The young man stood perfectly still before the vendor's stall, his gaze locked on the sizzling skewers as if they posed a great and complex question. He hadn't moved a muscle for several long minutes.
"U-um, sir?" the vendor ventured, his voice tight with nervousness. "Have you decided yet?"
"Do not interrupt me," the young man said, his tone calm but absolute. "I am deciding between the chicken skewer or the pork. This is a serious matter."
The vendor couldn't help it a small, weary sigh escaped his lips.
"Did you just sigh?" The young man's eyes, a cool and focused grey, finally lifted from the meat to pin the vendor in place.
"N-No, sir. Not at all."
"Good. This decision requires my full concentration. It is best if you do not exhale so loudly. You could break my focus."
The vendor simply nodded, a picture of resigned defeat. The customer was clearly someone not to be argued with. Slung across the young man's back was a giant sword, its immense shape wrapped in pristine white linen. He carried an air of quiet authority that made the bustling market seem to fade around him.
"I have decided," the young man announced, a note of finality in his voice. "I will take—"
"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU BASTARD!"
A furious shout tore through the market square, slicing through the noise of bartering and chatter. The young man's hand, which had been reaching for his coin purse, clenched into a fist. His sharp grey eyes narrowed as he turned toward the source of the commotion. All around, other vendors and civilians paused their business, stepping out from their stalls to see what was happening.
Through the crowded plaza, a boy with a flash of crimson hair wove a desperate path. Five soldiers in black armor crashed through the market after him, their faces contorted with rage as they shouted for him to halt.
"Oh my goodness, what is happening?" a woman whispered, pulling her child closer to her side and crossing her arms protectively.
"Must be a thief," someone else muttered.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd as people strained to see the unfolding chase.
"Probably the same thief again," the vendor muttered to himself, watching the distant commotion. "I heard a kid from the Third Wall keeps sneaking in to steal food. Poor thing." He shook his head with a sigh and turned back to his stall to tend to his grill.
He froze. Two of his plump chicken skewers were gone. In their place, resting neatly on the counter, was a small leather purse. He picked it up, the weight surprising him. He poured a few coins into his palm silver pieces, worth far more than the missing skewers.
"What…? Ah," the vendor whispered, a slow smile replacing his confusion. He tucked the heavy purse away with a knowing nod. "A man of honor, then. I suppose I can close early today. Lucky me."
Meanwhile, Shion was a blur of desperate motion. He darted between stalls, his lungs burning. A soldier lunged, his blade sweeping low to cut Shion's legs out from under him. Shion leapt, the sword whistling harmlessly beneath his feet. Before he could land, another soldier was already there, his weapon arcing upward in a brutal slash aimed at Shion's neck. Shion dropped into a roll, the blade passing so close he felt the wind of it against his crimson hair. He sprang back into a sprint, his extraordinary agility only fueling the soldiers' fury.
"Don't let him escape! Surround him!" the scarred leader bellowed.
Shion's energy was fading. I can't keep this up. I need to disappear, now, before more of them come. He dug deep for one final burst of speed, aiming for a narrow gap between two cloth merchants.
And then he saw him. A young man with strangely pale pink hair stood directly in his path, calmly eating a chicken skewer. He was an unmoving statue in the chaos.
"Move out of my way!" Shion screamed, not breaking stride. He planned to swerve at the last second.
The man simply tilted his head, chewing slowly.
"I said MOVE!"
Shion feinted to the right, then tried to dart left. It was a mistake. The world seemed to slow. He saw a boot, not a sword, materialize before him. It crashed into his face with breathtaking precision.
Crunch.
A shockwave of pure, blinding pain erupted from his nose. The market sounds faded into a distant roar. His vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges. Fighting unconsciousness, he forced his left eye open.
Hovering above him was the pink-haired man, looking down with the most provocative, tranquil smirk Shion had ever seen. Time snapped back to its normal speed.
Shion's body was flung backward as if launched from a catapult. He crashed through a pottery stall in an explosion of clay shards and splintered wood, skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust. Screams erupted from the crowd.
The soldiers skidded to a halt, their pursuit forgotten. Before them stood the pink-haired man, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt, his smile pleasant.
"Excellent citizen!" the scarred soldier panted, stepping forward. "Thank you for your help in subduing that—"
His words died in his throat. His eyes widened. In a flash, he shoved the soldier beside him back and snapped to a rigid, formal posture. "Greetings, Sir Ida Willard!"
The pink-haired man blinked. "Hmm? You know me?"
The other four soldiers immediately dropped into deep bows, their earlier bravado gone. Only one new recruit remained standing, his face a mask of confusion, before a sharp elbow from a comrade forced him to bend.
"Of course we know you, sir! A member of the Dead Sun Squad! My deepest apologies for this new recruit's ignorance," the scarred man said, his voice strained.
The mention of that name—Dead Sun—sent a visible tremor through the soldiers. The air grew heavy and cold.
"No apology needed beside I've been away from Kurtkin for some time," Ida said, his tone light. He gestured with his now-empty skewer toward the wrecked stall. "So, who is this… enthusiastic young man?"
"He's an Atilui, sir. A slave from the Third Wall. We were just removing the filth before he contaminated the Second Wall."
"An Atilui," Ida repeated, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Interesting and how did a mere slave break through the Second Wall's defenses?" He paused, letting the question hang. "Could it be that the soldiers stationed here have grown… weak?"
The suffocating silence that followed was broken only by the sound of the scarred soldier swallowing hard. "Sir, I assure you—"
"Let's not worry about it," Ida interrupted, his cheerful tone returning like a blade being sheathed. "I'll overlook this lapse. I trust it will be the last one. I would hate to have to discuss it with your captain."
A collective, grateful exhale came from the bowing men. "Thank you, sir!"
Ida turned and walked casually toward the shattered stall, peering into the dusty wreckage. He saw broken pots, scattered vegetables, and no sign of a crimson-haired boy. A low, genuine laugh escaped him. "Well, I'll be damned. He slipped away without me noticing. Quite impressive."
The scarred soldier stepped forward. "We will mobilize and search the Third Wall immediately, sir!"
"No," Ida said, the single word absolute. He finally turned his full gaze upon the soldiers, and the playful lightness was gone, replaced by an unmistakable command. "I will handle the Third Wall. You will not interfere. Do you understand? Unless, of course, you want your captain to receive a full report of today's… incompetence."
The soldier paled and took a staggering step back. "Understood, sir."
"Good." Ida tossed his empty skewer stick aside. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little ghost to hunt."