The morning news cycle wasted no time.
Across Vale, screens flickered to life in apartments, airships, cafés, and public plazas, all replaying the same footage on loop.
A towering figure beneath moonlight.
A storm splitting apart.
A forest flattened into an endless plain.
And a man standing alone in the aftermath, coat torn, fists shaking, before disappearing into the night sky.
"The Red Huntsman," the anchor said, voice tight with awe, "a protector who has operated across all kingdoms for the past six years, has once again been confirmed active in Vale territory."
Another clip played.
William soaring above Vale.
William intercepting Grimm.
William holding the line at Grayridge.
"The identity of the Red Huntsman remains unknown," the broadcast continued, "but what is clear is his pattern. He appears only when Grimm outbreaks reach catastrophic levels… and disappears immediately after the threat is eliminated."
A second reporter cut in.
"Witnesses from Grayridge describe him as a man who arrived alone, sealed the breach using what appears to be aura-based weapon manifestation, and single-handedly eradicated an advanced Grimm threat classified as an Alpha-level entity."
The footage shifted again.
The Ape Grimm.
Then the final punch.
DETROIT SMASH.
The screen shook with the impact replay.
"In response to recent Grimm activity outside city borders, the Vale Council has announced accelerated funding for outer settlement expansion projects, including the Grayridge Development Initiative. Officials claim this is a direct effort to strengthen civilian infrastructure in regions now regularly affected by large-scale Grimm migration patterns."
A map appeared showing new planned settlements beyond Vale's walls.
"But critics argue," the reporter continued, "that these developments are reactive rather than preventative, and that reliance on unknown independent Huntsmen—such as the Red Huntsman—raises long-term security concerns."
The broadcast cut to interviews of civilians.
"He saved us."
"He always shows up when things are worst."
"He doesn't even stay for thanks… he just leaves."
One woman stared directly into the camera.
"I think… he just wants to make sure we're safe. That's it."
The screen faded to a final image:
William standing in the moonlight, looking back once before vanishing into the sky.
Vale — Residential District.
The television clicked off.
Silence filled the small home.
The house itself was modest compared to most homes within Vale's upper districts.
Old wooden floors creaked softly beneath every step while warm morning light filtered through cream-colored curtains hanging over the windows. The walls carried years of history in the form of framed photographs, repaired cracks, and shelves lined with books, old combat journals, and pieces of dismantled weaponry that looked far too dangerous to be displayed casually.
It didn't feel like the home of a legendary Huntsman.
It felt lived in.
Comfortable.
Real.
The living room connected directly to a small kitchen where the smell of coffee still lingered faintly in the air. A worn couch sat facing the television while folded blankets rested neatly over the armrests, evidence of long nights spent waiting for someone to come home safely.
Near the hallway stood an old coat rack carrying several jackets alongside one very familiar crimson coat hanger currently sitting empty.
The house showed its age in small ways.
Scratches along doorframes.
Burn marks near the backyard entrance.
A section of wall that had clearly been repaired more than once.
William's influence on the home was impossible to miss.
Toward the back of the house, large windows overlooked the training yard outside where broken practice dummies and shallow craters covered the ground like scars from years of relentless training.
Despite the damage, the home carried a strange warmth to it.
Quiet.
Safe.
The kind of place someone spent years protecting.
And for all the destruction William brought back with him after every battle—
Eric had always rebuilt whatever broke.
Eric Heart stood in front of the screen for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"Six years…" he muttered. "Still doing it like this."
He turned away from the television and walked toward the kitchen, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he moved.
The kettle clicked on.
Steam began to rise.
Outside, the city continued as normal, completely unaware of the weight behind the stories they were celebrating.
Eric stared into his cup of tea for a while before speaking again, quieter this time.
"Hero or not… you're still just a kid who never learned when to stop."
He set the cup down a little harder than intended.
The sound echoed through the room.
His jaw tightened.
"Ripping your body apart every time something goes wrong…"
A pause.
Then, more softly:
"…you're going to break one day, William."
Eric walked back toward the living room and glanced at the silent TV.
The news had already moved on to another segment.
But Grayridge still lingered in his mind.
A flattened forest.
A ruined coat.
And a grandson who always smiled like nothing hurt at all.
Eric shook his head slightly.
"Reckless," he said under his breath. "Just like your father."
He picked up the remote again, hesitated, then turned the TV back on.
Eric didn't sleep much that night.
And judging by the state of the house's spare room, neither had William.
A soft knock came at the door before it opened anyway.
"Yeah, I'm awake," William muttered from the bed.
"You're always awake," Eric replied dryly as he stepped inside with a medical kit in hand.
William was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, bruises already blooming across his torso like dark ink spilled under skin. Bandages from the night before were half-wrapped, half-destroyed, and clearly applied in a hurry.
Eric approached with the quiet precision of someone who had done this too many times to count.
Pale skin contrasted against the dim room light, and a neatly kept white beard framed his face, giving him a stern, grounded presence that never quite matched the softness in his eyes when he looked at William.
His movements were steady—controlled, practiced—more surgeon than fighter now, though traces of that past discipline still lingered in the way he assessed injuries without hesitation.
Eric stared at him for a long moment.
"…You look worse than I expected."
William gave a tired grin. "Good morning to you too."
Eric set the kit down and started pulling gloves on.
"Lie down."
"I'm fine."
"William."
A pause.
Then William sighed and slowly leaned back onto the bed.
"Bossy for someone who used to let me jump off rooftops as a kid."
"That was before you started doing it professionally," Eric said flatly.
He peeled back one of the bandages around William's ribs. Even in the dim morning light, the damage was obvious—bruising, swelling, and faint cracks of healing aura still trying to stitch things back together.
Eric exhaled through his nose.
"…You're already healing faster than you should be."
William glanced away. "Aura helps."
"Aura doesn't help that much," Eric said, pressing a hand lightly against his side.
William flinched.
"Yeah. Still hurts."
"I would hope so," Eric muttered. "Most people with injuries like this wouldn't be standing. Let alone flying across kingdoms afterward."
William smirked faintly. "Most people aren't me."
"That's the problem," Eric replied.
He began rewrapping the bandages with practiced hands, more carefully this time.
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Then Eric spoke again.
"You're going to cripple yourself if you keep fighting like this."
William didn't respond immediately.
"…Couldn't exactly let Grayridge get wiped out."
"I know," Eric said, softer now. "That's not what I'm talking about."
He tightened a bandage slightly. William winced.
Eric didn't stop.
"What I'm talking about is you thinking you can take hits like that forever."
William let out a quiet breath. "It worked."
"It worked this time," Eric corrected.
"There's a difference."
A pause.
Eric reached for a small bottle of pain medication, shook out a few pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.
"Take them."
William eyed them. "I don't need—"
"Take them."
Another pause.
Then William accepted them with a tired sigh and swallowed them down.
Eric watched him for a moment before shaking his head.
"You know," he said, "you heal fast enough that most doctors would call it a miracle."
William shrugged slightly. "Helpful job perk."
"It's also the only reason you're still walking around after nights like that," Eric replied.
"Anyone else would be crippled. Permanently."
William stared at the ceiling. "Yeah… I know."
Silence again.
Eric finished rewrapping his ribs and moved to his shoulder.
"You're stubborn," he muttered.
"Had to get it from somewhere."
"That's not a compliment."
William smirked faintly.
Eric adjusted another bandage, then paused.
"…You know," he said after a moment, "I think it'll take a very particular kind of person to ever get you to slow down."
William raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Eric said simply. "Someone just as stubborn as you."
William let out a quiet chuckle. "Sounds exhausting."
"It would be," Eric agreed. Then added, after a beat, "but probably necessary."
William glanced at him. "You planning something, old man?"
Eric tied off the final bandage and stood up.
"I'm planning for you to stop breaking yourself every time the world sneezes wrong."
He closed the medical kit.
"And if you won't listen to me," he added, heading toward the door, "then maybe you'll listen to someone who can actually argue you into staying alive."
William sighed. "You're impossible."
Eric paused at the door.
"Runs in the family."
Then he left.
William stayed on the bed for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling.
"…Someone just as stubborn as me," he muttered under his breath.
A faint grin crossed his face.
"Good luck with that."
XXX
William stepped into the kitchen with a slow, slightly stiff gait, one hand still resting near his ribs.
Brown skin marked faintly with fading bruises caught the morning light as he moved. His blue hair was messy from sleep, uneven strands falling into tired eyes that still carried the sharp alertness of someone who never fully switched off.
Even at rest, there was something tense about him—like his body had forgotten what it meant to truly relax.
He dropped into a chair like it cost him effort.
The smell of breakfast drifted through the house not long after.
William followed it into the kitchen slowly, one hand pressed against his ribs while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes. He looked significantly less intimidating now compared to the monster who had shattered storms the night before.
Mostly because his hair was a mess.
Eric glanced up from the stove.
"You look awful."
"Feeling great too," William muttered as he dropped into a chair.
A plate of food slid in front of him moments later.
William stared at it.
"…You made pancakes?"
"You fought an Alpha Grimm half to death," Eric replied. "Figured you earned pancakes."
William nodded seriously.
"That's fair."
For a while, the room stayed quiet except for the sound of utensils and the low morning chatter from the television nearby.
Then Eric spoke again.
"You should enroll at Beacon."
William blinked once.
"…At what?"
Eric slowly lowered his coffee cup.
"The Huntsman Academy."
William stared at him blankly.
"The what academy?"
Eric looked completely unsurprised.
"…You seriously don't know what Beacon is."
William pointed his fork slightly.
"In my defense, I'm usually busy fighting Grimm."
"You've been fighting Grimm for six years."
"Very busy."
Eric sighed deeply into his coffee.
"Beacon Academy," he explained patiently, "is where Huntsmen train professionally."
William frowned slightly.
"…People train for this professionally?"
Eric gave him a long look.
"Yes, William. Most Huntsmen do not wake up one day and decide to fistfight an Alpha Grimm in the middle of a thunderstorm."
William considered that.
"…Huh."
Eric rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"You are unbelievably oblivious."
William shrugged while reaching for another pancake.
"Nobody told me."
"You never asked."
"That sounds like other people's fault."
Eric stared at him in complete silence for several seconds.
Then pointed his fork directly at him.
"This right here is why I worry about you."
William raised an eyebrow. "Because I like pancakes?"
"Because you somehow save entire kingdoms while knowing absolutely nothing about the world around you."
William opened his mouth to argue—
Then paused.
"…Okay, that's fair."
Eric leaned back slightly with a sigh.
"Beacon would be good for you."
William looked skeptical. "Why?"
"Because," Eric replied, "you spend every waking moment either fighting Grimm, patrolling alone, or sleeping off injuries. You barely talk to people unless they're actively in danger."
William looked down at his plate.
"…I talk to people."
"You awkwardly nod at civilians before flying through ceilings."
"That happened one time."
"It happened three times."
William frowned thoughtfully.
"…The ceilings were lower than I expected."
Eric closed his eyes briefly.
"Case in point."
William scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
Social situations were… difficult sometimes.
Fighting Grimm was simple.
People weren't.
People expected conversations. Eye contact. Small talk.
Grimm usually just screamed and tried to kill him. Much easier to understand.
Eric watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again.
"You know how famous you are, right?"
William nearly choked on his drink.
"I am what?"
Eric stared at him.
"…William."
"What?"
"You're arguably one of the most famous people in Remnant."
William blinked.
"…Why?"
Eric looked genuinely amazed.
"You have spent the last six years flying around kingdoms fighting giant monsters in a red coat."
"…Oh."
"And now the entire world has seen your face."
William slowly lowered his fork.
"…That sounds bad."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"…How bad?"
Eric pointed toward the television.
The news had somehow returned to replaying clips of Grayridge again.
Specifically the Detroit Smash.
William stared at the screen in horror as the reporter dramatically shouted:
"THE MYSTERIOUS RED HUNTSMAN REVEALS HIMSELF!"
William looked back at Eric.
"…Can I go back to fighting Grimm now?"
Eric took a slow sip of coffee.
"No."
Breakfast ended not long after that.
Mostly because William quietly decided it was safer to stop asking questions about his own popularity.
Eric collected the dishes while William stood from the table carefully, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his ribs again.
"…Still hurts," he muttered.
"That tends to happen after fistfighting monsters larger than buildings," Eric replied from the sink.
William ignored him and shuffled toward the living room.
The house itself was small and quiet, tucked away near one of Vale's older residential districts. Nothing about it suggested the world's most talked-about Huntsman currently lived there recovering from injuries.
Honestly, William preferred it that way.
He grabbed the remote from the couch before hesitating.
Then cautiously turned the television back on.
Instant regret.
"THE HERO OF GRAYRIDGE!"
William immediately changed the channel.
"WHO IS THE RED HUNTSMAN?!"
Another channel.
"Could this mysterious protector be Vale's strongest Huntsman?!"
William slowly turned the television back off.
"…Nope."
Eric laughed quietly from the kitchen.
William sighed before wandering toward the back door instead.
The moment he stepped outside, the cool morning air hit his face.
Much better.
Their backyard opened into a wide training area surrounded by old trees and damaged practice dummies that had clearly suffered years of abuse. Craters covered parts of the ground while broken weapon fragments still sat half-buried in the dirt.
William stared at the mess for a moment.
"…I should probably fix that."
A pause.
"…Eventually."
He stretched one arm carefully before wincing again.
Everything hurt.
His shoulders.
His ribs.
His legs.
Even breathing too deeply felt like getting punched all over again.
Still, standing still felt wrong.
William walked slowly toward the center of the training yard before lowering himself onto a large stone near the edge of the field.
For once, there were no alarms.
No Grimm.
No emergencies demanding his attention.
Just wind moving through the trees.
William leaned back slightly and stared up at the morning sky.
"…Weird," he muttered quietly.
Normally after battles, he'd already be gone again.
Another kingdom.
Another patrol.
Another fight somewhere else.
But now…
People knew his face.
The thought still felt unreal.
William frowned slightly.
"…Wonder how bad that's gonna get."
Probably very bad.
He let out a tired sigh before glancing toward the old practice weapons scattered around the yard.
After a moment, he raised one hand.
Blue aura flickered weakly around his fingers.
A sword slowly materialized into existence above his palm.
The construct wobbled unsteadily.
Then shattered almost immediately into glowing fragments.
William stared at the fading particles in silence.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely overdid it."
That final punch had drained nearly everything he had left.
Which meant—
Eric was probably right.
He actually needed rest.
William grimaced at the thought like it physically offended him.
Then, after a long pause, he slowly stood back up and walked toward the far side of the yard where several damaged wooden posts stood waiting.
If he couldn't patrol…
Then he could at least train.
Even injured.
Even exhausted.
Because stopping entirely?
That felt impossible.
Inside the house, Eric watched through the kitchen window with a tired expression.
"…Stubborn, kid." he muttered into his coffee.
Outside, William threw another punch.
The air cracked softly from the force alone.
And despite everything—
He smiled.
Not because he wanted to watch.
But because he knew he would anyway
While William continued training against both common sense and his doctor's explicit instructions—
An important meeting was taking place far across Vale.
XXX
Beacon Academy
Rain tapped softly against the massive windows of Beacon Tower while tension filled the circular office near the top floor.
Professor Ozpin stood quietly beside the window, coffee in hand, overlooking the kingdom below.
Behind him, several members of the Vale Council sat gathered around a large conference table, their expressions ranging from concerned to outright frustrated.
Deputy Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch stood nearby with her arms crossed tightly.
And displayed across the large monitor at the center of the room was frozen footage from Grayridge.
William Heart standing beneath the moonlight.
His torn coat hanging from one shoulder.
His face finally visible to the world.
"So," one councilman began sharply, "you're telling us that for six years, an unidentified Huntsman has been operating across all four kingdoms unchecked?"
Ozpin calmly sipped his coffee.
"In fairness," he replied smoothly, "he has been rather effective."
"That is not the point, Headmaster!"
Another councilwoman leaned forward.
"We are discussing an individual powerful enough to flatten forests and disperse storm systems with physical force alone!"
Glynda adjusted her glasses slightly.
"To be accurate," she said evenly, "the weather disruption was likely caused by an extreme aura-pressure release following impact."
The room fell silent.
One councilman blinked slowly.
"That explanation somehow concerns me more."
Ozpin smiled faintly into his coffee.
On the monitor, footage replayed of William's final punch against the Ape Grimm.
The screen distorted from the force of the shockwave.
Again.
And again.
The room remained tense.
Finally, another council member spoke.
"Who is he?"
Ozpin glanced toward the screen quietly.
"That," he admitted, "is the interesting question."
Glynda frowned slightly.
"We have no official Huntsman registration matching his combat profile."
"No military records either," another added.
"And yet," Ozpin said calmly, "he has repeatedly defended every major kingdom more effectively than most standing forces."
No one argued with that.
Because they couldn't.
Grayridge had simply been the first time the world clearly saw him.
But the Red Huntsman had already become something larger than rumor years ago.
A ghost story among Grimm.
A guardian appearing wherever disaster struck.
Entire settlements owed their survival to him.
Convoys reported seeing him flying overhead during Grimm migrations.
Children wore toy red coats pretending to be him.
And now—
The world finally had a face to attach to the legend.
A councilwoman folded her hands together carefully.
"Which means public interest is about to become a security issue."
Glynda nodded once.
"Especially if hostile groups begin searching for him."
Another councilman frowned.
"Assuming they aren't already."
The room grew quieter after that.
Ozpin continued staring out the window toward Vale below.
"Tell me," he asked suddenly, "what was the first thing he did upon arriving at Grayridge?"
The council members exchanged confused looks.
Finally, Glynda answered.
"He sealed the breach."
Ozpin nodded.
"Before engaging the horde."
Another pause.
"Interesting priorities for someone with that level of power."
Glynda glanced toward the footage again.
"He protected the civilians first."
"Exactly," Ozpin said softly.
One councilman scoffed slightly.
"With all due respect, Headmaster, are we really discussing personality traits right now?"
Ozpin finally turned from the window.
"Yes."
The warmth vanished from his expression almost instantly.
"Because strength alone does not concern me."
The room fell silent.
"What concerns me," Ozpin continued calmly, "is why someone this powerful has spent six years fighting alone."
Even Glynda's expression shifted slightly at that.
Ozpin looked back toward William's image on the screen.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
Still standing.
Still smiling despite barely remaining upright.
Then Ozpin spoke quietly.
"He reminds me of someone trying very hard to carry the world by himself."
Silence settled heavily across the office.
Finally, Glynda broke it.
"…What do you intend to do?"
Ozpin took another slow sip of coffee.
Then smiled faintly.
"I believe," he said, "it may finally be time for Beacon Academy to meet the Red Huntsman."
XXX
William was eventually forced to stop training.
Not because he wanted to.
But because Eric finally stepped outside, took one look at him trying to throw punches with half-healed ribs, and threatened to physically drag him back inside if he kept going.
"The world won't collapse if you take one afternoon off," Eric said firmly.
William crossed his arms.
"It might."
"It won't."
"…Probably."
Eric pointed toward the house.
"Go outside."
"I am outside."
"You know what I mean."
William frowned slightly.
Normal people were exhausting.
Still…
After another ten minutes of arguing and one very direct threat involving pain medication and enforced bedrest, William finally gave in.
Which was how the legendary Red Huntsman ended up wandering through Vale with his hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets, trying very hard not to look suspicious.
The city was alive with afternoon energy.
Airships drifted overhead between towering buildings while crowded streets buzzed with conversation, music, and movement. Shop signs flickered with color across packed walkways, and somewhere nearby a street performer played upbeat music loud enough to echo between the buildings.
William looked around quietly.
Normally, he only ever saw Vale from above.
Flying.
Patrolling.
Watching for danger.
He rarely stopped long enough to actually experience it.
"…Huh," he muttered softly.
It was… nice.
For once there were no screams.
No Grimm.
No collapsing buildings.
Just people living their lives.
William slowly relaxed as he walked.
A bookstore here.
A Dust shop there.
Children running past wearing toy red coats.
William blinked.
"…Okay that's still weird."
One little kid pointed dramatically at another while holding a plastic toy sword.
"I'm the Red Huntsman!"
"No fair! You got to be him yesterday!"
William stared at them for a moment before quietly turning around and walking the other direction.
Absolutely not.
A few minutes later, the smell of coffee drifted through the street.
William paused.
Then immediately changed direction.
Priorities.
The café itself was small and warm compared to the busy streets outside. Soft music played quietly while conversations blended together beneath the sound of steaming coffee machines.
William stepped inside carefully.
Nobody noticed him at first.
Honestly, that was ideal.
He approached the counter awkwardly, staring at the menu like it was a difficult combat strategy.
"…Why are there this many coffee options?"
The worker behind the counter blinked.
"…Sir?"
William pointed randomly.
"That one."
"You just ordered plain black coffee."
"…Perfect."
The worker nodded slowly before reaching for a cup.
Then paused.
A long silence followed.
William noticed the stare immediately.
"…Something wrong?"
The worker's eyes widened slightly.
"No way…"
William felt danger instantly.
The worker pointed shakily.
"You're him."
Silence.
William blinked once.
"…Who?"
"The Red Huntsman!"
Every conversation inside the café stopped instantly.
William stood completely still.
Slowly—
Every head turned toward him.
Someone dropped their drink.
A girl near the window gasped loudly.
One man nearly launched himself out of his chair trying to grab his scroll camera.
William looked around at the suddenly silent café.
"…Ah."
The worker looked seconds away from passing out.
"Oh my gods it's actually him."
People immediately started talking all at once.
"Is that really him?!"
"That's the guy from Grayridge!"
"WAIT WAIT DON'T LET HIM LEAVE!"
"Ask for a picture!"
William physically recoiled slightly.
This was worse than Grimm.
A teenager suddenly shoved a scroll toward him excitedly.
"Can you sign this?!"
William stared at the pen like it was a weapon.
"…I don't know how to do that."
The entire café went silent again.
"…What?" the teenager asked.
William looked genuinely uncomfortable now.
"I've never signed anything before."
The café worker looked emotionally devastated by that sentence.
Another person raised their scroll.
"Can we take a photo?!"
William looked toward the exit.
Then toward the crowd.
Then back toward the exit.
His survival instincts activated immediately.
"…I suddenly understand why famous people wear disguises."
Someone laughed nervously.
Another person asked if the Detroit Smash had really cleared the storm.
William rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"…Mostly?"
That somehow made everyone even louder.
Outside the café windows, more people had already started gathering after recognizing him through the glass.
William looked horrified.
"…This is escalating fast."
The café had somehow become even louder.
More people crowded near the windows while others pushed through the front entrance trying to get a closer look. Scroll cameras flashed constantly now, and William could already hear someone outside yelling about livestream viewers climbing into the millions.
This was officially a disaster.
A completely different kind of disaster than he was used to—
But still a disaster.
William slowly took a careful step backward.
Then another.
Immediately, the crowd moved with him.
"…Why are you all advancing?" he asked cautiously.
Nobody answered.
That honestly made it worse.
One excited voice suddenly cut through the noise.
"Mister Red Huntsman!"
William turned toward the sound.
Near the edge of the crowd stood a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, struggling to push her way forward while holding a small notebook tightly against her chest.
Unlike everyone else trying to shove cameras in his face—
She looked nervous.
William paused.
The crowd quieted slightly as he stepped toward her instead.
The girl nearly froze when he stopped in front of her.
"H-Hi," she stammered.
"…Hi," William replied awkwardly.
A painful silence followed.
William realized with growing horror that she was waiting for him to continue talking.
This was exactly why he preferred Grimm.
The girl swallowed nervously before holding out the notebook.
"C-Can I have your autograph?"
William stared at the notebook for a moment.
"…I still don't really know how those work."
The girl blinked.
"…Really?"
William rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I've never done one before."
That somehow made her smile instead of disappointing her.
"You could just write your name."
William paused.
For some reason, that hit harder than expected.
His name.
Not "Red Huntsman."
Not "Hero."
Just—
William.
Slowly, he accepted the notebook and pen.
The entire café had gone completely silent watching him.
William looked down at the blank page like it was a final exam.
Then carefully wrote:
William Heart
His handwriting was surprisingly neat for someone capable of leveling forests with his fists.
The girl stared at the signature with wide eyes.
"…William," she repeated softly.
It was probably the first time someone outside his family had spoken his actual name in years.
William handed the notebook back carefully.
Then, after an awkward pause, he spoke again.
"…What's yours?"
The girl looked genuinely shocked.
"M-My name?"
William nodded.
She smiled brightly.
"Emily."
William nodded once.
"…Nice to meet you, Emily."
The poor girl looked moments away from fainting.
Behind her, several people immediately began panicking.
"THE RED HUNTSMAN HAS A NAME?!"
"WAIT HIS NAME IS WILLIAM?!"
"DID YOU GET THAT ON CAMERA?!"
William's eyes widened slightly.
"…Ah."
The crowd surged forward instantly.
Every survival instinct William possessed activated at once.
"Okay goodbye."
The floor beneath his feet cracked softly.
Then—
BOOM.
A burst of wind exploded through the café as William launched himself upward through the open side patio before anyone could stop him.
The crowd erupted.
People rushed toward the windows just in time to see the blue-haired Huntsman soaring between Vale's skyscrapers with visible panic on his face.
Emily stared down at the notebook in stunned silence.
Then slowly smiled.
Meanwhile, halfway across the city—
William groaned into his hands while flying.
"…Grandpa's never letting me outside alone again."
And somewhere far away—
Eric was probably laughing.