The sun had barely risen over the jagged skyline of Kael'Ar's western continent when I stepped into the empty shell of a small building. Dust motes floated lazily in the morning light filtering through cracked windows. The place smelled of old wood and damp stone, but to me, it smelled like opportunity.
I exhaled, letting my mind map the entire structure in seconds — the layout, the potential for kitchen space, seating, storage, even escape routes if necessary. Yes, even a restaurant required strategic planning. Efficiency was everything, whether in combat or commerce.
"Hoshikawa," I murmured, testing the name on my tongue. Star River. It felt… right. It carried weight without demanding it. Elegant. Regal. Inviting, yet impossible to forget.
By mid-afternoon, renovations were underway. I had personally overseen every modification — the positioning of the stove for optimal heat circulation, the alignment of counters for maximum efficiency, even the subtle reinforcement of walls with concealed barriers to withstand natural disasters… or sudden monster attacks. Never leave things to chance.
As the first customers arrived, I stayed in the background, observing. Hoshikawa quickly gained a reputation. The locals whispered about the young, unassuming "boss" with a sharp eye and a quiet demeanor, whose culinary skills were impeccable and whose efficiency bordered on unnatural. Word spread quickly — from merchants to traveling hunters, from students to noble families — and soon, a constant stream of visitors filled the modest dining hall.
It was around this time that I noticed them.
Two teenagers, both sixteen, standing awkwardly outside the restaurant. A boy with unkempt brown hair and eyes too sharp for someone his age, shoulders slightly slouched but moving with hesitant confidence. Beside him, a girl with short black hair, the faint trace of scars along her forearms, and eyes that flickered with a mix of fear and defiance.
They looked like… rejects. Society had deemed them failures. Their circuits were weak, their potential supposedly "wasted," their parents had refused to allow them to pursue the dangerous life of a hunter.
Perfect.
I stepped outside, letting my presence wash over them like sunlight. I didn't start with words. Observation comes first. I let my gaze subtly scan their auras, feeling the sparks of latent potential buried beneath fear and doubt. Their circuits weren't strong by conventional measures, but potential isn't always about raw power — sometimes, it's about adaptability, cunning, and endurance.
"You're looking for work?" I asked, voice calm, measured. No intimidation, no sarcasm — just observation and authority.
The boy blinked rapidly, stepping back. "Y-yes… sir. We… we heard you were hiring, but… we're not—"
"Not qualified," I finished for him, letting my gaze sweep over them. The girl stiffened.
I smiled faintly, the expression deliberate, reassuring, but with an edge that hinted at understanding far beyond their assumptions. "I do not hire for appearances, or for circuits, or for what the world says you are. I hire for potential, and for the will to grow. If you wish to work here, you will follow my instructions. Nothing more, nothing less."
Both of them froze. Their hesitation was palpable.
"Will you try?" I asked simply.
The boy swallowed. The girl's jaw tensed, but after a moment, they both nodded. "Yes… sir," they said almost in unison.
"Good." My tone shifted subtly, a hint of a smirk forming. "You'll start tomorrow. Learn quickly, work efficiently, and do not question anything unless you are ready to offer a solution. Understood?"
"Yes… sir," they whispered again.
Inside the restaurant, I showed them the basics — how to manage the counters, how to prepare ingredients in ways that minimized waste but maximized taste, and how to interact with customers without showing fear or hesitation. But I did not baby them. I did not coddle. Every mistake was noted, every hesitation analyzed.
They were slow, clumsy even, but their potential gleamed through. The boy had a keen eye for patterns — ingredients, timing, even the subtle shifts in customer mood — and the girl moved with precision once she understood her environment, a latent agility hidden beneath a layer of doubt and self-consciousness.
I allowed them to learn through action, observing silently from behind the counters.
"You are faster than you realize," I said to the boy, as he dropped a tray of utensils. His hands trembled, but the observation sparked something in him. "Stop thinking. Move. Observe, adapt, act. That is all."
And then to the girl, as she struggled to coordinate multiple dishes at once, "You panic because you assume you will fail. Stop anticipating failure. Anticipate only what is needed. Efficiency requires calm. Precision requires patience. Strength is irrelevant if it is misdirected."
By the end of the day, they were exhausted, but they had learned more than most could in a week. And I had learned as well — how they thought, how they adapted, how they responded under pressure.
Later, when the restaurant was empty, I stepped onto the balcony at the back, looking over the streets. The city hummed with life — merchants, students, and wanderers, all unaware of the hidden currents shaping their lives.
I sipped tea, golden light reflecting faintly from the rim of the cup. Potential doesn't always scream its presence. Sometimes it whispers, hides, waits for someone who can see it.
Tomorrow, I thought, we train harder. Not with circuits, not with combat — with life itself. I would mold them, guide them, push them to discover what they were capable of, and one day, perhaps, they would surprise the world in ways no one anticipated.
And Hoshikawa, my little slice of controlled chaos, would continue to grow. Not just as a restaurant, but as a place where potential, no matter how dismissed or hidden, could thrive.
After all, the world favored those who dared to see beyond the surface — and I had no intention of letting anyone waste the spark inside them.
The boy and the girl, exhausted but exhilarated, bowed before leaving for the night. I watched them go with a small, faint smile.
Tomorrow, they would learn that in this world, it was not strength alone that mattered, but insight, resolve, and the guidance of someone who could see beyond the obvious.
And I was more than capable of providing that.