The school cafeteria was filled with layered noise.
Spoons clinked against plates. Chairs scraped harshly across ceramic tiles. Students' voices blended into one restless tide, like small waves that never stopped rolling. The aroma of warm food—broth soup, fried snacks, freshly steamed rice—hung thick in the air.
Zeydan sat at a table near the cafeteria window.
His charcoal-black jacket remained open, the top buttons undone as usual. He leaned back slightly in his chair, one leg stretched forward while his right elbow rested on the table. His fingers tapped softly against the wooden surface—tak… tak… tak…—waiting for their order.
Across from him, Mireya sat with flawless posture.
Her navy-blue blazer was open at one button. Her white shirt was crisp, without a wrinkle. A navy ribbon tie rested neatly beneath her collar. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. The dark sunglasses still covered her eyes, giving her an air of quiet mystery.
She folded her hands calmly on the table.
"So," Zeydan broke the silence between them. His voice was flat, but curious.
"Why did you ask me to come here? What is this about?"
Mireya tilted her head slightly. A small smile touched her lips.
"I want to discuss the Santara World."
Zeydan raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" He leaned forward slightly. "Where do you want to start?"
Mireya lifted one hand, her fingertips touching the side of her sunglasses—a small habit whenever she was thinking.
"Races," she said softly. "In the Santara World, so far we've discovered three major races—Elf, Furniy, and Goblin."
She tapped the table lightly with her manicured nail.
"In your opinion… is that all?"
Zeydan turned his gaze slightly aside, thinking.
(Ivan's diary…)
He exhaled quietly.
"According to my brother's diary," he said, his tone growing more serious, "there's a high chance there are more races."
Mireya leaned in slightly, giving him her full attention.
"Like?"
"Humans. Dwarves. Spirits. And probably many more that weren't documented."
He shrugged lightly.
"So it's not just those three."
Mireya fell silent for a few seconds.
Behind her sunglasses, she studied Zeydan's face carefully.
(He isn't guessing… he's certain.)
At that moment, a man approached carrying a tray.
His hair was pure white, sharply contrasting with the dark sunglasses covering his eyes. A simple kitchen uniform fit neatly over his body. His movements were calm—too calm for a cafeteria attendant who should normally be rushing.
He placed two plates in front of them without unnecessary sound.
"Your order," he said shortly.
His voice was low. Flat.
Zeydan briefly glanced at his face.
(Is he a student? Or kitchen staff?)
But before he could think further, the man had already turned and walked back toward the kitchen.
Zeydan and Mireya began eating.
The soft rhythm of spoons against plates filled the small space between them. Thin steam rose from their meals.
Several seconds of silence passed.
Then Mireya spoke again.
"If that's the case," she said quietly while stirring her food, "tell me what information you obtained from your brother's diary."
Zeydan stopped chewing. He swallowed slowly.
"Hmmm… information, huh…"
He stared at the table for a moment, as if accessing stored memory.
"I once read about a prehistoric creature in the Santara World called Mamerios."
Mireya lifted her chin slightly.
"Go on."
Zeydan leaned back into his chair. His gaze seemed distant for a moment, but his voice remained steady.
"Mamerios are the ancestors of forest camouflage reptiles. They possess Morpho-Adaptive Cells—a biological structure that allows them to mimic environmental forms."
He moved his hand slowly in the air, illustrating transformation.
"Their evolution wasn't caused by instant magic. It was environmental pressure."
Mireya stopped eating.
Zeydan continued.
"A pivotal evolutionary shift occurred when Mamerios began entering structures… libraries, ruins, artificial buildings."
The cafeteria noise seemed to dim around them.
"Forest camouflage stopped being effective. Individuals whose bodies became flatter, more similar to inanimate objects… survived."
Mireya lowered her face slightly.
"And from that… emerged the Inanimate Object Mimics?"
Zeydan nodded slowly.
"Correct. They're called Inanimate Object Mimics. And they have branches. Forest Mimics—imitating stones or tree trunks. Archive Mimics—imitating books or scrolls. Urban Mimics—chests, doors, tables. Weapon Mimics—swords, bows, hammers. And Relic Mimics… which weren't written in my brother's diary."
Mireya looked at him with growing fascination.
"What about the biological structure of Archive Mimics?" she asked softly.
Zeydan answered without hesitation.
"Their outer layer is called the Literacy Shell. It looks like paper or book leather—but it's actually living organic tissue."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"Inside is the Neuroglyph Matrix—a network that imitates symbol patterns. And at the core… the Ventus Core. A kind of energy heart."
Mireya fell silent.
A breeze from the cafeteria window shifted her blonde hair slightly.
"They don't understand the meaning of the writing," Zeydan continued. "They only mimic the energetic symbol patterns from text. It's called Text Resonance."
"So if they mimic a magic book…" Mireya murmured.
"They can trigger the related element," Zeydan replied. "If it's an ordinary book? The effect is weak—or nonexistent."
Mireya slowly smiled.
"That explains the emergency swords in the Nightrune Library."
Zeydan nodded.
"Because physical weapons don't trigger resonance. And they're effective at destroying the Ventus Core."
Mireya stared at him for a long moment.
"And they can be domesticated?"
"They can," Zeydan said. "If given stable reading material. Not triggered by conflict-based texts."
A faint smirk formed on his lips.
"They can even become archive guardians."
Silence lingered between them for a few seconds.
Then Mireya smiled in clear admiration.
"You really read that diary seriously."
Zeydan looked away, slightly awkward.
"Yeah… I was just bored."
(Not just bored… I feel like I need to know all of this.)
They finished their meals in comfortable silence.
Afterward, they both stood.
Zeydan grabbed his sling bag and slung it over his shoulder.
They walked out of the cafeteria side by side.
A few students glanced at them—two contrasting auras, yet equally strong.
Several minutes later—
The white-haired man in sunglasses returned to the table they had occupied.
His steps were slower now.
He stopped beside it. Bowed slightly.
Then crouched.
His hand slipped beneath the table.
A small object was attached underneath—coin-sized, nearly invisible.
He carefully removed it.
His expression remained flat.
Without a sound.
He stood, slipped the device into his uniform pocket, and walked toward the back exit of the cafeteria.
No one noticed.
---
[Later That Afternoon — Warden Building, Arvale District Branch]
The atmosphere inside the rest room felt heavy.
Outside the tall glass windows, the sky looked pale. Sunlight slipped in but failed to warm the space filled with the bitter scent of coffee and metallic weapon oil.
Several agents sat scattered.
Black tactical uniforms layered with light armor and neon-blue lines still clung to their bodies. Some cleaned sidearms with microfiber cloths. Others inspected staff weapons that emitted low hums.
CLICK… CLICK…
Metal friction and hushed conversation filled the air.
In the corner stood Rainer.
His black suit was as neat as ever, though faint fatigue lined his face. He slowly unbuttoned his coat and removed it from his shoulders with controlled motion.
His black tie remained perfectly tied.
He draped the coat over a leather chair.
His hand slipped into his pocket.
A cigarette appeared between his fingers.
He was about to sit.
But—
"Stop."
The voice was deep. Calm. Not loud.
Yet it froze the air in the room.
Rainer paused mid-motion.
In front of him stood Abdullah Al-bahar Solstice.
His black robe fell straight down to his calves. A green turban wrapped neatly around his head. A carved black wooden staff rested in his left hand, its tip touching the floor.
A large equipment bag still hung from his back.
He stood upright—not blocking aggressively—just enough to prevent the chair from being used.
Several agents turned their heads.
The room fell silent.
Rainer lifted his chin slightly.
"What is it, Abdullah?" His tone remained formal, though his usual lightness wasn't fully present.
Abdullah did not answer immediately.
He stared at Rainer behind his round dark glasses.
"There's something I want to discuss."
His voice was low. Even. Emotionless.
That made it dangerous.
Rainer inhaled slowly.
"Oh? Very well."
He gestured slightly. "Allow me to sit."
Half a second of silence.
Abdullah stepped aside.
"Go ahead."
Rainer sat slowly.
The cigarette remained in his hand.
He crossed one leg over the other, maintaining composure.
"What would you like to discuss?" he asked politely.
Abdullah remained standing.
"I want to ask about Zeydan and Mireya."
Several agents who had been pretending to focus elsewhere were now clearly listening.
Rainer leaned back.
"Oh. The two of them." His tone was relaxed. Too relaxed.
"They have talent that doesn't require further training. So I deployed them directly to the Santara World without branch-level training."
Abdullah went silent.
Completely silent.
No change in posture.
No change in breathing.
But the pressure in the room intensified.
"Are you joking?"
His voice remained calm.
But every word fell like stone.
"You have just disregarded mandatory organizational protocol."
Rainer raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Rules can have exceptions."
"No," Abdullah cut in quietly.
He stepped forward.
"Every recruit must undergo training procedures. Regardless of prior experience."
His staff struck the floor.
TOK!!!
"You have no justification for bypassing that procedure."
Rainer stared back.
"It was permitted by the organization's leader."
Several agents visibly tensed.
Abdullah tilted his head slightly.
"Do you understand the consequences?"
The atmosphere thickened.
"An Ascendor Agent named Victor fell yesterday."
His voice grew deeper.
"He sacrificed himself for his sister. And for Zeydan and Mireya."
Several agents lowered their heads.
The name was still fresh.
"Falling in battle is not merely loss of personnel," Abdullah continued.
"It is a gradual collapse of the organization."
Rainer exhaled.
"I know that. But this was under the leader's directive."
The sentence had barely finished—
A swift whisper of steel.
The Dzulfikar sword slid from its sheath in one smooth motion.
A flash of metal cut the air.
The blade stopped mere centimeters from Rainer's throat.
Chairs scraped loudly.
In a fraction of a second, over a dozen firearms and staff weapons were raised.
Red laser sights danced across Abdullah's body.
But Abdullah did not move.
Not a tremor.
Not a glance.
His sword remained steady.
"Under the leader's directive?"
His voice dropped, almost a whisper.
"I received no report from him."
He pressed the blade slightly forward—just enough for cold steel to kiss Rainer's skin.
"I am certain the leader of this organization is not a fool."
A thin line of sweat formed at Rainer's temple.
His cigarette felt heavier.
"And I am an experienced Atharlez."
His tone did not rise.
"Ranked number one Specialist Agent."
Several agents swallowed nervously.
"I am stronger than every Specialist in this organization."
He leaned in slightly.
"I could decapitate you right now."
Silence.
Only restrained breathing.
"I do not care even if you are the head of Arvale Branch."
The blade did not waver.
"But I will not do so—for now."
Abdullah paused.
"Not because I fear consequences."
His voice grew colder.
"But because I want to observe your policy from this point forward."
He slowly withdrew the blade.
Steel slid back into the sheath with a soft click.
"Your life now depends on your words."
Abdullah turned.
His steps were calm.
His black robe swayed lightly.
Agents slowly lowered their weapons.
Just before reaching the door—
Abdullah stopped.
Without turning around.
"I am now the instructor for Zeydan, Mireya, and Lina."
Silence.
Then he stepped out.
The door closed softly.
CLICK.
The room remained frozen for several seconds.
Rainer was still seated.
His hands trembled.
He took a lighter from his coat.
It took two strikes before flame appeared.
The small light flickered with his shaking fingers.
He lit the cigarette.
Inhaled deeply.
Smoke drifted slowly from his lips.
His gaze was empty.
(Damn…)
He swallowed.
(I was a fool. I was too confident.)
Smoke curled before his face.
(My plan is falling apart…)
He closed his eyes briefly.
(Abdullah entering as a teacher? This is worse than I imagined.)