Elena and the old man sat together on the public seating area, a small island of calm in the midst of the shopping center's endless chaos. Around them, people rushed past with bags and shopping lists and places to be, but neither of them noticed. Elena was too focused on the screen in front of her, and the old man was too captivated by the strange child beside him.
He had started with the basics, as one always did when teaching someone new. The pawns first—how they moved forward one space, how they captured diagonally, that special rule about moving two spaces on their first turn. Elena listened with an intensity that surprised him, her crimson eyes fixed on the screen, her tiny brow furrowed in concentration.
Then the rooks, moving in straight lines across the board. The knights, with their tricky L-shaped movements that confused even adults. The bishops, sliding diagonally, staying on their own colors. The queen, powerful and glorious, able to move in any direction. The king, slow and vulnerable, needing protection at all costs.
He explained each piece carefully, making the rules as simple as possible, expecting questions and distractions and the wandering attention of a four-year-old. But to his growing surprise, Elena asked nothing. She simply watched and absorbed, her mind working behind those crimson eyes like a machine processing information.
After explaining everything, the old man smiled and handed her the phone. "Now this is how you play," he said, settling back to watch her make her first moves.
Elena studied the board for a moment, then looked up at him with genuine surprise. "Old man, it's so easy to play!"
He giggled, charmed by her confidence. "Well, it's easy to say that now, but when you meet a professional player, you'll understand how difficult it really is, little one."
Elena smiled happily, her attention already returning to the board. "King is weak like my Papa," she announced, pointing at the piece, "and queen is strong like my Mama!" She giggled at her own comparison. "Pawns are like my Mama's soldiers, and rooks are like the elders." She clapped her tiny hands together. "Elena loves this game! Let's play, Old Man!"
The old man chuckled and set the game to two-player mode, white pieces on his side, black on hers. He moved his pawn forward—a standard opening, nothing fancy, just testing the waters.
Elena giggled and pushed her own pawn forward in response.
He smiled, expecting beginner mistakes. That was normal—new players always wanted to bring out their powerful pieces too early, didn't understand the importance of controlling the center, fell for basic traps. He would go easy on her, let her have fun, maybe let her win a few games to build her confidence.
But as the minutes passed, something strange began to happen.
Elena wasn't making mistakes.
She wasn't falling for traps.
She was adapting.
Every move he made, she responded with something that countered it. Every strategy he tried, she found a way to block. She played with joy, with laughter, with the pure delight of a child discovering something wonderful—but beneath that joy was a mind working at a level that made no sense for a four-year-old who had just learned the game.
The old man started to sweat.
He pushed harder.
She pushed back.
He tried a complex sequence he'd used in tournaments, a trap that had caught grandmasters off guard.
Elena saw it coming from three moves away and crushed it with a simple pawn advance that left his position in ruins.
This isn't possible, he thought, his mind racing. She learned the rules an hour ago. An hour ago! And now she's playing like—like—
Like a dragon adapting to a new world, just as her mother had adapted to Earth without any problem. Like learning wasn't a process but an absorption. Like her mind worked on a completely different level from ordinary humans.
Elena clapped her hands together, delighted. "Moving queen!" she announced, sliding the piece across the board. "Yeah! Mama got you, Old Man!"
The old man's eyes went wide.
He stared at the board.
At the position.
At the checkmate that was now unavoidable, three moves away, no escape, no counter, nothing he could do.
He looked at Elena.
At this tiny girl who could barely hold his phone properly.
At this child who had learned chess less than an hour ago.
At the being who had just defeated the best chess player in all of Libeus Country.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Elena looked up at him, her crimson eyes bright with joy. "Old Man? Did Elena win? Elena won, right? Look! Mama got you!" She pointed at the board triumphantly.
The old man stared at her for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
A full, genuine, astonished laugh that drew looks from passersby.
"Yes, little one," he said, shaking his head in wonder. "You won. You absolutely won."
Elena cheered and bounced on the bench.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a question began to form.
Who are these people?
What is this child?
Elena raised her tiny arms in victory, cheering for herself with unbridled joy while the old man watched her with a smile that grew more thoughtful by the second. He had never encountered a child like this—never even imagined such a child could exist. In all his years, through all his experience in education and talent scouting, he had never seen anyone, child or adult, learn and master something so quickly.
His mind was already racing with possibilities.
This child wasn't just gifted. She wasn't just talented. She was something beyond any category he had ever encountered—a prodigy who could surpass any genius the world had ever seen. If she could be guided properly, nurtured correctly, given the right opportunities and training... she could shine brighter than anyone in history.
His earbud buzzed softly.
He tapped it gently. "Yes?"
The voice of his assistant came through, crisp and professional. "Headmaster, we found the man you were looking for. Red eyes, searching desperately for a child."
The old man glanced at Elena, who had already moved on to playing against the chess bots on his phone, her tiny fingers moving with surprising precision. "Good. Tell him we have his daughter.
She's safe." He paused, watching Elena crush another bot without even appearing to try. "Make sure you treat him well."
"Yes, Headmaster."
The call ended, and the old man sighed contentedly, rubbing his chin as he continued to study the strange child beside him. It had been a long time since anything had sparked his interest like this. A very long time.
Elena made a sound of annoyance and held up the phone. "Old man, this game is so easy!" She pointed at the screen, which showed that she had just defeated several of the highest-difficulty bots the app offered.
The old man's glasses nearly slipped off his face.
He stared at the screen, then at Elena, then back at the screen. "No," he breathed. "That's... that's not possible."
He had programmed those bots himself. They were designed to challenge grandmasters, to push even the most skilled players to their limits. And this child—this four-year-old who had learned the game less than two hours ago—had crushed them like they were nothing.
He took a deep breath, composing himself.
I must convince her parents, he thought with sudden fierce determination. I cannot lose this brilliant child. Whatever it takes, whatever they want, I will make sure this girl gets the education she deserves.
He turned to Elena with a warm smile. "Try not to get bored, little one," he said gently. "Would you like some chocolate? Or anything else?"
Elena's eyes sparkled like diamonds catching light. "Chocolate? Really? Can I have as much as I want?"
"Yes," he said, amused by her reaction. "You can have as much as you want."
Elena's cheer could probably be heard three floors away. "YIPEE! Old man, you are such a nice human!"
He laughed heartily at her phrasing. "Nice human," he repeated, shaking his head. "Well, you are certainly the strangest little one I have ever met."
Meanwhile, Erza had located her daughter from across the shopping center.
She stood at a distance, her violet eyes narrowed as she took in the scene—Elena sitting with an elderly man, perfectly safe, perfectly happy, completely unaware that she had caused her father to have a panic attack. The old man seemed kind enough, and Elena was obviously comfortable with him, so there was no immediate threat.
Erza turned away.
She had no intention of thanking any human for watching her child. That would imply gratitude, and gratitude implied acknowledgment, and acknowledgment implied... things she wasn't ready to think about.
Instead, she walked to the opposite side of the food court where a fried chicken stall sat surrounded by hungry customers. She pulled out Yuuta's wallet—she had been carrying it since she'd stolen his gaming money—and purchased an entire family bucket without blinking.
Other customers stared at her.
How could they not?
She moved like royalty even in a food court. Her silver hair caught the fluorescent lights and scattered them like diamonds. Her face was flawless, ageless, impossibly beautiful. Men and women alike found themselves unable to look away, drawn by a beauty that seemed almost supernatural.
But when they got closer, when they tried to approach, something stopped them. A chill in the air. A primal warning that this woman was not someone to be bothered. They felt fear—deep, instinctive fear—and they backed away without understanding why.
Erza ignored them all.
She was used to being stared at. Used to the fear and the fascination and the endless, exhausting attention. She pulled a whole chicken leg from the bucket and bit into it, chewing slowly, completely unconcerned with what anyone thought of her manners.
She settled at a table in the food court, her eyes fixed on the distant bench where Elena sat with the old man. She wasn't going to intervene. Wasn't going to interrupt. She was simply... watching. Waiting.
Curious to see how Yuuta would react when he finally found their daughter.
Would he cry? Would he hug her? Would he scold her? Would he do something stupid and adorable that would make Erza's chest ache with that strange warmth she still didn't understand?
She took another bite of chicken and waited.
On the bench, Elena munched happily on her chocolate, her sharp dragon teeth making short work of the treat. Other children her age often struggled with big pieces of chocolate, needing to break them into smaller bits or let them melt in their mouths. Elena had no such trouble. Her teeth crunched through the candy like it was nothing, and she smiled happily at the old man watching her.
He was already lost in thought, seeing visions of this child's future—academies, competitions, world recognition, all the things his connections could provide if he could just convince her parents to trust him.
Then a group of men appeared out of nowhere, emerging from the flow of shoppers like predators stepping out of the shadows. They had been watching the old man for a long time, waiting for the right moment to act, and now that moment had arrived.
His assistant was not with him. For the first time since he had sat down with Elena, the old man was completely alone with only a four-year-old girl for company.
The men surrounded them—four in total, each one built like they had been carved from stone and fed on violence. They towered over the old man, their presence alone enough to make nearby shoppers suddenly remember urgent business elsewhere. Within seconds, the seating area had cleared, leaving only the old man, Elena, and the wolves who had come for them.
The first man had no hair and a face covered in scars that told stories of brutal fights survived. His eyes were cold, empty, the eyes of someone who had stopped feeling anything long ago.
The second was tall as a mountain, easily six foot five, with shoulders so broad they seemed to block out the light.
The third was short but built like a dwarf from old stories—thick, powerful, his arms as big around as most men's legs.
And the fourth... the fourth was different. He wore clothes of obvious quality, expensive fabric and careful tailoring that marked him as someone with money. He was the one who had brought them here, the one in charge.
He stepped forward with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"It's been a while, Headmaster." He bowed respectfully, but the gesture was mockery, not respect. "I hope you're doing well."
The old man's face remained calm, but his eyes had sharpened. "I am doing well, Hemanth." He smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "So what brings you here?"
Hemanth's smile flickered. "Don't act like you don't know why I'm here." Frustration bled through his carefully constructed calm. "You know exactly why."
The old man closed his eyes briefly, as if tired of a conversation he had had too many times. "I already told you, Hemanth. I cannot take your child into my academy, even if you offer me millions of dollars. I have said this before. Your son must go through the interview like everyone else. That is all I can offer."
"Bullshit." Hemanth slammed his hand down on the back of the bench, the sound sharp and violent. "Don't play with me. Your academy's interview is not like regular ones. It's twisted, unexpected, impossible to prepare for. How can anyone pass when you won't even give a hint about what you're looking for?"
The old man sighed. "It's not my fault that your family cannot work together. My interview is designed to test family dynamics, cooperation, unity. If you couldn't figure that out after all these years, don't blame me for your failures."
Hemanth's face twisted with rage. "Listen to me, old man. If you don't admit my son, I will kill you right here." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You know who we are. You know what we're capable of."
The old man met his gaze without flinching. "I know exactly who you are, Hemanth. You're a drug dealer with multiple charges and several murder counts waiting for evidence to stick." He paused. "But I stand by my academy's values. Your son was given the same opportunity as everyone else. It was you who put a gun to my teacher's head to change the results when your son was eliminated."
Hemanth's smile returned, uglier than before. "I thought you would be afraid. I thought you would let my children enroll just to avoid trouble." He gestured at his men. "But it seems I have to kidnap you and torture you to death instead. Boys—get him."
The three thugs moved forward.
The old man held up a hand. "Do you think you can get away with this, Hemanth?" His voice was steady despite the threat. "If you kill me, you'll never be able to enter any academy. You'll be chased by every law enforcement agency in the country forever."
Hemanth laughed—a cold, ugly sound. "I know killing you will cause trouble. I'm not stupid." He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But think about it. If I kill you and go underground for a while, the police will search for me for a year, maybe two. They'll eventually give up, move on to other cases."
He straightened, spreading his hands as if presenting an argument. "And then what? A new headmaster will take your seat. Someone younger. Someone more... flexible. I can approach him, send my son to him. If he refuses..." Hemanth's smile widened. "I'll show him the video of your torture. I'll tell him, 'This will be you next if you don't accept my son.' "
The old man's eyes widened.
For the first time, genuine fear flickered across his face.
"Fear will make him obey," Hemanth continued, savoring the moment. "Fear will open doors that principles kept closed. Your precious academy will accept my son, and no one will remember you except as a cautionary tale."
The old man stared at him, horror dawning. "You are a devil. God will never forgive you, you wicked human."
Hemanth laughed. "God left this place a long time ago, old man. Now—"
"Excuse me."
A small voice cut through the tension.
Everyone froze.
Elena, who had been completely ignored throughout this entire exchange, tugged at Hemanth's sleeve with her tiny hand. Her crimson eyes looked up at him without a trace of fear, without any understanding of the danger she was in.
"Mister Bald Man," she said politely, "are you trying to hurt my new friend?"
To be continued..