I had experienced similar sensations when Maya attempted to pull me into the Break from a hospital bed. Now, quite contrarily, the Maker seated at the tea table was pulling me from the shadowy realm into reality. I could resist this pulling sensation, which I did, but the raig mentor immediately intensified his efforts. The pull grew stronger. If this persisted, my resistance would shatter within seconds, resulting in my expulsion from the Break, followed by a tumble down the roof and a fall right at the feet of the sensum. This scenario was categorically undesirable, leading me to activate my "mental shield." The external pressure, which just a moment ago seemed unbearable, significantly weakened, allowing me to stabilize my state within the Break.

In response, the monk shrugged his shoulders and withdrew his hand, which had been stretched out in my direction. He then procured another bowl from the tea set, placing it on the table before him. Turning to the roof and raising his head, he made an inviting gesture, pointing to the empty bowl as though offering to share tea with him.

I could escape; the moment was opportune, but something felt amiss with the idea of flight. Churchill once remarked, "Those who, choosing between shame and war, choose shame, end up with both shame and war." Granted, there is no question of any literal shame here, but by fleeing now, I would exhibit weakness and a lack of confidence in my abilities. Not that it bothers me from the standpoint of wounded pride — that's not the point. Such an act, however, could negatively affect my future interactions with the clerics and BKDW curators. They communicate differently with those who show fear. Setting aside fear and paranoia, it's the ideal moment for an initial introduction now that I have repelled the foreign influence. An introduction to one of the individuals likely behind the formation of BKDW as a structure. Moreover, this monk is far from a minor figure within the clerics' hierarchy.

Indeed, he is a Maker, and his powerful aura sends chills down my spine, but my ability surpassed his ace in the hole. That is, if anything goes awry, I can always retreat into the Break. Moreover, my "Mental Shield" safeguards me from telepathy — if the monk possesses such capabilities — or from imprinting my aura. Hence, a unique circumstance has emerged — I can converse on an equal footing with such a prominent figure. Yet, if I flee, I will undoubtedly be safe, eliminating all risk, but...

What am I truly risking? I dismiss the possibility of a "bullet in the forehead from a sniper" since such a risk is omnipresent but impossible to factor in at all times. It would be foolish to have tea with such an influential individual without mental protection, but fortunately, I possess such a handy perk!

All these thoughts raced through my mind within approximately ten seconds, after which I hopped off the roof, proceeded towards the table, kneeled opposite the monk, and then exited the Break.

I'm unsure of who the sensum anticipated seeing before him, but when his gaze landed on the tinted helmet visor, his eyes reflected clear puzzlement. We then sat in silence for roughly three minutes, scrutinizing one another. While I could observe his face, the monk was deprived of such an opportunity. Judging by the recurring "Mental Shield" alerts within my mind, the mentor tried to probe me with his techniques, yet seemingly to no avail — his confidence, initially near boundless, dwindled with each passing second.

The sensum was the first to break the prolonged silence. Without averting his gaze from my closed helmet, he queried, "I take it you're not going to accept the tea?"

Damn! I prematurely rejoiced that the situation was unfolding favorably. One semi-humorous phrase, laced with clear implications, upended everything. Just a moment ago, I felt a sense of control, discerning slight confusion on the sensum's face caused by both my ability and the closed helmet, but now the dynamic had shifted drastically.

I needed to respond urgently, but regrettably, I couldn't conjure up anything as subtle or ironic! It was maddening... Once this conversation concluded, I was certain that my brain would spontaneously produce dozens of clever responses. But... it would be too late by then.

It's fortunate that the helmet's visor is so darkly tinted, concealing my facial expression from the interlocutor, which would have easily betrayed my deep thought process and mild panic.

Yet, panic is an overreaction. Nothing dreadful occurred. Well, the interlocutor did tease me, but from the outset, I harbored no doubts that the individual before me was far from ordinary. Similarly, I was certain that this conversation would significantly influence my future, with my fate potentially hinging on its outcome.

On the other hand, this conversation might not affect anything at all. I'm getting overly anxious for no apparent reason! And I need to respond. Each passing second of silence does nothing to improve my image.

"Pff..." Rather than uttering words, I slightly tilted my head so that the gesture was evident despite the helmet, "answering" his question in this peculiar way.

I understand, the response is weak, but it's better than silence. Given the tonality of my exhalation, forced through tightly compressed lips, it's akin to a mundane "the answer is obvious." Yes, such a reaction is more typical of a youth than an adult, but I must portray myself as an inexperienced youngster, not a forty-year-old man. Otherwise, my interlocutor will quickly see through my performance.

I had no doubt that the Maker accurately interpreted my "Pff." With a practiced, fluid, and somewhat graceful gesture, he moved the bowl in front of me to the table's corner. He didn't return it to the tea set from which he had extracted it just a minute earlier, but rather set it aside. Could this be a subtle indication that if I change my mind and decide to raise my visor, I could do so without losing face, seemingly intrigued by the aromatic and evidently costly beverage? It's highly likely. In my view, he's going a bit overboard with such intricate hints. I don't believe any of the raigs, who are invariably youthful, would notice such subtlety under similar circumstances. Or is he expecting me to subconsciously reach for the bowl if the conversation prolongs and my throat becomes dry? This is tricky...

On one hand, I am somewhat of a guest and should initiate the conversation out of courtesy. Yet, on the other hand, he tried to forcefully extract me from the Break, which, to put it mildly, was his way of "inviting me," suggesting that the initiative should originate from him.

After considering all the advantages and disadvantages, I concluded that the latter interpretation of the situation was more beneficial for me. Hence, I quietly observed the sensum leisurely pouring the steaming beverage into a bowl. I could react impulsively, in a youthful manner, to urgently demand an answer about how he noticed me and what exactly he did when he tried to drag me out of the Break using his power. Yes, it would be possible, but "possible" doesn't necessarily mean "necessary," so I remained silent. I'm certain a more suitable moment will arise for such queries. I don't want to further mar my first impression, and my "Pff" instead of a proper response suffices.

Having filled his bowl, the Maker closed his eyes and took a moment to inhale the slightly tart aroma of the unfamiliar tea, tinged with a fleeting note of natural sweetness. After barely allowing the beverage to touch his lips, he set the cup back on the table, lifted his gaze to me and asked, "What brings you to our dwelling?"[1]

Such a simple question, but... Firstly, he has now twice referred to me as "you," an inappropriate form of address when speaking with older strangers. This implies, despite the unknown capabilities of a sensum of his stature, he believes himself to be considerably older than me. Secondly, I would have said "to our humble dwelling," but he omitted the word "humble." There are several implications to that, but I can ponder this nuance later. The important thing now is not to delay my response. So I declare:

"Curiosity..." With a casual shrug, I voice the simple truth. Let him interpret that as he will.

I'm sorely lacking information and need time to evaluate my interlocutor. After all, I wasn't prepared for this dialogue.

Interestingly, he didn't seem to have a quick response at hand either. And something seemed off about him... A person of his position, effectively the overseer of an organization like the BKDW, with extensive experience in negotiations at various levels, should not betray such a weakness, even for a moment. My intuition is practically screaming this at me.

His eyes keep sliding over my helmet, never resting on one spot, and his palms are pressed tightly to his hips, probably concealing the nervous twitching of his fingers. I have seen a similar reaction before, in a colonel who had recently suffered from shell shock. It's how a person behaves when they have not lost confidence in themselves but rather, do not trust their senses.

That's it! He's used to effortlessly reading people through their aura, and now that he's lost such a valuable source of information, he feels blind. I hope my interpretation is correct, as such a development places the initiative firmly in my hands, irrespective of what the man opposite me might think about it.

"Curiosity, many consider this human trait to be almost a vice," the sensum's gaze ceased its wandering, and his gray eyes with a metallic glint now bore into my visor. "Many, but not I."

The raig mentor says this with a slight smile, but the way he drawls the words a little betrays the fact that the Maker, much like me, is playing for time, feverishly running through possible dialogue options in his head. Yes, my first impression was correct - a formidable adversary sits across from me. But is he truly an adversary?

"You're the first of the Knights to visit us uninvited." There was no condemnation in his words, just the same barely concealed curiosity seeping through his intonations. He said "us," which certainly threw me off.

"Should I leave?" I retorted. It seemed like the natural response that the real Izao would give in such a situation, and it felt best to adopt a similar approach. Moreover, if I had judged him correctly, his answer was predictable.

"This place is secluded from the world's chaos," he said. It was an odd description for a closed monastery situated within a vast metropolis, even if it was within a secure area close to the palace complex - an unconventional choice for a location. "But the Knights are always welcome here."

Take that however you like. First, he said "uninvited," then "always welcome." It seemed as though he was testing my reactions. Or perhaps he was wary of scaring me off, wanting to avoid seeming overbearing, leaving me an avenue for a polite exit? But his not shooing me away was precisely what I had hoped for. Leaving without getting answers to the questions gnawing at me was not part of my plans.

I felt the dialogue gradually swaying in his favor. The longer this exchange of ambiguities and evasions continued, the higher the chance of my outright defeat due to the clear experience gap, which the Maker undoubtedly had. I needed to alter my approach, not subtly, but with a decisive cut.

In his eyes, I was a raig - a boy who had unexpectedly gained remarkable strength and an overwhelming load of responsibilities. I couldn't afford to play word games. Gearing myself up, I defiantly pushed back the empty bowl that was already teetering on the edge of the table, leaned slightly forward, and declared, "You're strange."

His face broke into a smile, genuine and clear as spring water. I had misjudged; he was prepared for such a twist!

"I've been told that," he responded, a hint of a playful grin lacing his words, but no sign of offense taken.

I was being foolish! Any Maker is inherently far from ordinary, and thus, strange. Wait! No, I wasn't being foolish. I had done the right thing. For the boy I was pretending to be, such words were natural. Sure, I didn't manage to unsettle him with this abrupt change in tone, as I had hoped, but it didn't tarnish my portrayal. So, the score remained even.

"However, you're not the most typical young man either." Apparently, the sensum had grown tired of playing the understatement game, or maybe he had finished his analysis and reached a conclusion, prompting him to launch his counter-offensive. "Your visit to us wasn't by chance, was it?"

"Your monastery doesn't appear on city maps, and guidebooks make no mention of it. Moreover, it's situated within the secured perimeter of the palace complex. Thus, of course, it's impossible to stumble upon you by chance." It was a lengthy sentence, but I took the risk, and my voice held steady.

I didn't merely say this on a whim, but rather hoped to steer the conversation toward the story of this place. However, my attempt fell short. In response, the Maker merely shrugged and persisted in his line of questioning.

"So, what brings you here? Is there something you wish to discuss?"

No, he wouldn't fool me that easily!

"Uh-huh! I just wanted to take a look!" I injected a tinge of youthful indignation into my tone. "It's you who wanted to talk!" I almost added, "by forcibly trying to pull me out of the Break!" but restrained myself in time. Why waste words on what's already implicitly clear?

"True," he conceded, seeming unperturbed by the failure of his ploy. "But don't you want to talk, considering you accepted my invitation?"

"You invited me... so you should do the talking..." I interjected.

Indeed, I had many questions for him, but asking them now would hand over additional information for him to dissect. Regardless of how our conversation concluded, I was certain he would extend another invitation for me to revisit. When that happened, returning better prepared, I would express interest in the subjects that truly mattered to me.

"Well..." the Maker began, slightly bowing his head as though conceding a point. "I confess, my insistence in inviting you was perhaps not the most polite act. But you must admit, observing a house's owner from invisibility without his knowledge also somewhat breaches common decency."

He appeared too at ease, as if accustomed to luring unsuspecting young people into a conversation. It was time to show him that dealing with me would be a tad more challenging.

"I didn't choose to become a raig."

"And that justifies the peeping?" His smile held a touch of paternal warmth, a sliver of reproach.

"Of course," I nodded in response. I wasn't lying. I couldn't navigate the Break with my eyes closed. Thus, being in a state of projection and looking around, by default, I was spying from invisibility.

"Ha!" His amusement at our conversation seemed genuine. He sat there, regarding me as a cat might regard a bowl of cream. "You're quite unusual too." And before I could react to his comment, he continued, "Would you mind if we played a little game? A guessing game."

"Sure, go ahead." And why not, indeed?

Leaning slightly, the sensum opened a drawer in the tea table and withdrew a fairly large landscape folder. He placed it on the tabletop before him and began speaking.

"My abilities are somewhat limited. I can only peer into the Break just a bit. It's impossible for me to clearly see the projections of the Knights, and I can only perceive vague, faint shadows." Having said this, he opened the folder, revealing it to be an art album filled with images of raig projections. "We've never met before, that's certain. Moreover, I couldn't perceive your projection while you were in the Break. Indeed, this peculiar ability that seems to alter your aura, constantly shifting it, further complicates matters. Yet, I'll attempt to guess who you are! Is that acceptable?" As he asked this question, he stiffened slightly, seemingly not discounting the possibility that I might take flight after hearing such a proposition.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I recoiled slightly upon realizing his intent, but nonetheless, I held my ground. A life on the run was not a desirable path. This game would be a fitting test for my cover story. If even a Maker could not detect an outsider from another world in me, I could breathe a sigh of relief. If the contrary happened, at least in this conversational context, I could try to explain myself instead of fleeing outright.

"Well... you can give it a try." It was a good thing he couldn't perceive how forced my smile was.

With a decisive move, the sensum flipped through about twenty sheets in one go without even glancing at them. Each page was filled with images, so he quickly ruled out around forty potential candidates. The most plausible scenario was that the beginning of his album contained artwork of raigs with whom he was familiar. It was unfortunate that no matter how much I tried, I couldn't catch a glimpse of the turned pages — such information could have proven useful. Nonetheless, his actions indicated that he was familiar with a significantly larger number of Break Knights than those in the BKDW.

Then again... I might be jumping to conclusions too quickly. There might be another reason. He could have instantly eliminated those raigs who had been in the city for a while, and like Maya and Max, considered me a newcomer, a notion I indirectly reinforced with my comments about the location of the monastery.

The Maker sifted through the following pages much more slowly. He lingered on certain images for about ten seconds, occasionally casting speculative glances my way.

Without shifting my posture, I tried to take in as many of the artworks as possible. I had never seen nearly half of the Knights depicted in them, not even on the museum wall in the BKDW building. Regrettably, due to my seated position, it was hard to scrutinize the album in detail, and to adjust my seating for a better view would have made my interest too evident. Ideally, I should have moved despite the potential risk to the image of a slightly brazen, sufficiently powerful, "independent" teenager that I had crafted. Yet, I did not dare to. Perhaps, I should have taken the risk...

"Ahem..." After leafing through about two-thirds of the album, the sensum glanced at me, his once confident demeanor seeming somewhat diminished compared to a few minutes earlier. "Intriguing."

He was probably expecting some reaction from me, but I merely shrugged. So, he returned to his perusal. His "game" extended: after carefully examining his album, the BKDW mentor appeared unable to make a decision. After closing it and once more subjecting me to his intense gaze, he reopened his collection of drawings somewhere in the middle, embarking on a second round.

"I apologize," said the Maker after another five minutes. "As you can probably surmise, this isn't my first time playing such a game. However, this is the first time I've encountered a situation where I can't even roughly delineate the possibilities. Your ability... that perplexing aura... it's irritating..."

Even though my opponent can't see the grin stretching from ear to ear on my face, I'm certain he knows it's there. However, that doesn't concern me because it aligns perfectly with the role I'm playing. Moreover, the sensum's frustration, which had leaked through in his last words, seems genuine and not part of some intricate ruse. This, naturally, plays to my advantage as frustration can impede his thought process.

"With your permission, I'll take another stab at it."

"You're welcome to make even two attempts — I'm in no rush." Here, the main thing is not to overact. I mustn't forget that my adversary is far from being an innocent youngster and could potentially trip me up over any minor detail.

Something tells me he initiated this game for a specific reason, not just for amusement. And now, as he fails to identify my projection, his yet unclear plan appears to be going awry.

While the sensum peruses his album once more, I have time to think...

Clearly, the attempt to pull me out of the Break was meant to humble the newcomer, to put them in their place, and to demonstrate that there are entities capable of challenging the power of a raig. Perhaps this "guessing game" from the Maker is the second half of an actual game orchestrated by the cleric. Hmm... That seems logical — to surprise, stun, and demonstrate that the abilities of the Knights aren't a 100% guarantee of invulnerability and, most importantly, anonymity. Following that, in a subsequent confidential conversation, reassure the raig that here they are completely safe, can be offered assistance, and will be accepted just as they are...

This is recruitment in its purest form. However, this shouldn't surprise me, as it's entirely logical. And it's conducted so directly because a raig could disappear at any moment, vanishing entirely due to their ability. To stop them by once again pulling them out of the Break at the moment of escape would signal hostile intentions.

Indeed, Break Knights pose a significant problem for those in power. We can be killed, but long-term capture is virtually impossible — barring drug-induced coma, of course. But both coma and death result in the loss of a valuable human resource. And in the wake of the next Breakthrough... Yes, Breakthroughs change a lot. Given that killing or capturing raigs could lead to such disaster for the authorities, the task of tolerating a few young individuals with unusual, and some might even say, dangerous powers would seem trivial in comparison.

I was shaken from my thoughts by the sensum's movements. He closed the album and pushed it to the edge of the table. The bowl of unfinished, already-cooled tea followed.

"May I have your hand?" With these words, the Maker extended his open palm towards me. "I won't hurt you, and there's no need to remove your glove."

"Uh-uh..." His request surprised me — it was completely unexpected!

Curiosity within me waged a silent battle against paranoia. On the one hand, if Izao's memories and public opinion hold any truth, Makers are rather peculiar individuals who navigate life guided by their Power, not by ordinary human weaknesses and desires. On the other hand, I have no idea how accurate these assumptions are, and the appearance of my counterpart doesn't inspire confidence at the moment. His eyes are sparkling, and his lips are so tightly pursed they've become barely discernible lines.

"It won't take long and it's entirely safe," the sensum tried to assure me.

"No," I responded, pulling back slightly.

Paranoia triumphed over curiosity, hands down. I can't take such a risk without knowing the extent of the Maker's powers and capabilities, and without understanding his true intentions. I simply can't!

My response seemed to deflate my counterpart. His hand fell limply onto the table, and his previously perfectly straight back slouched as if someone had dropped a bag of sand on it.

"Well..." His words came out muffled and nearly devoid of emotion. "I respect your choice and won't insist. I was young once too." Granted, he behaves like an elder, but in reality, he can't be more than thirty-five. "I didn't understand my own strength... I didn't trust anyone... I hope time will pass and you will alter your attitude towards people. You'll stop being afraid. You'll understand that you're surrounded by many good, trustworthy individuals." In another situation, I might have smirked at such a simplistic platitude. But for some reason, as the sensum spoke with sincere conviction, and behind his words I sensed a deeply buried, long ago experienced pain, my smile faded. "Youth..."

"Youth is a flaw that fades with time," I couldn't resist replying.

"What an insightful phrase. I've never heard it before," the Maker responded, his tone hinting at mild interest. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes took on a steely glint, his jaw clenched, and his head tilted so far that it almost rested on his left shoulder.

Frankly, I almost bolted right then — his gesture was that uncanny. It's a move owls can make, but I've never seen such flexibility in a human before.

"Youth..." The word dropped like a stone from a height onto cobblestones. "Yo..." His eyes widened in undisguised surprise.

Without finishing, he abruptly straightened up, folded his hands, and bowed so deeply that his forehead almost grazed the table.

I didn't transition into the Break from this spectacle solely because I was, to put it mildly, taken aback by the unfolding events!

"I apologize," the Maker said, his head still near the tabletop. "I was inexcusably rude."

After voicing this, the sensum finally straightened up and, placing his hands on his knees, bowed again, this time not as deeply.

"You didn't leave,"[2] he said, his tone polite, and I thought I understood why this transition occurred. This revelation was far from pleasing. "You tolerated my inappropriate behavior for so long..."

Am I prepared for a fight?

No, but do I have a choice?

"How?" My question came out quiet yet demanding, and my hand rested on my belt — in a shift to the Break, I would unsheath the "Word" instantly. But I wouldn't leave without an answer.

"Two soul stones..." The sensum was tense but composed, and... not afraid, but... looking apprehensive, like a warrior who unexpectedly came across an opponent of an entirely different caliber than anticipated. "One is whole, and the second is a fragment. They're not easy to see. Discerning these soul stones, hidden in the intricate pattern of the aura, is nearly impossible. Only in moments of intense tension or insight can people like me see that deep."

I made a mistake. I should have run right from the start. I just hope I'll be allowed to leave without a fight. But what if?

"With your permission," I said, giving a slight bow of the head, careful not to lose sight of my interlocutor, "I would like to conclude our conversation here and take my leave."

"I wouldn't dare to detain you, Maestro," he replied, his voice carrying a trace of barely concealed disappointment. "But you're not the first reincarnate to be reborn with a full memory."

What did he just say?!

"Yes, I won't dispute it. Your case is unique," the sensum continued, oblivious to how my face stretched out in reaction to his words. "Even doubly so! Your soul has been reincarnated, and, as if that weren't enough, you've also been burdened with..." His eyes were as clear as mountain spring water.

He didn't see me as an alien from a parallel universe but instead, assumed I was a reincarnated soul native to this world? Seriously?! This... This... What a twist! What fortune! It's a jackpot, damn it! Yes, reincarnation is a somewhat rare phenomenon, but it is recognized, and there have even been legal precedents for returning property to a reincarnated soul. Does this mean... Could I stop fearing being executed as a spy from another world or something even worse?! Really? Did I mishear? Did he say exactly that?

Really?

I was about to seek clarification on whether I'd understood the sensum's words correctly when his expression changed dramatically during our conversation once again. His face hardened, and his hands reached for the album. Then, with a swift, slightly shaky motion, he opened it nearer to the end, right where my projection was displayed.

At that moment, my tension was so high that I felt like I could hear thoughts clashing in the sensum's head and a puzzle clicking into place in his mind. It was the ideal moment to escape because the Maker was so engrossed in something that he was oblivious to everything around him except the projection artwork. But my paranoia held me back from fleeing, insisting that I gather more information before leaving this place.

After several minutes of silence, the Maker swayed as if he'd been hit hard in the chest. His shoulders sagged, and he appeared to enter some sort of trance: his eyes were open, but his mind seemed to be somewhere else.

The situation was spiraling out of control. Who knew what such a powerful sensum was perceiving now and how he would react upon emerging from this borderline state? Making as little noise as possible, I stood and sidled towards the terrace's edge, making sure I never lost sight of the table. The vista from the Hill over the bay was stunning and awe-inspiring, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate the view. I was still undecided: should I leave now, safely, but without the answers, or stay a bit longer, take a risk, and ask a few more questions? However, the risk at the moment wasn't that high: if I jumped from the cliff where I was currently standing, shifting into the Break at the apex of the jump, I could evade any threat. Correction — any known threat! Yes, that was a crucial amendment, as I didn't know the extent of the Makers' powers, and perhaps the sensum next to me was capable of far more than he'd shown before.

As I was weighing the pros and cons, the sensum opened his eyes and slowly rose to his feet without making any sudden movements. Had he taken even one step forward at that moment, I would have certainly jumped off the cliff, but he remained standing by the table.

The mentor of Raig looked up at me, his gaze filled with admiration!? Was I hallucinating, or was he really looking at me as if I were his idol? Why such a sudden change? And besides, what...

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hyungang Tu Chong, and I am the abbot of this humble monastery. It is a great honor for me to meet you, Maestro," the Maker stated, placing his right hand on his chest. "Or would you prefer to be addressed by your full name?" What was he talking about now? "Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar!"

Those words caused my right eye to twitch. Why? Because the name was familiar to me! The replica of the sword of this historical figure in my world was the very one I wore on my belt in the Break.

"Or perhaps you are more accustomed to being addressed by your status? El Sire Campeador!"

The twitching in my right eye intensified, becoming painful. It took all my strength to maintain a steady voice.

"I don't acknowledge those names."

"As you wish, Sire. I understand that you eventually renounced the material world, established a monastery, and devoted yourself to the Service, leaving behind your former titles and names."

"And that, I do not acknowledge either."

"As you wish, Sire." The sensum bowed. "But, if I were to ask the Knights to take a closer look at your sword, would they not discern the inscription adorning the blade, which currently appears as mere scribbles in the depiction, to read as follows: 'I am Colada, created in the era of the Holy Trinity'?"

And who had urged me to make such a precise replica of the heavy rapier, including that specific phrase, which now adorned the blade of the "Word"? What had I gotten myself into, "Word"?! Answer! But in response, there was only the usual silence; the sword was mute.

I had never imagined a nervous twitch could be so painful. Now it had spread to my left eye, and both of them were twitching.

"You would!" I wanted to lie, but at that moment, my right palm convulsed so intensely that I was forced to admit the truth through clenched teeth, wincing in pain. "But..."

I could have attempted to fabricate an excuse or some explanation, but instead, I took a step back and leaped off the cliff. I had had enough of these games. I wasn't ready for them yet!

Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!

[1] TLN: this "you" - it's the same as in the first book: the sensum casually addresses Maestro as an older person talking to youth.

[2] TLN: right, "you" this time is the polite one, as if speaking to an older person or an equal.