Haru froze as the door creaked open, his dark eyes widening. Inside, a small figure lounged atop a pile of gold coins, grinning with a self-satisfied smirk. The boy couldn't have been more than twelve, yet he seemed to command the entire room with the ease of someone born to it. Coins—ryu—spilled around him in small waves as if they obeyed his every whim.
"Ugh, finally someone to talk to," the boy whined, dramatically flopping back onto the pile and tossing a handful of ryu into the air. "I've been so bored! Does anyone even appreciate me around here?" He pouted, crossing his small arms over his chest and letting the coins cascade like a golden waterfall.
Haru's jaw went slack. "You… you're Lord William?" he asked, slightly confused.
The boy sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders, eyes flashing with arrogance. "Of course I am! Who else would deserve to sit in all this money?" He gestured broadly at the scattered ryu and the small room that seemed to exist only for his comfort. "Do you know how many people pay me just so I don't get bored? Too many. Honestly, it's exhausting being this important."
Haru's fists clenched. The sight of the spoiled brat, lounging amidst the stolen wealth of the town, made his blood boil. The man he had just saved, the townspeople living under fear and oppression—all of it funneled into this single, arrogant, pampered child.
"You… you can't just take whatever you want from people!" Haru shouted, stepping forward, Kara at his side. "That's… that's wrong!"
The boy laughed, a high, mocking sound that bounced off the walls. "Wrong? Hah! I do whatever I want! That's the rule! That's what being Lord William means!" He tossed another handful of ryu over his shoulder, completely unbothered by Haru's glare. "Taxes, soldierlites, punishments… all fair game! If I say it, it's right. Simple!"
Haru's eyes narrowed, dark and burning with determination. The spoiled brat might be small, but arrogance like this had consequences. He could feel the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders—he couldn't let this continue. Not in Cyrus. Not ever. Haru's chest heaved, eyes blazing with fury. Without a second thought, he swung, fist cocked back, and slammed it square into the boy's face.
"THIS IS WHAT YOU GET, YOU JERK!" he shouted, the words ripping from his throat as his knuckles connected.
The impact rang through the small room like a cracked bell. The spoiled brat's head snapped back violently, hair whipping across his face, a small yelp of surprise escaping him. Coins tumbled from the pile, scattering across the floor like tiny golden comets, clinking and rattling against stone as Lord William hit the ground with a thud, sprawled awkwardly among his hoard.
Haru stood over him, chest rising and falling, Kara still at his side, faint red light dancing along its edge. The room was silent save for the faint echo of falling ryu and the soft groans of the boy he had just struck. His eyes didn't leave the brat, unflinching, daring him to defy the consequence of his arrogance.
Lord William blinked, stunned, his small fists scrabbling at the floor to push himself up, eyes wide with shock and indignation. "W-what… who—dare you—?!"
Haru didn't answer. He only stood there, the weight of his actions and the fire of his anger still thrumming through his veins, a silent warning that the spoiled little tyrant would no longer be able to act without consequence.The room didn't even have time to breathe before hell broke loose.
Williams's high-pitched shriek tore through the air.
"—SOLDIERLITES!! NOW!!"
The doors exploded open a second later — three armored men rushed in, steel boots hammering the marble, weapons half-drawn — only to stop dead.
Their eyes flickered between the scene:
A mountain of gold. A soft aristocratic child soaked in money and tears. A 16-year-old farm boy who just decked him.
"…Lord… William?" the lead guard murmured, thrown off by the sheer absurdity. For just a heartbeat — confusion. Doubt.
Then he sat up, face purple with injured pride.
"HE HIT ME IN MY FACE!!! ARE YOU ALL WORTHLESS!?! KILL HIM!!!"
They didn't hesitate again.
Fear overrode logic.
The soldierlites moved as one — blades snapping free, shoulders squared, eyes murderous. Whatever they felt about serving a brat, they weren't about to test the consequences of disobeying him.
Haru didn't wait for talk.
He turned and ran.
The instant his feet hit the wooden hall outside — the soldierlites were already charging after him, armor crashing like thunder, shouting orders down the corridor.
"Don't let him reach the street!!"
"Cut him off at the north exit—!!"
This wasn't a scuffle anymore. This was an execution order.
Haru's sandals slammed against the polished wood, the sound swallowed instantly by the roar of armored pursuit behind him.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He could feel them — the weight of metal, the fury in their stride, the fatal certainty in every heartbeat of the floor.
The hallway ahead split into three.
Haru didn't think — he vaulted the center banister instead, body twisting through open air and crashing into the lower floor in a spray of splintered railing. His shoulder burned, but his feet found ground — he kept running.
"HE'S DOWNSTAIRS!! AFTER HIM!!"
More shouting. More boots. More metal.
Cyrus tax hall wasn't some cozy little office — it was a labyrinth of greed, a den carved from marble and polished wood, every path leading deeper into the guts of Egghead's empire. And Haru had charged straight into it.
He sprinted past open doorways — clerks counting coins, ledgers being written, citizen after citizen trembling under watchful guards — faces flashed past him like ghosts.
But it wasn't until the next corner that it happened.
He turned — and there were already three soldierlites waiting.
Blocking the exit.
Weapons already raised.
"STOP RIGHT THERE—!!!!"
Haru didn't slow down.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't think.
He threw himself forward — straight at them — fists up, eyes blazing.
Haru barreled forward, fists clenched, teeth gritted, ignoring the shouts of the three soldierlites blocking the exit. His dark hair whipped in his eyes, sweat stinging as adrenaline roared through his veins. The hallway was narrow, polished wood and stone walls confining his movements, but he didn't slow. Every step, every heartbeat, was fueled by anger and instinct.
The nearest soldierlite raised a metal-clad arm to strike, but Haru didn't hesitate. He thrust his shoulder forward, colliding with the man like a battering ram, knocking him back several feet into a stack of ledgers. The soldierlite went down with a crash of falling books and startled cries from clerks, his armor scraping harshly against the floor.
The second guard swung a heavy baton at Haru's head, the metal whistle of air slicing by his ear. Haru ducked instinctively, the back of his head grazing the wall. His knees bent, body coiled like a spring, and he launched himself upward, his fist glowing faintly red as he slammed it into the guard's stomach. The man doubled over, grunting in pain, staggering backward into a pile of overturned chairs.
The third soldierlite tried to flank him, sliding along the polished floor to block his path, but Haru pivoted sharply, spinning on one foot. His fist shot out again, connecting with the man's shoulder, sending him reeling. The force of the hits was raw and chaotic, unrefined, almost reckless, but effective — each strike knocked them off balance, each blow landed like a hammer on metal.
The hall echoed with the clanging of armor, the thuds of bodies hitting the floor, and Haru's gritted breaths. Coins scattered from William's treasury rooms nearby, rolling underfoot, catching light and reflecting in dizzying flashes. The soldierlites tried to regroup, but their hesitation gave Haru the advantage. He darted forward, weaving between columns, dodging swinging fists, and striking whenever he could find a gap.
One guard swung his arm with a brutal arc — Haru barely ducked in time, the motion sending a spray of dust from the wall. He countered immediately, slamming his glowing hand into the man's side. The impact threw the soldierlite into a small table, which collapsed under the weight, papers flying like startled birds. The man groaned, clutching his ribs, gasping as Haru spun away, barely catching his footing.
Haru's eyes scanned the hall. Two down, one still standing, though the third was hesitating now, watching the chaos unfold, breathing hard, and clearly reconsidering his life choices. The glow in Haru's hand pulsed faintly, almost as if it could feel his determination. He didn't hesitate.
He charged again, darting past the columns and debris, his movements fluid despite the rawness of his training. The last soldierlite raised his baton again, swinging with deadly precision, but Haru ducked, rolled under the strike, and slammed his elbow into the man's knee. A sickening crack echoed, and the soldierlite stumbled, one hand clutching the weapon, the other pressed to his injured leg.
Haru's fists, glowing faintly red, rose and fell in a relentless rhythm. He didn't pause, didn't flinch, didn't think. Every strike, every dodge, every movement was instinct, pure reaction — reckless, ferocious, unstoppable. The final guard fell to his knees, gasping, unable to stand as Haru's wild assault continued.
The room fell silent except for Haru's heavy breathing, the distant clatter of coins rolling, and the groans of the three battered soldierlites sprawled across the floor. His dark eyes, burning with fury and adrenaline, scanned the room once more.
William shrieked again from somewhere deep in the building, but Haru didn't move toward him. For the first time, the power of his fists — the raw force of his resolve — had leveled the field. The boy who thought he was untouchable was no longer untouchable.
Haru's chest heaved. Sweat dripped down his brow.
William's high-pitched wails echoed faintly from deeper within the tax building, accompanied by the frantic scratching of a quill against paper.
"I-I'm… s-sorry! I'll… I promise I'll stop! Please, just don't hit me again!" the boy squeaked, voice trembling.
Haru paused at the doorway, dark eyes narrowing. He didn't move closer, didn't raise Kara. Instead, he watched as William, still clutching a small stack of parchment on his lap, scribbled furiously while repeating his apologies. The words were likely meaningless to him now, scribbled in panic more than sincerity, but the gesture alone—him writing, acknowledging, promising—was enough.
Haru's fists relaxed, the faint red glow fading entirely. He took a deep breath, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. His chest still heaved from the exertion, sweat glistening in the sunlight spilling through the doorway.
Without a word, he turned, shoulders squared, Kara at his side, and stepped out into the streets of Cyrus. The townspeople peeked cautiously from windows and doorways, murmuring under their breath as he passed. No one dared block his way, no one dared speak.
Haru walked steadily, eyes forward, leaving the chaotic golden glow and the spoiled brat behind him. The streets gradually thinned, the market stalls giving way to cobbled roads and fields in the distance. The path beyond Cyrus stretched open before him, sun casting long shadows on the stones, and for the first time in the town's dark history, one boy's determination had left a mark.
He didn't look back. He didn't need to. His destination lay ahead—the road to the gladiator exams, the unknown stretching farther than he could see. And for now, Cyrus could breathe… at least until the next tyrant came along.
Haru's boots crunched against the gravel, steady and unhurried, as he walked out of the town and back onto the path that would carry him toward his next challenge. Behind Haru, the town exploded to life as if the air itself had just snapped free from a chokehold.
For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence — doors half-open, faces half-lit by sunbeams, everyone frozen in disbelief.
Then it hit.
A shaken whisper, somewhere in the crowd — "He's… a child."
And then like fire through dry grass — chaos.
"LORD WILLIAM IS JUST A BOY?!"
"ALL THESE YEARS— WE FEARED A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD?!"
"SOME KID JUST DECKED HIM ACROSS THE ROOM!!"
People flooded into the streets — elderly men collapsing to their knees laughing in hysterical relief, mothers dragging their children outside as if a dream finally ended, shopkeepers tearing down tax notices and stamping them into the dirt.
A wave of raw emotion tore through Cyrus — laughter, tears, outrage, celebration — all at once.
Some spat on the ground in the direction of the tax building.
Some shouted Haru's name, though none even knew if they got it right.
Some just sank down where they stood and cried — not from sadness, but from finally, finally realizing the tyrant was nothing but a spoiled, trembling child.
The cheering swelled — a roar now, not just relief, but rebirth.
And through it all — Haru did not turn back.
The sun warmed his shoulders as he walked down the quiet road leading out of Cyrus, the golden light catching on Kara's sheath. The uproar faded behind him — distant, like waves against shore.
He didn't smile.
But the wind pressed gently at his back.
As if the world itself was saying — keep going.
The moment the crowd's realization turned to revolution, the soldierlites froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, hearts hammering. They had trained for obedience, for fear, for tyranny—but now all of it had crumbled in an instant. Their purpose, their orders, their very reason to exist in Cyrus, had been obliterated by one reckless, impossibly stubborn boy.
They were out of a job.
No tyrant.
No tax system.
No pay.
No authority.
No purpose.
And all of it because of one idiot with a sword.
A spark of panic ignited through their ranks. Weapons rattled, armor clanked, shouts of confusion and fear spilling into the streets. Instinct took over — they had to act. They had to chase him.
But then hesitation struck. Two of the soldierlites paused, eyes darting to the edge of the forest. The trees loomed dark and endless, shadows twisting like living things, the ground uneven and tangled with roots. A soft wind rustled the leaves, carrying a subtle warning. The two guards exchanged glances, swallowed hard, and the realization hit: they didn't belong here. They were trained to enforce, to strike in controlled streets and hallways, not to chase a boy into a wild, uncharted forest. With a muttered curse and one last fearful look toward the town, they retreated, unwilling to step beyond the line of safety.
Only one soldierlite, the youngest and most reckless, barked a frustrated order before following the retreating pair. "I'll get him! I—" But by the time he realized he was alone, Haru had vanished into the trees.
Haru didn't notice the hesitation behind him. His feet pounded the outer road, dust rising in clouds as he sprinted, the familiar streets of Cyrus giving way to rolling fields and the wild outskirts. Gravel became dirt, dirt became tangled roots, and then the towering trunks of the forest rose around him, the canopy swallowing the sunlight into green-gold patterns. Branches lashed at his face, scratching at his arms, but he ducked and weaved without hesitation. Kara clinked softly at his side, her weight familiar and comforting as he leapt over fallen trunks and wove through undergrowth.
He could hear the distant cries and clattering of armor for a moment — a single soldierlite, trying to follow — but the trees swallowed the sound quickly. Birds scattered from the branches above, small animals darting away into burrows and thickets. Every step carried him deeper into the forest, away from Cyrus and the chaos of tyranny he had left behind.
Hours could have passed, or perhaps only minutes. Time lost meaning in the thick silence, broken only by his own ragged breaths and the faint, soothing clatter of Kara against his hip. He slowed only when the last echo of shouting was gone entirely, replaced by the subtle symphony of wind through the leaves, distant birdsong, and the faint buzz of insects in the underbrush.
The forest opened suddenly to a small clearing, dappled with the soft, fading light of late afternoon. In the center sat a tiny wooden shop, smoke curling lazily from a chimney and the rich, inviting scent of simmering soup drifting into the woods. A few simple tables stood outside, chairs uneven but clean, and a hand-painted sign creaked gently in the breeze. Haru's stomach growled. The forest's oppressive quiet, the tension of the chase, and the adrenaline of running for his life all fell away at once, leaving only relief and hunger.
He stepped into the clearing, Kara still at his side, and slowed to a cautious walk. The small shop seemed almost unreal — a haven tucked into the wild, where the world of Cyrus and its chaos couldn't reach him. Steam rose in lazy swirls from the ladle resting in a large pot, the savory scent of vegetables and meat filling the air, rich and comforting. Haru inhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders finally uncoiling, and allowed himself a small, tentative smile.
The forest behind him was silent again, the shadows stretching long as the sun dipped lower, but here, in this clearing, there was warmth, there was smell, there was life. Haru knew he was safe for now — at least long enough to rest, to eat, and to prepare for whatever lay ahead on the road to the gladiator exams.
He stepped closer to the shop, the forest closing gently behind him, Kara at his side, and let the smell of soup and wood smoke wash over him, filling his chest with the simple pleasure of warmth and safety. The little bell above the door jingled softly as he pushed it open, stepping onto the uneven wooden floor. Inside, the walls were lined with shelves of ingredients, jars of dried herbs, and stacks of bowls. The air was thick with the scent of rich broth and simmering vegetables, the comforting aroma of food that could soothe a body after running through a forest like he had.
Behind the counter, a man in his thirties—shirt sleeves rolled up, apron dusted with flour—stirred a large wooden ladle in the steaming pot. Steam rose from it, curling around his hands and drifting lazily to the ceiling. He glanced up, noticing Haru and Kara, and offered a warm, easy smile. "Ah, welcome. You look like you've had quite the journey."
Haru's eyes went wide at the sight of the soup. Steam danced above the pot, carrying the rich scent of meat, vegetables, and herbs. He didn't hesitate. Grabbing a bowl that the man slid toward him, he dug in, steam rising in gentle spirals from the bowl. The warmth of the broth seeped into his chest, relaxing tight muscles and easing the tension that had built over hours of running.
The man leaned on the counter, resting his elbows and speaking as though telling a story to an old friend. "Y'know, there's a monster in these woods. Calls himself… Mr. Buck." He smiled faintly, though his eyes flickered to the door and the shadowed forest beyond. "He attacks anyone who wanders too far, or at least, that's what the stories say. People get nervous just talking about him. Some say he's got antlers, like a deer, but nobody really knows. I've been lucky enough to still be standing, I guess."
Haru, mid-slurp, nodded thoughtfully, completely unfazed. "Cool," he said, mouth half-full, unconcerned by the notion of a mysterious, dangerous creature lurking just beyond the shop. Kara clinked softly against his hip, a reassuring counterpoint to the bubbling broth.
The man shook his head with a small laugh, stirring the pot again. "Most folks get pale just walking into these woods. Not you, huh? Brave or foolish, I don't know which. Maybe a bit of both. Just… keep your eyes open. And enjoy your soup while you can."
Haru barely looked up, savoring another spoonful, letting the warmth fill him. Outside, the forest pressed quietly against the edges of the clearing, shadows twisting gently, and somewhere deep in the green, unknown and unseen, Mr. Buck watched. But Haru had no notion of danger, no comprehension of fear, only the satisfaction of the rich, hearty broth in front of him and the fleeting peace of a moment spent truly alone in the woods.
The man hummed quietly to himself, chopping vegetables and adding herbs as he talked idly about the forest, about how the paths twisted, about small animals and the tricks of the trees. Haru listened half-heartedly, more concerned with the last morsels of his meal than the tales of danger. The sun slanted lower, casting long golden rays into the clearing, painting everything in warm light. The little shop was a haven, a pause in the chaotic rhythm of the world, and for now, Haru allowed himself to enjoy it completely, blissfully unaware of what might be lurking just beyond the tree line. The man paused, ladle suspended over the steaming pot, and fixed Haru with a long, unreadable stare. Haru, dark hair falling into his eyes, Kara at his side, just grinned back, oblivious to the weight in the man's gaze.
"So," the man said carefully, his voice low, "what's your Tsuyoi?"
Haru blinked. "I… don't have one."
The words hit the man like a physical blow. He set the ladle down, leaning slightly against the counter, eyes wide. "You… don't have a Tsuyoi?"
"Nope. I know what it's supposed to be, everyone gets one when they're a kid, right? Six, seven, eight… I never did." He shrugged casually, cheeks smudged with dirt. "Guess I'm just special."
The man's hand froze mid-air. In all his years, training warriors, guiding children who had manifested elemental powers or natural sparks… he had never, ever seen anything like this. Everyone had a Tsuyoi. Every single child, without exception. And here was Haru, sixteen, strong, capable in ways that shouldn't have been possible—and yet completely untouched.
The air between them thickened. The forest outside whispered through the cracks in the shop walls, a soft murmur that seemed to mirror the man's disbelief.
Then, unexpectedly, the man laughed—quietly at first, then louder, shaking his head. "You know what? I don't care. I like you."
Haru tilted his head, confused. "Huh?"
"You," the man said, pointing a finger at him, "you're ridiculous. Reckless, impossible, completely unafraid of everything, and somehow you survive. I like that. So from now on, you eat as much soup as you want. Free of charge. No limits. Every bowl, every ladle—it's yours."
Haru's eyes lit up. "Really? Really really?"
"Yes," the man said firmly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Because I like you. That's all the reason you need."
Haru didn't hesitate. He scooped the steaming soup into his bowl, inhaling its aroma, tasting the rich broth and tender vegetables, and devoured it with pure, unrestrained joy. Spoon after spoon, he ate, completely losing himself in the warmth and flavor, the simple pleasure of being allowed to enjoy something without restriction. The exams, the journey, the whole world outside—the weight of any responsibility melted away, leaving only the happiness of now.
Hours could have passed, or maybe only minutes. Haru didn't notice. He was entirely immersed in the rhythm of soup and ladle, Kara clinking softly against his side, the gentle murmur of the forest beyond and the low hiss of the pot forming a cocoon of safety and warmth.
The man watched him carefully, chuckling to himself. "No Tsuyoi," he murmured, almost to himself. "Never seen it before. But somehow… he's not weak. Not in the slightest."
Haru finally leaned back, rubbing his full belly, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I could eat forever!" he said, voice full of simple joy.
The man laughed, shaking his head. "Maybe you will," he said. "Maybe you will."
Then, faintly, from beyond the door, a sound drifted in. A soft crack, like a branch breaking—or something heavier, moving with deliberate steps through the forest. Haru's head snapped toward it, curiosity instantly overtaking the fullness and warmth of his stomach.
The man stiffened, glancing toward the open door. "That… that's not me," he said, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
Haru's grin widened. "Oh? Wonder what that is!"
The forest outside darkened as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and twisting over the undergrowth. Something moved just beyond the edge of sight, but it looks somewhat human.