The dirt road stretched endlessly ahead, the capital's distant walls still no more than a faint silhouette on the horizon. Aeren walked steadily, the wind tugging at his ragged clothes, his appearance once again reduced to that of a weary beggar.
After days of solitude, he felt it before he heard it—footsteps, light but deliberate, following in his wake. He stopped, letting the silence settle, and a single figure emerged from the dusty path ahead.
It was a woman—tall, poised, and undeniably beautiful. Her eyes scanned him with faint doubt, as though she were questioning her own senses. Still, she stepped forward and spoke.
"I'm…" she hesitated, then straightened her back, "My name is Serenya Vale, and you are Aeren Drevin, correct?"
Aeren studied her face for a moment. Her voice was crisp, educated, and carried the weight of someone used to being obeyed. At her question, he gave a single nod. "Yes. I'm Aeren."
Her posture softened slightly, and a small glimmer of relief crossed her features. "I've been trying to find you for months. Actually, I'm from the Academy and special student and everyone get S-rank assignment. And I was assigned an S-rank test to locate a certain killer the public eye."
Aeren tilted his head, voice calm. "Oh? And what do you want from me?"
She took in a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "You were Isolde's personal butler, weren't you?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
Serenya hesitated only a moment before pressing forward. "Then I'll be direct. I'm searching for the one who killed Lady Amara. Do you know anything?"
From her storage ring, she drew a leather-bound notebook and a fine silver pen, ready to write down every word.
But the pen never touched paper.
"I killed her," Aeren said flatly.
The wind seemed to pause. Serenya's eyes widened, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she'd just heard. In her thoughts: Others would dodge, deny, or offer nothing. And this man… he just blurts it out. Either he's insane… or he can't even think properly anymore, I've wasted far too much time.
She glanced once more at his unshaven face, the dirt on his clothes, the hollow calm in his eyes. Then, without another word, she pressed ten gold coins into his palm and turned away.
Aeren watched her leave, then closed his fingers over the coins and resumed walking.
---
One month later, after more than eight months on foot, the capital's great gates finally stood before him. The line to enter was a river of travelers, merchants, and adventurers. It took three full days before he passed the gates.
The capital city unfolded before him like a painting brought to life. Towering spires gleamed under the sun, traditional wooden structures with ornate carvings lined the avenues, and banners of the royal crest swayed gently in the summer breeze. The air carried the mingled scents of fresh bread, spiced tea, and polished wood.
Despite the crowds, the streets felt spacious, as if designed for both grandeur and comfort. Nobles strolled in tailored finery while children in silk tunics played in shaded courtyards.
Aeren's gaze was steady, but his purpose was fixed—he had come for the Academy. Unfortunately, the next entrance trials were four months away, and he would be sixteen by then. That didn't bother him. His search mattered more.
He visited the cheapest clothing shop first, purchasing the best garments they could offer. Then he went to one of the capital's most luxurious tailors and acquired a finely tailored suit fit for business dealings.
Soon after, he found a modest plot of land in a bustling district. Without hesitation, he purchased it and began construction himself. Ten days later, the framework stood complete, walls painted, and a sign hung above the entrance: Aerren Café.
On the first day, he served food for free. Only ten to twenty customers came—mostly commoners, with a rare noble passing by. Aeren treated them all the same, pouring tea and serving meals without distinction.
Days turned into weeks. Some days the café was empty, others it was full, but Aeren worked alone, often late into the night. After a month, a steady group of regulars formed. Some came from the slums, and Aeren always served them without charge. Eventually, more slum dwellers started visiting, and he gave them the same treatment.
He earned more than enough to live for a century without worry, but he never cared for money. If he ever needed more, there were always ways to acquire it.
A few of the slum children began helping as waiters and cleaners. Aeren would sometimes glance around the café, whispering to himself, "Lira was something else… I've never met another like her." Then, he'd quietly return to work.
Within two months, half the children from the slums were living under his roof, helping with chores. They began calling him "Big Brother."
Three months into the business, his expenses outweighed his earnings. His funds were nearly drained.
One night, Aeren walked to the royal palace under the cover of darkness. By dawn, he had taken every gold coin he could find. The next day, the city carried on as if nothing had happened—no public word of the robbery was spoken.
Business returned to normal. Academy students began frequenting the café. His reputation grew, and the children—many of them prodigies—opened new branches in other districts, splitting profits among themselves.
Then, trouble struck. A slum organization disapproved of their success and attacked one of the branches. By chance, some Academy students were there and easily dismantled the attackers.
That night, the children looked to academy student with gratitude. "You're like our big brother… and you're handsome," one of them said with innocent sincerity.
Academy student smiled faintly and patted her head.
---
A few days later, Aeren decided to visit that same branch. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, scanning the cozy space. He saw the children working and chatting—then his eyes found Renn.
The moment Renn noticed him, something inside him froze. His heart pounded, and a cold weight spread through his chest. His legs betrayed him, trembling, then refusing to hold his full weight.
Aeren walked forward, his presence like an invisible wall pressing down. The smile on his lips was calm, almost friendly, but Renn could feel the threat beneath it.
"Renn," Aeren said evenly, "it's been a while."
Renn tried to force himself to straighten, to hide the fear gripping him, but his body wouldn't obey.
Renn looked up slowly, forcing himself to stand despite the weight pressing on him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"This doesn't concern you," Aeren replied politely. He took the child's hand and turned to leave.
As they walked away, the girl waved to Renn. Renn didn't return the gesture. Instead, he stood there, silent, the truth pressing down on him—he wasn't weak. But against Aeren, he knew… he could not win.