardwood floor and spilling over the cluttered shelves. The air carried the earthy scent of aged paper, the faint floral steam of dandelion tea cooling on Harlan Flint's stove, a lingering sweetness mingling with the sharp tang of Mapo Tofu's spice, its memory a ghost on the counter. The walls loomed with teetering stacks of comics, their colorful spines whispering of worlds unclaimed, while posters—Yu-Gi-Oh's Blue-Eyes glaring, Digimon's Agumon peeling at the edges—curled faintly in the draft, their edges frayed by time and wonder.
Harlan leaned against the counter, his dark jacket slung over his chair, a half-empty teacup cradled in his hands as he watched the last of his evening customers shuffle out, their voices a fading murmur of envy and resolve. Three newcomers—dusty cloaks, weary eyes—had lingered over One Piece and Sakura, their comics a shield against the Mapo Tofu's torment, its golden glow and numbing scent a cruel tease they couldn't taste. "Next time—empty stomach," one grumbled, his voice a low growl as he clutched his reward—a skate deck from Sakura—his boots scuffing the floor as he led the trio out. "Smell's torture—gotta try that Little Master tomorrow," another muttered, her pouch of Mora lighter by 100,000, her hands empty of food but full of resolve as they vanished into the alley's gloom, their silhouettes swallowed by Mondstadt's night.
Harlan's grin softened, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement as he sipped his tea, the shop settling into a hush—Klee's giggles and Barbara's cheers a fading echo, their Mapo feast a memory that warmed his chest. The counter gleamed faintly, its surface wiped clean of rice and spice, the dish's bliss a lingering thrill on his tongue—spicy, fragrant, a masterpiece Liu Maoxing's hands had wrought, a taste beyond Teyvat's reach. Klee's voice rang in his mind—"So yummy! Klee wants it every day!"—her wide eyes glistening with a child's hunger, her red hat bobbing as she'd scooped another bite, her Pyro soul alight with glee. Barbara had nodded, her curls swaying as she'd chimed, "Endless flavor—best ever," her blue eyes soft with wonder, her healer's heart savoring the shared joy.
"Then come back—read Little Master daily, might score it again," Harlan had teased, his grin widening as Klee's hat bounced, her voice a cannon blast of vow—"Every day, big brother!" Barbara's laugh had followed, her tone bright with agreement—"We're hooked—comics and food, can't stay away!"—their farewell a promise as they'd stepped into the dusk, Nyaromon purring in Barbara's arms, Klee skipping at her side. Harlan's gaze drifted to the system panel, its glow a quiet hum in his mind—[Host: Harlan Flint. Comics: One Piece: East Blue, Cardcaptor Sakura, Digimon: First Frontier, Chuunibyou Demo Koi ga Shitai!, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Little Master. Task 1: 13/10 customers, 1 draw available. Task 2: 29/30 customers for exclusive reward]. "One short—damn close," he muttered, his grin faltering into a wry twist, his hazel eyes narrowing at the near-miss, the day's bustle a tease against his goal.
"Forget it—draw time," he said, his voice a quiet command as he leaned back, the system flaring to life—[Drawing… Extracted: This Hero Is Obviously Super Strong But Overly Cautious]]. [Synopsis: Goddess Ristarte summons Ryuuguuin Seiya to save a doomed world. Unmatched power, absurd caution—stockpiles gear, trains to max level, obliterates slimes with full force. A prudent odyssey unfolds.] Harlan's brows shot up, a chuckle escaping as he sank into his chair, his tea forgotten. "Seiya—paranoid powerhouse," he thought, his mind flashing to the manga's quirks—armor stacked to the ceiling, push-ups in a locked room, a slime blasted with apocalyptic might—a hero whose caution rivaled a fortress, a tale that twisted the trope of reckless bravery into a knot of hilarious dread.
"Different vibe—slow burn, not invincible rush," he mused, his hazel eyes glinting with intrigue as he hefted the new comic, its cover a splash of Seiya's stern glare, Ristarte's exasperated pout, a promise of chaos born from care. He slid it onto the shelf, its spine a bold slash among the others, his grin widening as he pictured Mondstadt's reaction—Knights hoarding potions, adventurers triple-checking traps, a cautious craze sparked by Galehaven's whimsy. "One more customer—come on," he murmured, his voice a quiet plea as he settled back, his tea cooling as he watched the door, the night's stillness a canvas for his hopes.
Beyond Mondstadt's walls, the Whispering Woods rustled under a shroud of shadow, its ancient trees swaying in the night wind, their leaves a chorus of secrets against the cliffs' loom. A flicker of blue pierced the gloom—an Abyss Mage, its robes swirling with Hydro's shimmer, its staff clutched tight as it floated above the undergrowth, its voice a low mutter of resolve. "Her Highness demands intel—silver dragons, blood kin—no delays," it hissed, its masked face tilting toward the city's distant glow, its mission a thread from the Abyss Order's depths, Sora's cold command a weight on its ethereal form.
It had darted from the Order's lair without rest, its Hydro bubble a shield against the wilds—hilichurls scattering, wolves retreating—a tireless servant of Teyvat's shadows, its loyalty a flame that burned through fatigue. "Night's cover—perfect strike," it thought, its staff pulsing with a faint hum as it drifted closer, the city's walls a silhouette against the stars, its gates a challenge it'd slip through. "No mistakes—Her Highness won't forgive failure," it muttered, its voice a ripple of dread as it pictured Sora's wrath—eyes like ice, a verdict swift and final—a spur that drove it onward, its blue form a ghost in the woods' embrace.
Back in Galehaven, the lantern's glow wavered as the door creaked open, a gust of night air sweeping in with a cloaked figure—hood low, boots muddy, a pouch of Mora clinking at their hip. "Boss—still open?" they called, their voice a rough rasp as they stepped inside, their eyes glinting with a traveler's weariness, their cloak patched from Teyvat's roads. Harlan straightened, his grin snapping back as he set his tea down, his hazel eyes alight with triumph. "Just for you—100,000 Mora, one read. Shelves are yours," he said, his tone a warm lure as the system pinged—[30/30 customers]—its chime a victory in his mind, the exclusive reward a pulse of promise.
The traveler nodded, their Mora clinking as they handed it over, their hands snagging This Hero Is Obviously Super Strong But Overly Cautious with a grunt of curiosity—"Weird title"—before sinking into a chair, its wood creaking under their weight. Harlan watched, his grin widening as they flipped the first page, Seiya's glare a spark in the lantern's glow. "Perfect—task done," he thought, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned back, the shop's hum a quiet thrill—Klee's feast, Barbara's songs, a cautious hero's tale—a night of chaos crowned by shadow's edge.
Outside, the Abyss Mage hovered at Mondstadt's gates, its Hydro bubble shimmering as it slipped past the drowsy guards, their lanterns dim against its stealth. The city sprawled before it—rooftops glinting, streets winding, Galehaven's faint glow a beacon in the dusk. "Information—then out," it hissed, its staff pulsing as it drifted deeper, its mission a thread of peril in Mondstadt's night, a shadow Galehaven's light would soon meet.
***
Support me on Patreon to read 50+ advanced chapters: patreon.com/Nocturnal_Breeze