With my new outfit on and the day ahead of us, Rein and I were nearly ready to head out into the heart of the capital. First, though, I needed to return my old clothes to my room, a simple enough task that shouldn't have required any assistance.
I was already mentally preparing myself for the three flights of stairs when Reinhard casually waved over a passing maid. She looked all too pleased to be personally given a task by the Sword Saint himself, her eyes practically lighting up as she eagerly reached out for the bundle of clothing in my arms.
What followed was an awkward tug-of-war as I tried to insist it wasn't a big deal, that I could handle carrying my own damn clothes up some stairs. But her sheer enthusiasm was overwhelming, like refusing would somehow be a grave insult to her professional pride. I surrendered the bundle with a resigned sigh, watching her clutch it to her chest like I'd just handed her the crown jewels.
Her eyes practically sparkled with determination and loyalty, as if successfully completing this minor errand would earn her a commendation or medal.
Reinhard, for his part, just gave a polite, slightly resigned smile. Like this was the hundredth time someone had insisted on carrying things for him, on making his life easier whether he wanted the help or not. The burden of being important, I supposed.
With no more physical burdens tying us down, well, me specifically, we made for the entrance hall. Passing by the drawing room, I instinctively tensed, half-expecting Rein's drunken father to come storming out again in another alcohol-fueled fit.
But the hall remained blessedly quiet.
Instead, we found much better company waiting for us just ahead.
Grimm stood near the entrance, tall and weathered like a monument to an older age of chivalry. His presence commanded respect without demanding it. He was speaking gently to Flam and Grassis, both of whom looked uncharacteristically bashful and pleased by whatever kind words he was offering them. Their usual confidence had softened into something almost shy.
As we approached, I caught the tail end of it, something about Reinhard being proud of them, about how well they were progressing in their training.
When the three noticed us, their expressions brightened immediately.
Grimm straightened as we closed the distance, transforming into every inch the model of an old soldier. His presence shifted from warm and grandfatherly to dutiful and disciplined like flipping a switch.
"Master Reinhard," he said formally, bowing slightly from the waist. "Is there anything I can provide before you depart for the capital?"
Rein gave him that calm, ever-polite nod that seemed to be his default setting. "No, Grimm. I believe we're all set for the day. Please look after the grounds while Ethan and I are away."
"Of course, sir—"
Then, like a shot fired from the shadows, Flam struck without warning.
"Hey Ethan," she called out with that mischievous grin I was beginning to recognize as dangerous. "Guess with amazing clothes even you can look half-decent."
I barely flinched. Her barbs couldn't pierce the armor of confidence I'd built up over the past day. Besides, I had ammunition of my own.
"Half-decent?" I grinned back, meeting her challenge head-on. "Please. I bet when I walk into the capital, I'll have half the women all over me."
Grassis joined the attack like it was a coordinated military takedown, and I swear Grimm's face had already adopted the weary look of a man bracing for impact. He'd played these games before.
"Yeah, maybe half the old grannies," Grassis shot back without missing a beat, his timing perfect. "They'll see your white hair and think you wandered off from the retirement home."
Fatality.
I'd been beheaded, publicly executed by a twelve-year-old, and defenestrated from the tower of my own ego.
My head dropped in mock despair as Grassis pressed the advantage, absolutely merciless in her assault.
"Master Reinhard," she continued, turning to address him with exaggerated concern, "please make sure Ethan doesn't get lost or mugged while you're out. He seems like the kind of guy who'd get run over by a ground dragon within five minutes of entering the city."
The hits just kept coming. No mercy.
I turned desperately to Reinhard, silently praying for salvation. Surely my friend, my companion, would step in to defend me from these vicious children.
"Haha, I'll make sure Ethan returns in one piece," he said without hesitation, that warm smile never wavering. "Even if I have to carry him back myself. It would be my honor to do so."
'Et tu, Reinhard?'
Crushed and thoroughly betrayed by the one person I'd counted on for backup, I let my head hang in defeat. Reinhard gently guided me forward with a hand on my back, steering me toward the exit like a parent escorting their embarrassed child away from the scene of their humiliation.
The twins called out cheerful goodbyes behind us, their voices bright and gleeful as they giggled at my expense. I could still hear them laughing as we stepped out into the morning light.
I was still mourning the brutal assassination of my ego when the sunlight hit my face.
—
The sun was already climbing high as we passed through the grand archway of the Astrea estate, its massive stone pillars casting long shadows over the cobbled front path. The air was warm and crisp, laced with the fresh scent of morning dew and distant flowers carried on a gentle breeze. A perfect day to be dragged into unfamiliar territory, apparently.
We made our way down the winding road that led from the estate toward the capital proper, Reinhard walking at a relaxed, unhurried pace beside me. He didn't seem in any rush to get anywhere specific, which I appreciated. The quiet between us wasn't awkward, he never made it feel that way. It was companionable. Peaceful, even.
The estate gates closed gently behind us with a soft clang of metal on metal, and for a moment I glanced back over my shoulder. That massive manor, once so imposing and intimidating when I'd first laid eyes on it, now felt like something... different. Familiar, maybe. A home, or at least the beginning of one.
"You alright?" Reinhard asked, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he walked.
"Yeah," I said, turning back to face forward. "Just thinking. Feels like my life changed so quickly, you know? Like I blinked and suddenly everything's different. But here I am, still marching on."
He nodded. "That's how life is sometimes. One step at a time, even if the road ahead is unfamiliar."
—
As Rein and I continued our light banter, chatting easily about nothing and everything as we moved deeper into the capital, I noticed something strange.
The city had changed since yesterday.
Or maybe it hadn't, and I had.
The crowds that yesterday had felt stifling and isolating—like everybody was judging me, seeing right through whatever facade I was putting up—were now full of unique and interesting characters. People with their own stories, their own lives. Like I could strike up a conversation with just about anyone and learn something new, hear a perspective I'd never considered.
The difference was stark and a little unsettling in how dramatic it felt.
After winding through a few quieter side roads and descending a wide stone staircase that curved gently downward into the heart of the capital, the scenery transformed completely. It bloomed into something entirely new and overwhelming in scope.
Massive rows of buildings stretched out in every direction, creating artificial canyons of architecture and commerce. Grand banners hung from wide storefronts, displaying family crests and guild symbols. Vibrant awnings in every color imaginable shaded cobblestone walkways that were absolutely packed with locals weaving between market stalls, merchant carts, and outdoor café tables.
The central shopping district of the capital was alive.
It was the kind of place that even with an entire day and a proper battle plan, you'd still never cover even a fraction of its full scope. But even at a glance, just standing at the entrance and taking it all in, I could feel the magnetic pull of its energy—the color, the controlled chaos, the sheer life of it all.
Street performers juggled flaming knives with practiced ease, drawing small crowds. Musicians strummed strange stringed instruments I didn't recognize, their melodies weaving together into an exotic soundtrack. Hawkers pitched everything from fine silks to what was allegedly enchanted cookware that stirred itself (batteries not included, I assumed).
And then it hit me, one realization after another as my eyes tracked across the signs above shops and carts.
I could read them.
Not all of them—plenty were still incomprehensible tangles of unfamiliar glyphs and characters that might as well have been alien script. But enough. Enough to make a real difference.
"Fresh Bread — Still Warm!" "Royal Tailor — Appointments Required." "Artifacts & Oddities — Cursed Objects Half Off!"
Each one I successfully deciphered sparked a quiet, prideful grin. The others, still beyond my current understanding, only added fuel to the fire of determination.
Next to me, Reinhard was walking at his characteristic relaxed pace, letting me take everything in without rushing me along. His posture remained calm, almost like a local tour guide patiently watching a tourist's first wide-eyed reaction to the big city.
"Welcome to the central shopping district," he said softly, voice warm with amusement at my obvious fascination. "Try not to spend all your coin in the first five minutes."
I was about to make some kind of comeback, probably something about not having any coin to spend anyway, when a glint of unexpected light caught my eye. Reflection off a windowpane, maybe. And just past a cluster of shoppers moving through the crowd, I could have sworn I saw someone wearing a tracksuit.
Modern athletic wear. Synthetic fabrics. Completely out of place in this medieval-ish fantasy setting.
…But the figure turned a corner before I could get a better look or confirm what I'd seen.
Weird.
I blinked, mentally filed it away as 'probably imagination,' and shrugged it off. There were too many new experiences flooding my senses to worry about phantom tracksuits.
Turning down a different street, I was immediately met with an even larger avenue than the one we'd just left. The scale was staggering.
On one side of the street, neat little established businesses were lined up in permanent storefronts, their signs professionally painted and their windows displaying carefully arranged goods. The shops continued down the avenue for as far as I could see, eventually becoming too distant to make out individual details.
On the other side were more of the smaller merchant stalls and temporary setups, canvas-covered carts, folding tables loaded with goods, vendors calling out prices and deals. In some patches, large colorful cloths had been strung up between poles to provide shade, creating covered bazaars where groups of merchants worked together in organized chaos.
A myriad of different cultures were clashing here in the best possible way. Some people spoke with distinctly different dialects, their accents and speech patterns marking them as foreign. The variety of clothing styles, the different foods being sold, the mixture of languages, it all painted a picture.
It appeared to me that this particular area was something akin to the international trading district of the kingdom. A melting pot where merchants from different nations came to do business.
In the middle of the wide road, in what struck me as an impressive display of public coordination and traffic management, a steady stream of ground dragons carried cargo in two separate lanes. The massive beasts moved with surprising grace despite their size, occasionally turning off the main avenue into side streets or stopping to deliver cargo to merchant groups. Some carried passengers in covered seats strapped to their backs, apparently the local equivalent of taxis or public transport.
Faced with the frankly overwhelming flood of sensory information, the sights, the sounds, the smells of exotic spices and unfamiliar foods, I immediately thought of a solution.
Reason and Judgement
Click
Any anxiety or feelings of being overwhelmed vanished instantly, washed away like sand under a wave. What was left was an analytical and perfectly calm mental state. It was like I'd suddenly started playing a point-and-click adventure game on my computer, the kind where you could hover your mouse over objects to get detailed descriptions and information.
'And why would we feel overwhelmed in a game?'
The answer was simple: I wouldn't.
My perception stretched outward, sharpened to a razor's edge. The crowd had frozen mid-step, every person locked in place like statues. Footsteps that had been pounding against cobblestones became visible ripples in settled dust. Voices that had been a chaotic blend stretched into distorted echoes, like underwater shouts reaching the surface. A woman caught mid-sneeze looked absolutely ridiculous, her hand hovering comically near her nose, face scrunched in that universal pre-sneeze expression.
And beneath the surface chaos, the threads emerged.
Patterns. Connections. Intent made visible through body language and positioning.
That guy over there faking a limp to draw pity—his weight distribution was all wrong, favoring the "injured" leg when it should be the opposite. He was using the sympathy act to get close to a noblewoman whose attention was occupied elsewhere, positioning himself to pickpocket her coin purse.
That merchant at the fruit stand slipping a different apple to a distracted child when the mother wasn't looking, swapping the fresh one she'd pointed at for one with a rotten core hidden on the bottom side. Small-scale fraud, but fraud nonetheless.
That pair of cloaked travelers standing too still near an alley entrance, watching the crowd too closely. Their mouths weren't moving but their eyes kept flicking to each other in obvious communication. Hand signals, probably. Coordinating something.
I could see the flicker of intent in eyes before actions followed. The tension in shoulders that telegraphed which direction someone would move. The greed in posture, the fear, the determination. I could tell which way someone would turn before their feet moved, predict their path through the crowd. Who was walking with clear purpose toward a specific destination, and who was just following the general flow of traffic without thinking.
One strange realization hit me: compared to yesterday, nobody seemed to be paying any special attention to Reinhard. It was as if the famous Sword Saint had suddenly become just another tall person walking through the capital. No stares, no whispers, no one stopping to gawk or ask for autographs.
'Perhaps he possesses some magical means of preventing recognition?' I wondered. 'Some kind of notice-me-not charm or perception filter? That would make sense for someone who probably wants to move through the city without causing a scene every time.'
I glanced at Reinhard, then mentally shrugged and went back to admiring the frozen scenes around me. If he had some kind of anti-fame magic, that was his business.
I saw the city's heartbeat laid bare before me. Every pulse, every rhythm, every hidden current.
And for a moment… I felt like I could read the minds of everyone around me. Not their actual thoughts, that would be beyond even Reason and Judgment's capabilities. But their decisions. The choices they were making and about to make. A hundred what-if paths branching out from every person. A hundred invisible decisions weaving around me like threads in an impossibly complex tapestry.
This frozen moment was my domain now, free for me to peruse at leisure like I was browsing goods at a market stall.
And so, I did exactly that.
—
Ahead of me and Rein, walking through the crowd with the oblivious masses parting around them, were a noble child and his stalwart bodyguard.
A boy and a man, side by side, frozen like a portrait carved into the living crowd.
The child stood just ahead of his protector. His hair was too perfectly neat to have been combed by his own hands—someone had styled it for him this morning, probably the same servant who'd dressed him. The folds in his expensive clothes were tight and restrictive at the shoulders, but had loosened near the waist. He'd adjusted them slightly during the walk, trying to breathe easier without being scolded for slouching or appearing slovenly.
His small arms hung behind his back, not locked rigidly but held there. Posed. Like he was waiting for permission to move naturally, for the chance to gesture or fidget without consequence or correction.
His gaze was pointed directly toward a street performer with a wide, glowing smile, currently juggling what appeared to be enchanted orbs that left trails of colored light in the air. An objectively cool sight that should make any kid his age light up with excitement.
But the boy's face?
Completely neutral.
His lips weren't pursed in disapproval. They were suppressed. Held carefully neutral. A tiny crease at the corner of his mouth gave it away—just the barest hint of a restrained expression trying to break free. A want to smile, to show genuine delight.
Denied. Suppressed. Buried.
The sleeves of his robe were just a bit too long, partially concealing his hands. But not quite enough. The faint tension in the fabric hinted at fingers twitching or flexing beneath, movements captured mid-motion by my frozen perception. The boy wasn't unaware of what he was watching. Wasn't disinterested.
He was pretending not to care.
Not because he genuinely didn't.
Because he'd been taught—trained, really—to believe he wasn't allowed to show such base emotions in public. That excitement or wonder or childish delight were beneath someone of his station.
Behind him stood the bodyguard.
Broad-shouldered, heavily armored in well-maintained plate and chain. One hand rested near—but notably not on—the hilt of a longsword at his hip. Classic guard stance, but relaxed. Not the rigid parade posture of ceremony or show. This was the kind of alert-but-comfortable looseness that only came from years of professional discipline, from knowing your job so well it became second nature.
But even frozen in this moment of stillness, the details shouted their story.
A slight lean in his posture, almost imperceptible. Not away from the boy, but forward and outward at an angle. Protective positioning. One foot planted harder than the other, weight shifted like he'd been in the process of turning in response to something. A potential threat? An unexpected noise? Something the oblivious boy hadn't noticed but the trained bodyguard had immediately registered.
On the inner wrist of his armor, barely visible unless you were really looking, was a notch in the metal. Old damage, the edges rust-stained from exposure. A blade nick from some past fight, probably close-range combat. An attack aimed at his charge that he'd blocked with his own body without hesitation, accepting the damage to his armor rather than let it reach the child.
His expression was professionally impassive, carefully controlled. But his gaze told a different story. It wasn't focused on any one specific thing—no, he was scanning. Had been constantly scanning the environment. I could see it in the slight furrow of his brow, the micro-shifts of tension around his eyes from the constant visual processing.
Always alert. Always assessing threats. Always ready.
And there, barely visible under his jaw, a scar. Faded with age but deep when it had been fresh. Earned in service, probably defending a previous charge. He wasn't proud of it, didn't show it off as some badge of honor. But he wasn't hiding it either.
Just living with it. A reminder of what the job cost sometimes.
I didn't know their names. Didn't know where they came from or where they were going.
But standing there in that frozen instant, studying them with Reason and Judgment's perfect clarity, I understood them.
The boy was being deliberately shaped into something cold and sharp and emotionless. Molded into whatever his family thought a proper noble should be, his natural childhood joy being systematically crushed out of him one suppressed smile at a time.
The man was a sword already drawn, forever unsheathed. Always waiting to cut down whatever threat got too close to his charge. His whole existence dedicated to standing between a child and danger.
—
My eyes shifted again, scanning across the frozen crowd.
Near the edge of the square, half-shadowed beneath an alley's stone archway, stood a cloaked priest.
A bald man wrapped in a dark robe with silver trim along the edges. The hem was neat and spotless despite the dusty street, carefully maintained, not naturally clean. One hand clutched a rosary, held perfectly still in what should be a gesture of prayer or meditation. The other hand rested gently over the first in a classic pious pose.
But his body language gave him away completely.
His back was straight, but not in reverence or humility. In alertness. His chin tilted just enough to let him see beneath his artificially lowered brow, gaze tracking the crowd. Not meditative contemplation. Cold calculation.
His jaw was tight on one side, relaxed on the other. Muscles unevenly clenched, betraying inner tension held in check. Not from prayer or spiritual focus. From deliberate self-control.
The rosary beads showed uneven wear. Only a few had the smooth polish that came from frequent, genuine handling. The rest looked barely touched. A performance piece, not a sacred tool used in actual devotion.
The angle of his stance placed his left foot pointed slightly outward, not toward the crowd or the street, but toward the alley beside him. Angled toward an escape route.
His eyelids were half-shut in what should look like peaceful prayer. But in this frozen moment, I could trace the lines of tension around the eye sockets, see the faint crow's feet from habitual squinting. Not from age alone. From years of watching people closely without appearing to, of observing while pretending not to see.
There was a smudge on the underside of his right sleeve, barely visible. Dark ink. Fresh, probably from earlier today.
He'd written something down recently. Not scripture or prayers.
Names? Secrets? Confessions heard and recorded?
And beneath his sleeve, I could just make out the shapes, too many rings. Gold. White gold. Different styles. He'd taken vows of poverty once, sure. Sworn himself to a life of service and simplicity.
But that had been a different man. A dead man, really.
The current version wore the same religious clothing but possessed an entirely different soul underneath.
This man knew secrets. Traded in them. Not through speaking, he wasn't a gossip or a loud mouth. He listened. People confessed to him because of his collar and his role, never knowing it wasn't absolution or faith he was offering.
It was leverage. Information to be stored away and used later.
Today, standing in this crowd, he'd learned something valuable. Something that would buy him another year of comfortable silence, of protection from whoever he was beholden to.
Next year, when the price was right and the situation demanded it, he'd sell that secret to the highest bidder.
I couldn't prove any of my deductions. Couldn't back them up with hard evidence or testimony.
Perhaps I was completely wrong. Maybe he was just a tired priest taking a break from temple duties, genuinely at prayer.
But standing there frozen in time, studying him with Reason and Judgment's clarity...
It felt undeniably true.
The pulse of the frozen world snapped back to normal speed.
The market moved again immediately. Voices sharpened from distorted echoes back into distinct conversations. Sunlight warmed the cobblestones instead of slicing them into sharp geometric angles. The woman finally completed her sneeze. The ground dragons continued their steady march down the center lane.
I inhaled slowly and deeply, letting the real world catch up with me properly.
The buzz from using the Authority lingered in my mind, that particular high that came after experiencing such perfect clarity. My mental footing felt stronger somehow. My head lighter despite all the information I'd processed.
"Are you alright, Ethan?" Reinhard's voice cut through my lingering mental fog, concern evident in his tone. "Your posture suddenly changed quite noticeably."
I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring grin and shrugged casually. "Just the afterglow of Reason and Judgment. Lots of people around, figured I'd do some people-watching while we walked."
His eyes immediately began scanning the crowd with more intensity, searching for potential threats. "Did you see anything concerning?"
"Nah," I replied, keeping my tone light. "Just the usual stuff, pickpockets working the crowd, a shady priest doing shady priest things, a noble kid who looks like he's never smiled in his life." I leaned into him slightly, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. "Nothing world-ending, if that's what you feared."
The tension in his shoulders eased immediately. "I'm relieved to hear that the capital will still be standing by the end of the day."
He delivered it completely deadpan, which made it even funnier.
We continued like that for a while, me tossing out running commentary like a tour guide who'd read entirely the wrong script, and Rein humoring me with the patience of a long-suffering older brother. I pointed at a merchant aggressively trying to sell what looked suspiciously like dried lizard tails as a miracle remedy for baldness, complete with hand-painted signs proclaiming "GUARANTEED RESULTS!"
Reinhard raised an eyebrow, genuinely half-intrigued. "Do you think it actually works?"
"In the far future," I said with exaggerated solemnity, reaching up to twirl a strand of my newly white hair between my fingers, "God, I hope it does. Just in case."
A few more paces brought us past a grown man aggressively haggling with what looked like a ten-year-old child over the price of a decorative wooden mask. The kid was holding firm on his asking price with impressive determination.
I threw my arms up dramatically. "Behold! Capitalism in action. The free market has no mercy, not even for children."
Reinhard's laugh came soft and warm, almost indulgent. "I honestly can't tell if you're genuinely enjoying this experience... or slowly losing your mind to sensory overload."
"Yes," I said flatly, without missing a beat.
Eventually, the street began to widen again as we moved into a slightly quieter section, and the frantic tempo of foot traffic slowed to something more manageable. Just ahead, tucked slightly off the main avenue down a side path, was a cozy-looking café marked by a polished wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze.
The smell hit me first, spiced tea and fresh pastries, warm bread and something with cinnamon. After all that walking, I was more than interested in both a break and whatever they were baking.
Reinhard glanced at me, reading my expression easily, then toward the inviting café. "Would you like to stop for something? Take a brief rest?"
"Eh, only if you're hungry too, Rein. I don't want to drag you somewhere you don't want to go." I paused, then added honestly: "But I won't lie, whatever they're baking in there smells absolutely amazing."
He smiled warmly, then gestured ahead with a graceful sweep of his hand. "Then let's take a well-deserved break and investigate the source of these delicious scents together."
I definitely wouldn't argue against that plan.
We stepped under the café's shaded awning and into a surprisingly peaceful courtyard garden tucked behind the main building. Small tables sat nestled between large planters overflowing with herbs and sun-tinged flowers. The atmosphere shifted dramatically from the bustling chaos of the market to a kind of warm serenity. The constant hum of voices mellowed to a pleasant background murmur.
A server appeared almost immediately and led us to a table near the edge of the patio where we'd have a view of both the garden and the street beyond. I caught the faint scent of orange peel and cinnamon drifting from the kitchen, making my mouth water.
Reinhard sat down with the perfect posture of someone who could leap across the table and into action if needed, every muscle ready despite appearing relaxed.
I slouched into my chair like someone who might very well take a nap face-down in their teacup if given half a chance.
When the waitress returned with menus, Reinhard ordered something that sounded gentle and refined, some kind of herbal tea blend. I mirrored his choice without really thinking about it, figuring he probably knew what was good. With a polite nod, she vanished back toward the kitchen to fetch our drinks.
The moment breathed with comfortable silence.
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly, letting the tension from the crowded streets drain away. "This is... really nice, actually."
Rein glanced toward the crowd just visible beyond the café's archway, still flowing past in their endless stream. "It is."
And just as I turned to follow his gaze—
Movement in my peripheral vision.
A flicker of black, orange, white, and gold. Colors that stood out against the more muted tones most people wore.
Some guy in distinctive clothing stepping around a corner, apparently following someone dressed in white. Just far enough away to catch only my peripheral vision, but familiar enough in silhouette and color scheme to pull at something in the back of my head.
Where had I seen that before?
I blinked. The moment passed. Whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd.
I let it go with a mental shrug. The tea would be here soon, and I was tired of overthinking every little thing.
The waitress returned promptly with two delicate porcelain cups and a small tray of golden-brown scones, steam curling lazily off the surface of the tea like morning mist over a lake. Reinhard offered her a polite thank-you and waited patiently until she was out of earshot before speaking again.
He rested his hands on the table, one over the other in a relaxed but attentive posture. "Ethan," he said gently, his tone carrying genuine curiosity rather than interrogation, "have you given any thought to what you want to do in this world yet? What path you want to walk?"
The question landed softer than I expected. Not pushy or demanding.
I looked down at my tea for a moment, watching the subtle ripples settle on the surface as the liquid cooled. Steam rose in delicate spirals. Then I smiled, the expression coming more easily than I expected.
"You said you were a royal knight, right, Rein?" I looked up to meet his eyes. "Then maybe that's what I want to be too."
He blinked once, clearly a bit surprised, but didn't interrupt. Just listened with that patient attentiveness he seemed to give everything.
"I mean, with my new powers and abilities, I could be like your really perceptive sidekick or something. The Watson to your Holmes." I leaned forward slightly, gesturing with building enthusiasm. "Just think of it, you and me, rolling through the Kingdom of Lugunica together, stopping crime wherever it tries to hide! Fighting injustice! Protecting the innocent!"
Reinhard chuckled warmly, the sound genuine and honest. "I can already imagine it quite clearly."
But as I continued speaking, letting the idea flow out into words, the less it felt like just a joke or idle fantasy. The more it settled into something solid.
"Back home on Earth, I'd never been much of the athletic type," I admitted, leaning back in my chair and adopting a more serious tone. "Never played sports, never really worked out consistently. But I always respected the people who kept others safe, you know? Sheriffs and firefighters, first responders... folks who had to step in when things went bad and lives were on the line. I wanted to do something like that. Make that kind of difference."
I paused, collecting my thoughts.
"But there was always that wall between wanting it and actually doing it. No training, no real drive pushing me forward, nothing concrete to work toward. Just vague dreams that never went anywhere."
My gaze lifted, locking with his across the small table, and I leaned forward with renewed intensity.
"But here... with these abilities?" I felt that spark in my chest growing brighter. "I think I could actually do something meaningful. Not just stand on the sidelines watching other people be useful."
Reinhard's expression grew more thoughtful, his head tilting slightly as he listened with complete attention.
"I want to stand on the front lines too," I continued, my voice dropping quieter. "I want to be someone who makes a real difference in people's lives. Someone who matters. Even if I've got to work my ass off to get there, train until I can barely move, push past every limit, I'll do it."
There it was, burning in my chest. That spark deep inside, shining sharp and bright like a freshly drawn blade catching sunlight.
A goal.
A real reason to move forward in this strange new world.
Reinhard took a slow, measured sip of his tea, those sharp blue eyes never leaving mine. When he carefully set the cup back down with a soft clink, his smile had softened into something more solemn but no less warm.
"I think..." he began carefully, choosing his words with obvious thought, "that's a beautiful goal to hold, Ethan. Truly."
He looked past me toward the café's archway, where a pair of city guards were passing by on patrol, chatting easily between themselves about something mundane. Their armor clinked softly with each step.
"But being a knight isn't just about strength or power," Reinhard continued, his voice taking on a teaching quality. "It's about who you choose to protect when no one else will step forward. About what principles you stand for when it would be easier, safer, even, to simply look away and let injustice happen."
His gaze returned to mine.
"You've already got the heart for it, though. That essential core of wanting to help others, to stand between people and harm." He smiled slightly. "That's the part you fundamentally can't teach someone. Either they have it or they don't."
"But," he added gently, his expression becoming slightly more serious, "you'll have to train your body intensely to keep up with your will and your abilities. There will be times when raw power isn't enough to solve a problem. Where what truly matters is endurance, patience, discipline. Times when you'll have to choose mercy over pride, restraint over violence."
I nodded slowly, absorbing that wisdom and mentally filing it away.
He leaned forward slightly across the table, folding his hands together. "If you want this path, if you truly want to become a knight worthy of the title, I'll help you every single step of the way. Training, learning the theory and law, understanding the responsibilities, everything. You won't have to walk that difficult road alone."
I smiled at him, feeling a little stunned by the genuine offer. "Thanks, Rein. I mean it. That... that means a lot."
"You don't have to thank me," he said easily, the corner of his mouth tilting upward again into something more playful. "After all... what kind of partner would I be if I let my sidekick fall hopelessly behind?"
That surprised laugh out of me, breaking the more serious mood.
"You're never gonna let me live down calling myself your sidekick, are you?"
He lifted his teacup again, eyes dancing with barely suppressed mirth and warmth.
"Not a chance."
We both laughed, and the conversation drifted to lighter topics as we finished our tea and scones. The weight of the decision had been made, but it sat comfortably now. No longer a vague dream but an actual path forward.
A goal worth fighting for.
'If only dreams could last...'