The family gathered at 4:30 pm. Since they skipped lunch for the popcorn and soda, everyone was starving. Patrick took the family out for dinner at a renowned steakhouse adjacent to the Merchant's Guild.

"Thomas, are you following any manga series?" Arielle asked out of curiosity during dinner.

"Yes, I'm following two series. One's about mecha, and the other's about ninjas." Thomas answered. "Chana is reading the ninja one too."

"I am reading it because Thomas got them at home." Chana chimed in. "After reading a few chapters, I got curious about the story and continued."

"I recall flipping through a ninja manga at school, but I didn't get hooked," Arielle said. "Maybe Hero Aonidas will be different."

Meanwhile, Ashley was browsing through the workbooks Nathan had picked out for her.

Harold asked her with curiosity, "What did you get, Ashley?"

"Workbooks, Nathan picked them out for me." Ashley said, as she turned a page. "I'm struggling to keep up with my classes, and I need to study harder to catch up."

"Same here." Harold said with a warm smile. "Father's been keeping me on my toes with weekly quizzes. Let's study together and catch up." Patrick watched Harold grow up as Jonathan's childhood friend. They recently finalized the adoption to confirm their family ties.

"Sure!" Ashley answered, with a sense of companionship.

"By the way, I got you a new training sword," Harold said, pulling out a small wooden training sword from a paper bag.

Unlike public schools, which taught martial arts and religious studies, the cram school concentrated solely on the four graded core subjects. Therefore, no one thought of buying a training sword for Ashley, and she was missing out on her first year of martial arts classes.

"Thanks, Uncle Harold!" Ashley exclaimed happily, her face lighting up with a bright smile, for she had always wanted her own training sword. She then took out Louis' flier and asked, "Can I attend a martial arts school?"

"What's that?" Harold asked, his curiosity piqued as he glanced at Ashley's flier.

The flier read, "Solitude Blade Martial Arts School. This unique martial arts style was carefully crafted with years of theoretical martial arts studies and honed through many more years of real combat. The school's Master, Louis, is an esteemed Adventurer and a certified martial arts teacher, whose certification number is XXXX-XXXX."

"That's a flier from a unique martial arts style," Harold commented prudently, then quickly discouraged Ashley from going to this school. "However, I think you'd be better off learning from one of the Four Great Schools of Martial Arts. They're renowned, battle-tested, and will fit you into one of the combat disciplines."

The Four Great Schools of Martial Arts were,

1) Shield Blade (used by Paladins and Spellcasters)

2) Death Blade (used by Warriors)

3) Thousand Blades (used by Rogues)

4) Phantom Blade (used by Hunters)

"But the person said his style is theoretically invincible," Ashley said, seeking Harold's response as she gazed at him with curiosity.

Harold's expression turned skeptical, and he shrugged. "Honestly, that sounds like a scam to me. Not all unique schools are shady, but many don't meet the standards of the four great combat schools, which makes them essentially scams. Just think about wasting time and money on a martial art that won't get you into the Knight Order or qualify you as an Adventurer."

"I guess he's a scammer after all," Ashley said, her interest fading as she set the flier down. "Nathan said the same thing."

Across the table, Nathan delved into his new textbook on electricity.

"Nathan, what are you reading?" Chana asked, leaning toward Nathan's book to take a peek, her eyes widely opened with curiosity.

"It's a textbook on electricity." Nathan answered, "I bought this today to get a head start on next week's Rune Crafting classes."

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"Oh~?" Chana said, sitting up straight as she turned her attention away from the book. "Mom and I went to the clothing district today."

Chana turned to face Nathan, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Do you notice anything different about me since this morning?"

"Resistance, measured in ohms…" Nathan pondered as he looked up from the textbook, his thoughts then continued, "Brown hair, lightly tanned skin, big Amber eyes, looks happy and healthy. Ah, she looks like a copper plate, a good conductor."

"You look great, Chana. What's changed?" Nathan swiftly answered. Even though he was looking up at Chana, his mind lingered inside the textbook.

Thomas subtly nudged Nathan with his elbow, then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned in, whispering behind his hand, "She's changed…"

"Thomas, no cheating!" Chana bellowed at her brother with an angry face.

Thomas, struggling to stifle a grin, mimed zipping his lips shut as he watched Nathan.

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Chana more closely, taking in every detail. Chana's long, straight hair was parted neatly down the middle, with her bangs framing her face, just grazing the edges of her ears. The back of her hair was secured with a yellow dandelion hair clip, complementing her Amber eyes. A delicate, light brown lace-trimmed cotton jacket, perfectly complementing Chana's skin tone, layered over a cream-hued shirt, evoking a studious aura that beautifully accentuated her striking Amber Golden eyes. As Chana turned to Nathan, the soft glow of the restaurant's dim lighting accentuated her fitted, honey-hued, knee-length pleated skirt, which swayed gently with her movement. Chana's dark brown Mary Jane shoes, paired with cream-colored socks featuring subtle yellow dandelion accents, matched her eyes and hair clip, reminding Nathan of his school days spent in the library.

Nathan's mind wandered back to his rural days, when he often sought refuge in the quiet, musty atmosphere of the local library. Chana's studious appearance brought Nathan a sense of comfort and serenity, reminiscent of his library days. Yet, a hint of nervousness crept in as Nathan struggled to recall how Chana looked that morning.

Without moving his lips, Thomas murmured next to Nathan's ear, "Hair, hair," as he looked away.

Nathan asked, "Did you do your hair today? And is that a new hair clip?"

"Exactly!" Chana exclaimed, her face lighting up with a big smile. "I'm glad you noticed."

After Chana turned away to talk to Arielle, Nathan leaned in and whispered to Thomas, "I own you one."

"Anytime," Thomas whispered back as the two cousins bumped fists in a gesture of solidarity and camaraderie.

Later into the night, across the street, a lone, disheveled figure drank in solitude, seated in a dimly lit corner of the upscale bar. A wild shock of prematurely gray hair and a spiky, unkempt beard gave the man the appearance of someone who had abandoned all concern for his appearance, and perhaps everything else. However, a closer examination revealed the piercing intensity of his Onyx eyes, which belied his middle age, the rough calluses on his right hand from holding a sword, and the powerful, muscular, physique visible beneath his tailored yet worn tuxedo, suggesting to the astute observer that this was a man forged in battle, a veteran of innumerable conflicts and, unmistakably, a former Knight.

Undeterred by the aura of the former knight, a middle-aged man, with an air of confidence, approached. Like the former knight, the newcomer was attired in a tuxedo, but his was sparkling clean, sharply ironed, and immaculately tailored to perfection, highlighting his slender yet elegant build. His dark, richly hued purple hair, meticulously parted to the right, framed a face with skin as pale as alabaster. His slender, elegant physique, which was dressed in the finest attire, unequivocally signified his noble lineage, cultivated in an environment of refined elegance. Above his right Amber eye, the subtle glint of his monocle added a layer of sophistication, but also whispered hints of intrigue and a possible undercurrent of unscrupulousness.

With a voice infused with formality and deference, the nobleman initiated the conversation, "Viscount George, renowned Demon Slayer and former Knight Commander, it's an honor to make your acquaintance on this beautiful evening."

Without breaking his gaze from the beer, George took another swig, his low, curt voice commanding, "Make it brief," the slight clenching of his jaw and the abruptness of his tone conveying a clear disdain for unnecessary pleasantries.

Count Rupert paused for a brief moment, collecting his thoughts. Unlike inexperienced nobles or salesmen, who would attempt to build rapport first, Rupert, seasoned from his interactions with knights, knew the value of brevity when commanded. He was aware that for military men, orders were absolute, and unmet expectations could foster resentment.

Adopting a tone of calculated persuasion, Count Rupert proceeded, "Your unique expertise is crucial for an upcoming operation. I assure you, the compensation will be commensurately substantial."

George's face darkened with a deep scowl, his voice seething with irritation as he growled, "Get lost."

A fleeting glint of calculation flashed in Count Rupert's eyes as he turned, his voice adopting a solemn, somewhat patriotic cadence, "Consider, Viscount George, the larger picture. Your participation could profoundly strengthen our nation's defenses against the demonic menace, a timely blessing for our people in these tumultuous times."

George did not say anything for a brief moment. A fleeting, triumphant smile danced across Count Rupert's lips, swiftly suppressed as he maintained his composed exterior, but a glimmer of satisfaction sparkled in his eyes, betraying his inner elation as he thought to himself, "Perhaps, this is it. Perhaps, he's biting."

Anticipating an awkward silence, Count Rupert seamlessly filled the gap with a precise gesture, handing George a pristine, white business card with his contact details. His voice, barely above a whisper, took on a conspiratorial tone, "Our efforts are centered on a sensitive group—orphans, specifically."

George slightly furrowed his brows as he took a look at Rupert's contact information. With that, Count Rupert had discreetly excused himself, his departure as unobtrusive as his arrival.