Clank! Clank!

The sharp, metallic rhythm of a tool striking a pipe echoed in the dimly lit workshop. Sparks flew with each strike, briefly illuminating the shadowed room, its walls lined with mechanical parts and glowing Arcana-powered devices in various states of assembly. A figure hunched over his workbench, his movements precise and deliberate, as though the hammering provided some measure of focus—or escape.

“It’s almost been a decade, Leon,” a voice broke through the steady noise, low and tinged with both irritation and concern. “Since the disaster.”

The man at the workbench paused, his grip tightening around the tool. He set it down with a heavy clang and straightened, his shoulders stiff as he turned toward the speaker.

Seated near the wide, open window was Leon, his silhouette framed by the sprawling cityscape beyond. The distant hum of Aurion’s neon lights and bustling streets filtered into the room, a stark contrast to the stillness inside.

Leon’s white suit, pristine and adorned with golden trim, gleamed faintly in the dim light. It was a sharp, elegant garment that seemed at odds with his current state. His fiery red hair, streaked with the occasional thread of gray, swayed slightly in the cool breeze coming through the window. His posture, while poised, carried the weight of someone who had endured far too much. Faint lines etched his face—grief and exhaustion made permanent—but his piercing eyes burned with a quiet intensity that refused to fade.

The man in the shadows leaned against a nearby workbench, his oil-stained clothes and unkempt hair a stark contrast to Leon’s polished demeanor. He idly twirled a wrench in his hands, his movements restless.

“I get it, Leon,” the man continued, his voice softening. “You’re sad… because of your dead fam—”

Before the words fully left his mouth, Leon moved.

In a flash, he was standing in front of the man, a knife pressed firmly against his throat. The blade gleamed in the dim light, its hilt embedded with a softly glowing fragment of an Arcana crystal.

“Hey, hey! I-I was just kidding, alright?!” the man stammered, his wrench slipping from his hands and clattering onto the floor. He raised his arms in a show of surrender, his voice cracking with nervous laughter. “Damn, bro, chill!”

Leon’s expression didn’t waver. His fiery gaze bore into the man’s wide eyes, his grip on the knife steady. The room was silent save for the faint hum of energy emanating from the Arcana crystal.

The man swallowed hard, the blade mere inches from his neck. “Seriously, Leon. It was a joke! A bad one! My bad!”

After a tense moment, Leon lowered the knife, his movements as precise as they were deliberate. Without a word, he sheathed it and turned away, his figure retreating toward the room’s exit.

The man let out a long, shaky exhale, leaning back against the workbench for support. “Man, you’re intense,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He bent down to retrieve the wrench he had dropped, turning it over in his hands absentmindedly as he spoke again. “You’ve really got to work on your sense of humor.”

Leon ignored him, his footsteps slow but resolute as he approached the doorway.

“Hey, hey, where are you going now?” the man called out, his tone shifting to mild annoyance as he watched Leon’s retreating figure.

“Stay here, Grant,” Leon finally spoke, his voice calm yet distant. “I need time alone.”

Grant groaned, tossing the wrench onto the workbench with a clatter. “Time alone? You mean ‘time alone’ to drink yourself into oblivion again. And guess who’s gonna have to drag your sorry ass back in the middle of the night?”

Leon didn’t respond, his pace unchanging as he reached the doorway. He raised a hand lazily, giving a half-hearted wave of farewell without looking back.

Grant let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “That guy, man…” he muttered, shaking his head.

He glanced around the cluttered workshop, his gaze landing on a half-finished contraption on the nearby table. With a quiet huff, he sat down in the chair Leon had vacated and began fiddling with the device. It was some sort of mechanical arm, its intricate design hinting at both function and artistry.

Grant picked up a small screwdriver and tightened a few screws, muttering to himself. “Leaving me here to babysit your projects… I swear, you’re the laziest genius I’ve ever met.”

As his hands worked, his eyes wandered across the room, eventually landing on a small, framed photograph resting on the edge of the desk.

Grant set the tool down as his attention shifted fully to the photograph. The worn wooden frame was small, almost tucked out of sight amidst the chaos of blueprints, tools, and scattered parts. Carefully, he picked it up, wiping away a thin layer of dust with the sleeve of his oil-stained shirt.

The picture inside was slightly faded but still vibrant enough to capture the moment. It showed a younger Leon, his fiery red hair untamed but striking, standing proudly with an arm around a radiant woman with blonde, flowing hair. Her eyes sparkled with warmth, and her smile radiated a sense of peace. Between them stood a little girl with an unmistakable grin, her bright eyes filled with the untainted joy of childhood.

Grant’s lips curled into a faint smile as he studied the photo. “Sara and her mom,” he murmured, tilting the frame slightly to catch the light. “No wonder you’ve been off lately.”

He leaned back in the chair, holding the picture in front of him as memories surfaced. “You always said she had your stubbornness,” he muttered, chuckling softly to himself. “I think she had her mom’s heart more than anything, though.”

The faint hum of a machine caught his ear, and he glanced toward the corner of the workshop where one of Leon’s inventions sat idly, its components glowing faintly with Arcana-infused energy. It was a sleek, cylindrical device, half-disassembled, with several notes scattered around it.

Grant set the photograph back down gently, his curiosity piqued. He grabbed a sheet of paper covered in Leon’s sharp, precise handwriting.

“‘Stabilizer prototype—Arcana energy modulation,’” Grant read aloud, furrowing his brow. He picked up another sheet. “‘Potential weaponization risk. Needs testing under controlled conditions.’”

He glanced toward the device again, his fingers drumming against the table. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” he muttered. “Always chasing the next breakthrough, even when it’s breaking you.”

For a moment, he considered fiddling with the invention—just to see if he could figure out what Leon was up to. But he shook his head, leaning back in the chair with a sigh.

“Not my place,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re the genius, not me.”

The silence in the room felt heavier now, punctuated only by the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Grant’s gaze drifted back to the photograph, and he tapped it lightly with his finger.

“You know, Leon,” he said softly, as if the absent man could still hear him, “you’re not as alone as you think. But if you keep shutting everyone out, one day you’re going to look up and realize you’ve got nothing left but these damn machines.”

He sighed again, the weight of the empty room pressing down on him. For a man like Leon, whose brilliance had reshaped industries and inspired countless innovations, the workshop felt oddly hollow—like all the achievements in the world couldn’t fill the void left behind.

Grant pushed the chair back, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Lazy chairman,” he muttered, forcing a small grin as he looked toward the door Leon had disappeared through.

He picked up the wrench he had discarded earlier and gave it a twirl before setting it neatly on the workbench. His gaze lingered on the framed photograph one last time before he turned back to the cluttered desk.

“Still,” he said, smirking faintly, “you sure do care. Even if you won’t admit it.”

Grant leaned against the workbench, crossing his arms as he stared at the quiet glow of the half-finished invention.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the towering arches of the Hall of Heroes, casting a warm glow across its grand interior. Seyl stirred, rubbing his eyes as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the vast chamber.

"Hey, you! What are you doing here?" a gruff voice called out.

Seyl blinked, sitting up groggily against the base of Krelos Ardent's statue. He turned to see a uniformed officer standing near the entrance, his arms crossed and his stern gaze fixed on the boy.

"Huh? Oh..." Seyl rubbed his eyes again, realizing he had fallen asleep. "Is it morning already?" He stretched, yawning as he looked at the officer with a sheepish grin.

"I asked you what you're doing here," the officer repeated, his tone sharper.

"Oh, hey, Officer!" Seyl replied cheerfully, ignoring the man's irritation. "I slept here. Nice place, by the way. Very comfortable!"

The officer's face darkened, his patience thinning. "You what? You slept here?!"

"Ehe... yeah." Seyl grinned, brushing off his pants as he stood up.

"Hey, you—come back here!" the officer snapped, stepping forward as Seyl nonchalantly began walking toward the exit.

"Sorry, gotta go!" Seyl called, turning to wink playfully at the officer before breaking into a sprint.

"Hey! Stop!" the officer shouted, giving chase, but Seyl was already weaving through the columns, his laughter echoing through the hall.

Seyl dashed out of the Hall of Heroes and into the bustling streets of Aurion, his heart racing not from fear, but from exhilaration. The city had come alive with the dawn, and he found himself swept up in its vibrant energy once again.

"Ah, Aurion," he said to himself, grinning as he slowed to a casual walk. "You really know how to keep things exciting."

He wandered through the streets, humming a tune as he admired the morning bustle. Vendors were setting up their stalls, the smell of freshly baked bread and spiced tea wafting through the air.

"Get your glowing baubles here!" a merchant called out, holding up a necklace that sparkled with Arcana crystals.

Seyl stopped briefly to admire the trinkets before moving on. He passed a street performer juggling flaming torches, drawing cheers from a gathering crowd. Farther along, a blacksmith hammered away at a glowing blade, the rhythmic clangs echoing through the district.

Everywhere he looked, there was something new and fascinating. He stopped at a small café to grab a sweet bun, munching happily as he continued his exploration.

"Man, this city has everything," he said to himself, his voice full of wonder. "I could walk around forever and still find something cool."

But as he ventured farther from the bustling districts, the lively atmosphere began to fade. The streets grew narrower, the buildings more dilapidated. The vibrant colors of Aurion gave way to gray, crumbling stone and rusted metal.

Seyl slowed his pace, his cheerful tune faltering as the atmosphere around him changed. The bright, bustling streets of Aurion felt like a distant memory, replaced by narrow, grimy alleyways shrouded in gloom. The air here was heavier, thick with the faint stench of rotting garbage and oil.

He adjusted his helmet under his arm, his steps careful as he avoided broken furniture and discarded machinery that littered the path. Every creak of the floorboards beneath his feet and every rustle in the shadows made his senses sharpen.

“Where… am I?” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he scanned his surroundings.

The vibrant glow of neon lights was barely visible here, obscured by the towering, decaying buildings that seemed to loom closer with every step. Ahead, he noticed a group of people huddled against a wall. Wrapped in tattered cloth, their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow. They didn’t even glance at him as he passed, too consumed by their misery to pay attention.

Seyl stopped a few steps away, his chest tightening at the sight. “So this is Aurion’s other side,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

An older man with a scruffy beard shifted slightly from his spot on the ground, his trembling hand reaching out toward Seyl. “Spare a coin, lad?” the man croaked, his voice weak and raspy.

Seyl hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket. He didn’t have much, but he pulled out a couple of crescents and crouched down, placing them gently in the man’s hand.

“Here. It’s not a lot, but I hope it helps,” Seyl said, his voice warm and sincere.

The man’s bloodshot eyes widened, and a faint glimmer of gratitude appeared in them. He clutched the coins tightly, his lips quivering. “Thank you, boy,” he said, his voice breaking. “May the light of Aurion shine on you.”

Seyl gave the man a small, reassuring smile before standing up. He adjusted his bag and took a deep breath before continuing down the desolate street.

With each step, the weight of his surroundings pressed down on him. His earlier excitement about exploring Aurion felt like a distant memory. This part of the city was nothing like the vibrant, thriving districts he had marveled at earlier.

“This place… it’s not just freedom and light,” Seyl muttered, gripping his helmet tightly. “There’s so much more to it than I thought.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

A faint clang echoed from deeper within the alley, making him pause. He turned toward the sound, his instincts immediately sharpening.

“What was that?” he wondered aloud. His gaze darted toward the source of the noise, but nothing moved in the shadows.

He adjusted his footing, scanning the alley carefully before continuing. As he walked deeper into the district, the streets became narrower, the shadows darker. The distant hum of the city above felt disconnected, almost mocking the silence of this place.

He passed a crumbling building with graffiti scrawled across its walls in vibrant colors, the only hint of life in the otherwise decaying landscape. The words were in a language he didn’t recognize, but the symbol of a broken chain beneath them stood out.

“Freedom,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly against the wall. “For some, maybe. But not for everyone.”

The sound of faint laughter drew his attention to another corner. He approached cautiously, peering around to find a group of children sitting in a circle, their clothes patched and dirty. They played a simple game with scraps of metal, their laughter bright and defiant against the backdrop of despair.

Seyl’s lips curved into a small smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “Even here, they find a way to smile,” he thought.

One of the children caught his gaze and froze, her laughter cutting off as she clutched a piece of scrap metal protectively. The other children turned to look at him, their expressions wary.

Seyl raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just passing through,” he said gently.

The girl hesitated before nodding, her grip on the scrap loosening slightly. Seyl gave them a small nod and continued walking, his thoughts heavy.

For every moment of resilience he saw, there were shadows of despair. A drunkard stumbled out of a decrepit building, mumbling incoherently as he leaned against the wall for support. A woman scavenged through a pile of discarded scraps, her hands raw and trembling.

“Is this really part of Aurion?” Seyl murmured, shaking his head. “How can a place so full of light have corners this dark?”

Determined to see more, Seyl pressed on, his steps careful but resolute. He had come to understand the city—and that meant facing not just its wonders, but its forgotten corners as well.

The desolate street stretched into the shadows, littered with debris and the remnants of a world forgotten by the rest of Aurion. Seyl wandered deeper, his curiosity tugging at him despite the eerie atmosphere.

“Hey, kid,” a gruff voice called out, breaking the silence.

Seyl slowed as his sharp eyes caught movement ahead. Sitting slouched on a battered crate, partially illuminated by the flicker of a neon sign, was a man wrapped in a ragged coat. His green and blue hair jutted out messily, wild strands curling against his tattoo-covered neck. The inked patterns snaked down his arms, disappearing beneath the torn sleeves. In one hand, he clutched a half-empty beer bottle, occasionally swirling the liquid inside with lazy movements.

The man’s gaze flicked up, his single visible eye squinting at Seyl. “What’s a kid like you doing in the NoManCity?” he asked, his voice rough and slurred, but carrying an edge of sharpness.

Seyl tilted his head, his disarming grin spreading across his face. “Oh, just roaming around. You know, exploring.”

The man snorted, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Exploring? Kid, this ain’t some carnival. Turn around and go home.” He waved the beer bottle dismissively before pointing it at Seyl. “This place ain’t for kids. Bad guys crawl these streets—the kind that’ll skin you alive and sell the pieces to the dealers’ market.”

Seyl shrugged, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the air. “It’s fine. I’ll just look around a bit, that’s all.”

The man’s eye narrowed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the bottle. “Did you not hear what I said?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Are you deaf? I said get out!” His hand twitched as though considering smashing the bottle. “If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you myself and save them the trouble.”

For a moment, the air between them felt like it might snap under the weight of their stare. The man’s glare burned with fiery frustration, but Seyl’s calm, unreadable gaze didn’t waver.

Then, with a scoff, the man staggered to his feet. “Suit yourself,” he grumbled, turning and stumbling down the narrow street. “Ain’t my problem if you get yourself gutted.” He disappeared into the shadows, muttering curses that the wind carried away.

Seyl watched him go, his expression curious rather than fearful. “Dangerous, huh?” he murmured to himself, rolling his helmet lightly in his hands. “That guy didn’t even seem that strong…”

He glanced up at the crooked skyline, the faint flickers of neon signs casting strange patterns across the alleys. His grin returned, playful and mischievous. “Guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

With fluid precision, Seyl crouched low before launching himself upward, his fingers finding purchase on the uneven surfaces of the building beside him. His movements were swift and silent, the agility of a seasoned assassin guiding him to the rooftop in mere moments. Perched above the city like a shadow, he scanned the ground below, his sharp eyes easily tracking the man as he staggered through the winding alleys.

“Where’s this guy going?” Seyl wondered aloud, crouching low to stay hidden as he leapt to a neighboring rooftop. The cool night air brushed against his face, the distant hum of the city above barely audible here. “He said this place was dangerous, but he’s walking around like he owns it.” He narrowed his eyes, smirking faintly. “He’s not even strong—I can sense it.”

As the man moved deeper into NoManCity, the scenery began to shift. The jagged alleys opened into wider streets, illuminated by a chaotic glow. Seyl slowed his pace as he reached the edge of a rooftop and peered down.

“Woah…” he whispered, his eyes widening in amazement.

Below him stretched a neon-drenched cityscape that pulsed with life and danger. Buildings towered into the night, adorned with glowing signs in multiple languages that flickered and shimmered. The streets were alive with activity, crowded with people who looked anything but ordinary.

Some were hulking figures with tattoos that seemed to glow and shift like living art. Others had mechanical limbs or glowing implants, their movements sharp and efficient. Their clothes were bold and chaotic—a mix of high-tech gear and street style, making them look both futuristic and rebellious.

The air was thick with the smell of oil, spice, and faintly burnt metal. Machinery hummed faintly in the background, blending with the cacophony of voices, laughter, and the occasional clatter of objects being exchanged or tossed.

“This place…” Seyl murmured, his grin widening. “This place is awesome. It’s like another part of Aurion… well, technically it is, but still!”

He climbed down from the rooftop with practiced ease, his boots landing lightly on the pavement below.

Seyl strolled deeper into the neon-lit streets of NoManCity, his eyes darting around as he took in the eclectic sights. The towering figures of people—some augmented with robotic limbs, others covered in shimmering tattoos—loomed over him. A group of cyborgs haggled over a crate of Arcana crystals, their robotic eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light as they argued in harsh, mechanical tones.

“Three for one, you’re out of your mind!” one of them growled, his voice a distorted mix of human and machine.

The other cyborg crossed his arms, his mechanical hand whirring as it flexed, seemingly tightening its grip. “I’m telling you, these are low-grade crystals. I’m not paying you more for that junk.”

Seyl couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, amused by the bickering. “I’ve got to say, I never thought I’d see this side of the city,” he muttered to himself. He continued to walk, watching the lively but dangerous crowd around him.

A man with a mechanical jaw stood by a nearby stall, smoking a glowing cigar that left behind trails of sparkling blue smoke. His eyes, glowing bright orange from within the depths of his skull, scanned the streets with an unsettling intensity. Seyl eyed him for a moment before moving on. “Never a dull moment here.”

As he turned the corner, his sharp eyes caught sight of a large, imposing figure standing near a stack of crates. The man was a hulking mass of muscle, his chest covered in tribal tattoos that seemed to ripple with movement. He wore a thick leather vest, and a heavy metal chain hung from his neck. He was barking orders at a line of workers, each of them unloading more crates from a transport vehicle.

Seyl stopped, observing the scene. The workers, some of them looking uneasy, moved quickly as the enforcer towered over them. “That guy doesn’t look like he’s asking for a tip,” Seyl muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

He decided to move closer, curious about the glowing red symbol on the crates. It wasn’t a logo he recognized, but the aura of power around it was undeniable. The workers seemed to handle the crates with reverence, setting them down carefully despite the enforcer’s presence.

“That’s strange,” Seyl murmured under his breath. “What could be in these things?”

A loud crash echoed from a nearby alley, pulling Seyl’s attention away. His head snapped toward the noise, his hand instinctively resting near the hilt of his knife. As he approached, he saw a makeshift ring had been set up in the alley—two heavily augmented fighters were squared off, their mechanical limbs glowing with power as they traded blows in front of a cheering crowd.

“Now this is more like it,” Seyl grinned, moving closer to get a better view. The crowd around him shouted and hooted as the fighters collided, sparks flying from their joints with each heavy strike.

One of the fighters—a towering man with a mechanical arm—swung a punch that sent his opponent stumbling back, but the second fighter, smaller but faster, retaliated with a swift series of jabs. The crowd roared as the smaller fighter landed a solid hit on his opponent’s chest, causing a flare of light to burst from the arm.

Seyl chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s not even fighting right.” He muttered to himself, watching the match with a critical eye. “All he has to do is use his speed. But instead, he’s relying on brute strength. Waste of energy.”

Despite the violence of the match, Seyl felt no fear. His assassin instincts, honed through years of training, told him that none of the people around him could pose a real threat—at least, not without a fight.

“Crazy world,” Seyl said, his grin widening. “Everyone here is looking for a way to prove something. But none of them are even close to reaching their potential.”

Seyl leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed as he watched the two augmented fighters square off in the makeshift ring. Sparks flew with every clash of their mechanical limbs, the sound of metal on metal reverberating through the narrow alley. A small crowd surrounded the ring, cheering, jeering, and placing bets.

But Seyl wasn’t impressed.

“No, no, no!” he called out, shaking his head in mock frustration. “You need to uppercut him first, then hit him with a jab! Come on, that’s basic stuff!”

One of the nearby spectators glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What does a kid like you know about fighting, huh? You lost or something?”

Seyl smirked, not bothering to look away from the fight. “Trust me, I know more than you think. Look at him—he’s telegraphing his moves. Too obvious.” He pointed at the fighter on the right, whose mechanical arms glinted under the neon lights.

The crowd started paying attention to what Seyl was saying, murmuring amongst themselves as the fight continued.

“See?” Seyl said, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. “He’s leaving his left side wide open every time he swings. All it’d take is one well-placed hook to knock him down.”

The man who had questioned him earlier scoffed. “Big talk from someone who’s not even in the ring.”

Seyl finally turned to him, his grin widening. “I’d get in there, but it wouldn’t be fair. I’d win too fast, and you guys wouldn’t get your money’s worth.”

The crowd laughed, a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Yeah, right, kid,” another spectator said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and let the fighters handle this and stick to watching, huh?”

Seyl shrugged, his eyes flicking back to the ring. One of the fighters threw a wild punch, leaving himself exposed.

“There it is!” Seyl shouted, pointing. “Now’s your chance—go for the ribs! The ribs!”

The fighter hesitated, clearly too focused on his opponent’s face to notice the opening. Seyl groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on! You missed it! What are you even doing out there?”

One of the crowd members chuckled. “You think you could do better, brat?”

“Absolutely,” Seyl said without hesitation. “But like I said, it wouldn’t be fair. Besides…” He tilted his head, watching as the other fighter landed a solid blow that sent his opponent stumbling. “I’m more of a teacher than a participant. These guys just need better advice.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, some shaking their heads at Seyl’s cockiness.

“Alright, kid,” one of them said, grinning. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to back up that big mouth of yours. Why don’t you challenge the winner?”

Seyl smirked, his confidence unshaken. “Maybe I will. But only if the prize is worth my time.”

The crowd cheered at the bold declaration, their interest in Seyl growing. Meanwhile, the fight in the ring continued, the fighters oblivious to the small whirlwind of attention Seyl had drawn to himself.

As the punches flew and the crowd roared, Seyl leaned back against the wall again, his grin never fading. “No one ever listens to the expert,” he muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “Guess I’ll just have to show them how it’s done someday.”

The neon glow of the arena cast vibrant reflections on the metallic walls as Seyl continued to watch the fight unfold. The sound of cheers, jeers, and clanging metal filled the air, but Seyl’s attention was drawn to a gruff voice calling out from nearby.

“Hey, you! Come here,” an older man said, his raspy tone cutting through the noise.

Seyl turned to see the man leaning casually against a pillar. He had a rugged appearance, with a scruffy beard, an eyepatch over his left eye, and a coat that looked like it had seen better days.

“Come with me, kid,” the man said, gesturing with a wave of his hand. “I’ll treat you to something.”

Seyl hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… I’m good, thanks.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax. I’m not gonna rob you or anything. Just come on.”

Curiosity got the better of him, and Seyl followed as the man led him toward a bar tucked into the corner of the arena. The place was dimly lit, with metallic tables and chairs scattered around and a counter lined with glowing bottles of various drinks.

The man stepped behind the counter, cracking his knuckles.

“Hey, old man, I don’t think this is a good idea—” Seyl started, only to pause as the man set a steaming plate of food in front of him.

“Hah! Don’t worry about it, kid,” the man said, grinning. “I’m the owner of this place, so eat up. Just sit yourself down over there.” He pointed to an empty table nearby.

Seyl blinked, then smiled slightly as he grabbed the plate and made his way to the table. He took a bite and was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. “Huh… not bad,” he muttered to himself.

The man followed him over, sitting down across from him with a drink in hand. “Name’s Leo,” he said. “Short for Leorio. This place? All mine.”

Seyl nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food before replying. “I’m Seyl.”

Leo leaned back in his chair, studying the boy with his one good eye. “So, you know how to fight, huh?”

Seyl grinned, his confidence bubbling to the surface. “You bet I do. Those guys in the ring? They don’t have a clue what they’re doing. I told them exactly what moves to make, but no one listens.”

Leo laughed, his voice rough but hearty. “Yeah, leave ‘em be. They’re just a bunch of brain-dead grunts punching each other for scraps.” He took a swig of his drink, shaking his head. “Not much going on upstairs with most of them, but they put on a good show, and that’s all the crowd cares about.”

Seyl smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Still, if I were in there, it’d be over in seconds. They wouldn’t even touch me.”

Leo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Big words for a kid like you. You backing that up, or are you just all talk?”

Seyl’s smirk widened. “You want me to prove it?”

Leo chuckled, tapping the rim of his glass. “Nah, not yet. You’ve got the spark, though. I like that. So tell me, Seyl, what’s a kid like you doing in a place like this? NoManCity isn’t exactly known for being friendly to outsiders.”

Seyl’s expression flickered, his confidence softening for a moment. “Just… exploring,” he said, his tone vague but still upbeat.

Leo narrowed his eye slightly, sensing there was more to the story, but he didn’t push. “Well, you’re here now,” he said, raising his glass. “And that means you’re either brave, crazy, or a little bit of both.”

Seyl laughed, holding up a piece of bread as if in a toast. “Maybe all three.”

The two shared a laugh, the hum of the arena and the clash of fighters providing the soundtrack to their conversation. In this strange, chaotic place, Seyl found an unlikely ally in Leo—and perhaps, a bit of insight into the unpredictable world he’d stumbled into.

The opulent bar hummed with low chatter and the soft clink of glasses. Its golden chandeliers cast a warm glow across the polished marble floors and plush leather seats. Leon sat slouched at the counter, his white and gold suit slightly disheveled.

“Hey, another one, please,” Leon called out, his voice rough but firm.

The bartender hesitated, a hint of concern crossing his face. “Are you sure? That’s your sixth bottle tonight.”

Leon waved him off, his fiery red hair catching the bar’s ambient light as he raised his empty glass. “Just give it to me, will you?”

The bartender sighed, reluctantly reaching for another bottle. Around the bar, the patrons cast curious glances at Leon, whispering among themselves.

The door chime rang suddenly, cutting through the quiet hum. All heads turned toward the entrance as the door swung open, revealing a man silhouetted against the city’s golden glow.

He stepped inside, his movements deliberate and composed. The stranger’s presence was magnetic, his cloak swaying lightly as he crossed the threshold. The light caught his features—a regal bearing, a neatly groomed blonde beard, and sharp, piercing eyes.

The bar fell silent.

“Who is that?” someone whispered.

“Is he a celebrity? Should we ask for a picture?” murmured another.

“I haven’t seen him before,” someone else said.

“Maybe he’s from another city?”

Despite the hushed commotion, Leon remained indifferent, his gaze fixed on the drink in front of him. He lifted the bottle to pour another glass, entirely uninterested in the scene unfolding around him.

The blonde man ignored the whispers, his focus entirely on Leon. He walked confidently to the counter and took the seat next to him.

“How long has it been, Leon?” the man said, his voice smooth but carrying a weight of familiarity.

Leon’s hand froze mid-pour. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he took in the stranger’s face. In one sudden motion, he grabbed the beer glass, smashed it against the counter, and pointed the jagged edge at the man’s throat.

“Who are you?” Leon growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The room held its breath as the man didn’t flinch, his calm expression unbroken. The golden light revealed his sharp features—rich clothing, pristine even in the dim light, and a blonde beard that framed a knowing smile.

The tension was palpable, and the silence in the bar was absolute as Leon glared at the man, the jagged glass trembling in his grip.