Instantly, I shifted back into the Break and, unfastening "Purity" from my belt, was about to launch into an irate tirade. But then it struck me...

The sword wasn't the culprit.

This was inherent to the capabilities of the raigs. None of us could bring another person's belongings into the Break. Not even something that was ownerless. Only an item that belonged to you or that you had the right to use could be transported! Take the motorcycle gear, for instance. I couldn't use it as it belonged to Melanie if she had given me explicit permission: "Use anything you find in the apartment."

The curse that was on the tip of my tongue, ready to lash out at the blade, remained unsaid.

Damn it! Why didn't this revelation dawn on me earlier?!

Cursing someone now would be pointless.

Naturally, I could repack my backpack with the money and attempt to make a run for it in the physical world. But given the density of the surveillance systems, that would be tantamount to suicide. That wasn't an option. However, I wasn't prepared to abandon such a windfall either.

Once more adopting a human form, I gathered all the money, restored it to its original location, and secured the safe. It was fine. I'd regroup, come back better prepared, and figure out a way to circumvent all the traps and cameras. The money wasn't going anywhere!

However, as soon as this thought crossed my mind, my left palm seared with pain as if someone had branded it with a glowing iron rod.

"Shh..." I hissed involuntarily. The pain was intense!

Shifting to the Break again, "Purity" found its way back into my hand.

"What are you doing?! We had a deal!"

The response was a derisive ripple. Damn, damn, damn...

Yes, we had an agreement, but it was only to pardon one attempt at theft. And I had thoughtlessly squandered my chance!

"Oh, you... I'll figure out a way to tame you yet! On that, I'm not lying. Let my 'Word' be my witness!"

But "Purity" remained unfazed by my threats, responding with mere indifferent silence...

I was in such a foul mood on my way home that I longed for a chance to vent my frustration. And surprisingly, I found an opportunity just a block away from my destination.

A heavily intoxicated biker was menacing a frail intellectual who was equally inebriated. The victim was too dazed to comprehend what was going on but was stubbornly clinging to his wallet, which the biker was trying to snatch. He was just mumbling incoherently and weakly flailing his arms.

The incident unfolded in a dark, narrow alleyway, about twenty steps from the bar where both men had likely gotten plastered. There were no surveillance cameras or passersby. The biker was a burly man, weighing over a hundred kilograms and standing a head taller than Izao, but that didn't deter me. Sliding into reality behind their backs, I picked up a tin trash can that was lying on its side against a dilapidated house's wall, and placed it over the aggressor's head. Then, I lifted an old car steering wheel from the pavement — who knows how it ended up here — and repeatedly smacked it onto the can covering the biker's head. I didn't expect such a big man to fall to his knees after the second blow and collapse flat on the pavement, his arms helplessly sprawled out. The moment the biker released him, the victim took a few unsteady steps, grasped a lamppost, and promptly slid down onto the pavement, curling up there. In less than a minute, the two bodies in the dark alley were snoring in unison. Annoyed that it was over so quickly, I kicked the snoring biker in the ribs, but he only grunted in response.

However, what truly irritated me was the pleasant warmth spreading in my left palm. That damned "Purity" was thrilled with my actions. It approved! Why was I stuck with such a perverse blade?!

The remainder of my journey home went by without a hitch. After undressing and carelessly strewn my belongings about, I flopped onto the bed and attempted to sleep. Despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me. My mind teemed with disparate thoughts: of Maya, of the hospital, of devising a way to rob the jackals without crossing "Purity's" restrictions, or of the two deceased Korean raigs. I only managed to drift off at dawn, when the first rays of sunlight painted the high, feathery clouds.

Thank goodness I'm not employed, and it's still a month and a half until the academic year begins! It was exactly two in the afternoon when I woke up. I then spent a long while lying in bed, observing the distant clouds hovering over the city. I felt no urge to rise or engage in any activity. The events of the previous day, with all their mishaps, still weighed heavily on me. I yearned to bury my head under a pillow and remain in bed for a day... a week... a month... forever.

Why was I burdened with all this? Did anyone ask if I wanted this double life? Blast it! I feel like I'm falling apart, not physically — there, I'm in perfect health — but mentally. I have no need for millions, universal adoration, power, or mountain castles. I simply desire to lead as peaceful and joyful a life as possible. Is such a dream really so unattainable or difficult to fulfill? If someone offered to trade my raig abilities for a normal life, I'd agree without a moment's hesitation. Unfortunately, no such offer, or anything remotely similar, was on the horizon.

Then again, I'm drawn to the possibilities of the Break, and the sense of power that comes with the projection is exhilarating. Truthfully, I wouldn't want to relinquish my raig abilities. But how to reconcile them with a tranquil life — that's the question!

However, as the ancients said, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Lying in bed would only earn me bedsores. The thought "Get up, you lazybones!" while appropriate, remained just that — a thought. The most I could muster was to toss the sheet covering me onto the floor. That was the extent of my progress.

The issue is that I can't see a clear path ahead. I don't even grasp the direction I should be heading in. These restrictions imposed by the swords thwart any plans I may conceive. Especially the damn heroic idealism of "Purity"! How can I even consider a peaceful, ordinary life if, at any moment, this lunatic blade might drag me into the most outrageous misadventures! And what's most infuriating is that it can't be discarded, lost, or broken! I wonder if there's a way to rid myself of it without simultaneously taking my own life.

What a predicament! Whether it's possible or impossible — does it really matter right now? Let's say it's impossible, and I'll never figure out how to detach myself from "Purity." So what? Am I to spend my entire life in bed, my head buried under a pillow? The fact that I've secluded myself within my apartment, hardly stepping foot outside, is already a victory for this damned blade. Each time I neared the front door, I was filled with dread, fearing that the moment I set foot in public, "Purity" would land me in hot water. Regrettably, these fears came true... But if I continue this way, in the end, I'll become a recluse, devolving into a genuine sociopath due to lack of social interaction.

Were I at least fifteen years younger, this life filled with vibrant events and risks would in many ways seem appealing. However, it appears I've grown too old for seeking adventures for their own sake. I yearn for peace, a lounge chair by a pool, a loved one by my side — these are all my desires. Yet... no... Something of my youthful self still lingers. I would still relish a heated verbal spat, one devoid of profanities and reliant on wit. My love for flirtation hasn't faded either, not to entice a woman into bed, but for the zesty interactions it affords. Yes, I wouldn't mind engaging in a brawl, not a duel or a fight to the death, but a friendly skirmish, finding pleasure in the very art of swordplay.

If I don't want to become what the Japanese call a hikikomori, then I need to make some changes in my life.

Primarily, I need to start going out, even leaving my apartment not for the purpose of shopping or running errands, but for a plain walk. Sure, with "Purity's" proclivities, each of my walks could transform into unexpected heroism, but I have to learn to live with it. If I confine myself to the bed, I'll vegetate. Besides, an entirely peaceful life isn't on the cards for me. Not at all. A Breakthrough could occur any day, presenting an unforeseen risk to my existence. I must accept that this second life, gifted to me by an unknown entity, likely won't be a long one. If that's the case, is it worth prolonging it by playing a futile game of hide-and-seek with "Purity"? I've always envied people who lived by a simple, understandable principle: "Do what you must, and come what may." Sadly, I've never been able to adhere to it. Correction: I couldn't in that long-lost world. As surreal as it sounds, I've "survived" death, so what's stopping me from shedding old habits and cultivating new ones, if possible? Moreover, I now know firsthand that death is not the end of the journey, so I shouldn't fear it as much as I did before.

And most importantly, continuing a hermit's life is equivalent to admitting my powerlessness and fear of "Purity"! And I can't accept that! That I'd be subdued by a fragment of some juvenile's soul? Nonsense! He can go to hell! An "indestructible" and "immutable" blade? There's nothing in the universe that is immune to change, much less destruction. We shall see who gets the last laugh...

Embracing this sentiment, I sprung from my bed, kicked away the knee pad from my motorbike gear that had rolled underfoot, and, whistling the Midshipmen's March[1], headed to the shower.

Taking a shower proved to be a superb idea. The cool water refreshed me and washed away all negativity. Thoughts coursed through my mind like streams of water, gaining momentum. In my past life, I didn't have one overriding principle, but several guidelines I strived to abide by. Such as: "Live and let live," "Negotiate with the wise, trick the fool," "Harm me, and triple the retribution will follow when you least expect it," and numerous other such "mini principles." Now, it seems the most suitable for me would be to adopt the postulates: "Everything that happens is for the best," "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger," "Live for today," and "If we're meant to live, we won't die!"

Exiting the shower, I sang out:

"Life has its sorrows,

But never lose heart!

Life also has its joys,

Don't forget about that!"[2]

I resolved to leave yesterday's events behind. Today is a new day. I'm alive, healthy, and my identity as a raig remains concealed - an incredible start to the "morning," if you could call it that when it's nearly three o'clock!

First on the agenda was a trip to a clothing store. Yes, Melanie doesn't lavish her son with funds every month, but I can allow for some expenditure, having lived a monastic life for nearly a month. And since I intend to take more walks, these strolls shouldn't evoke disgust in me because passersby regard me as a fool.

In essence, Izao's fixation on robots doesn't bother me. However, the pomposity and absurdity to which this hobby has escalated is infuriating. Perpetual exposure to his mother's artworks has unequivocally warped the boy's taste. I can find no other explanation for his passion for such gaudy, grotesque images. Each of his t-shirts makes me cringe.

Bypassing a late breakfast or tea with sandwiches, I threw on whatever was available and headed to the nearest shopping center. Luckily, it was just a leisurely third of an hour's walk away, in the opposite direction from the sea. During the initial minutes on the street, I was skittish, even of my own shadow, and tried to avoid people as much as possible. But then the typical paranoia eased its grip, and my steps became less anxious.

I found myself relaxing even more when I arrived at the mall without a hitch. Interestingly, the first thing I purchased wasn't clothes, but a music player with snug headphones. I made this purchase not because I'd become a big fan of local music - although it certainly appealed to me - but for safety reasons. "Purity" could react not only to perceived "injustices" but could also propel me towards cries for help. Loud music and sturdy headphones were intended to shield me from such scenarios. This purchase was relatively affordable. Since I wasn't concerned with sound quality, I just needed the volume to be high. The salesman tried to coax the young customer into buying a more popular, trendy model - a strategy Izao might have fallen for. To the sales consultant's disappointment, however, I knew precisely what I wanted. Moreover, in my eyes, these CD players weren't "the latest model" but rather something long forgotten. Due to my forgetfulness about the device's inconvenience, I incurred unforeseen expenses for a carrying case. Although it wasn't a pricey purchase, the expenditure displeased me. Considering I planned to bring a few CDs from home, there was no need to visit the music department either.

In this world, genres like rap and blues hadn't emerged. While the absence of the former was of little concern to me, I found the lack of the latter mildly irritating. Nonetheless, the local music was genuinely pleasing. Nothing revolutionary or brand new in terms of genres, but each song in the familiar categories had its own distinctive twist! A whole array of world hits that I had never heard before. Considering that the primary language of international communication in this world wasn't English but French, the differences were substantial to me, not being a great connoisseur. Having loaded into the player a disc with last century's hits, many of which vaguely resembled the works of Charles Aznavour and Mylène Farmer, I secured my headphones and, refraining from whistling the especially catchy tunes, ventured into the numerous clothing stores in the shopping mall.

Having spent nearly three-quarters of an hour on my initial exploration of the shopping scene, I hadn't bought anything. While I liked some items, which even fit Izao's slight frame decently, they were either too pricey or lacked any robotic motifs. I was tempted to grab a few plain t-shirts, light linen trousers, and casual denim shorts, but that would signify too drastic a change. Yes, I barely interacted with anyone, and clothing alterations at this age are rather common. Still, even if my worries were likely unfounded, I preferred a less abrupt shift.

After sipping a cup of tea at a local open-air eatery, I was on the verge of dismissing my paranoia when my eyes landed on the vibrant window display of a comic book and gaming merchandise store. If I remembered correctly, it was at such stores that Izao got his clothes. In addition to comics, movies, books, figurines, and posters, these shops also sold clothing featuring logos or illustrations from popular fictional franchises.

Despite it being a regular weekday during working hours, the reasonably large store was jam-packed. The primary clientele were around Izao's age, give or take a few years. The chaos was due to the launch of a remastered edition of a popular series. I couldn't grasp such fervor — queuing up and paying exorbitant prices to watch something familiar in marginally better quality on release day. Even if you are a die-hard fan, why not buy it for your collection a few days after the release, when the hype and additional launch-day cost have subsided? But no, people were rushing into the store and lining up. Such behavior was slightly beyond my comprehension. Fortunately, this store had a separate checkout counter for these eager individuals.

Examining the range of clothing available here, I realized that what I considered expensive earlier today was, in fact, quite cheap. For instance, a good-quality, plain t-shirt cost between forty to fifty francs, while the same shirt with a tiny logo of a popular comic book printed on it cost a staggering three hundred!

I would have left the store empty-handed if I hadn't overheard a guy asking the salesperson about merchandise related to the series "Heart of Steel." It was Izao's favorite cartoon, naturally featuring robots that could transform into tanks and armored boats. The series had ended three years ago, and nothing specific was known about new seasons. With the series off-air, the sales of "Heart of Steel" merchandise had seemingly plummeted. At a cursory glance, I didn't see anything related to the series in the store, save for an old poster tucked away in a distant corner.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

As it turned out, I hadn't looked carefully enough: hidden behind elegantly arranged shelves, down a nondescript narrow aisle stacked with boxes, I found what I sought. So, together with the unfamiliar guy who'd questioned the sales associate, we started to dig through two enormous cardboard boxes with the excitement of archaeologists stumbling upon a treasure.

Unlike my impromptu "partner" in this endeavor, I finished my search much faster. In under half an hour, I was already heading to the cashier with three t-shirts, one jumper, and a pair of badges. The common theme across all my choices was their subtle allusion to robots: no bold, full-frontal prints of robots in ludicrous poses, just logos or, as on one of the t-shirts, the series' tagline. I bought the badges because I genuinely liked them, and they only cost a few centimes. All in all, my purchases were quite economical. I paid seventy-six francs for everything, with the jumper accounting for half of it. I could've opted not to buy it now, given the hot weather, but it was of excellent quality and featured a clear, understated design. A similar one, sans the logo of the discontinued series, would've cost four times as much, so I didn't regret spending money on it.

After the comic book store, I made another round and finally bought linen trousers and a pair of light, loose cotton shorts. I didn't rush to buy shoes just yet; Izao's sandals were serving me quite well.

On my way home, I realized not only was I singing along to the beat of an upbeat melody, but also practically bouncing with each step. I was brimming with positivity, and a smile was permanently etched on my face. Seeing my reflection in a windowpane, I even halted to take a closer look.

What's happening to me? I'm bubbling over with energy — not spiritual, but simple, physical — and my mind is overwhelmed with a yearning for activity. Plus, I feel an urge to smile at everyone passing by. I don't remember ever being this cheerful...

It wasn't until I was back home that the truth hit me: for the first time in years, I felt young. This sensation had previously been suppressed by the depression I was plunged into during my early days in this body. When I had finally come to terms with my death, with never being able to return or see my wife and children again, I sought to numb this spiritual void by spending almost all my free time training in the Break. While I'm a projection, I don't experience the effects of teenage hormones. Seemingly, spending time in the shadow world in such a manner leaves an imprint on my emotional state when I return to reality. If you recall, today is the only day that it's almost five in the evening, and I've yet to visit the Break even once.

It appears that the projection offers substantial protection from the surge of youthful emotions and hormonal upheaval, acting as a kind of vaccine. On the flip side, this feeling of youthfulness, uncomplicated joy, and life-affirming vigor is almost intoxicating. It's incredibly satisfying to feel young, to sense it with every fiber of your being!

For the sake of an experiment, after setting aside my purchases, I ventured into the Break. After a mere ten minutes, I returned. Indeed, my feelings hadn't disappeared but had become somewhat more muted, less sharp, less fresh. On the other hand, my mind was now operating at full capacity. I understood that while the hormonal rush and sense of youth are breathtakingly wonderful, without the mental cleansing provided by the Break, I could easily act recklessly and find myself in trouble. After considering the pros and cons, I instituted a new daily routine: after my morning hygiene rituals, a mandatory visit to the shadow world for at least five minutes. And, if possible, I should suppress my emotions through projection every three to four hours.

To finally put my thoughts in order, I reviewed my financial situation. With twelve days until the end of the month and Melanie's next financial transfer, I had a cash balance of two hundred and forty francs. Considering I didn't have to pay for housing or utilities, this was a decent amount — especially given that the purchasing power of the local franc was roughly equivalent to the U.S. dollar in 2010. However, life in Novilter wasn't cheap; the cost of living was rather high. But with my homebody lifestyle, this money was more than sufficient.

Yes, I planned to alter my lifestyle somewhat — venture out more often, acclimatize to people — but this shouldn't impact my financial situation. Still, today, I intended to make an exception and visit the small family restaurant on the Tourist Quay. The reason for this wasn't so much my craving for their mushroom julienne meatballs, but rather to prove to myself that a robbery incident couldn't influence my decisions. This was about proving something to myself, not "Purity". Though the desire to enjoy a nice meal for a change also played a part in this decision. If I remember correctly, a serving of those meatballs with a side of vegetables was around fifteen francs, so I wasn't at risk of going broke.

After changing into my new linen trousers and slipping on a freshly purchased T-shirt, I switched the disc in the player. Ensuring the headphones fit snugly, I stepped out of the apartment.

The street greeted me not with the usual daytime heat but with a gentle evening breeze. Sunset was still a while away, but high, drifting clouds partially veiled the sun, and along with the breeze, this tempered the accustomed heat. Despite these cooler conditions, I chose to cross the street at an unregulated crosswalk, preferring to walk on the compacted sand of the alleyway that stretched alongside the roadway opposite my house.

Walking — a simple and familiar action, yet it had become a challenge for me. Throughout my life, I've developed the habit of always being vigilant. My deployments to war zones only reinforced this tendency — to continually scan my surroundings, to note possible escape routes, to scrutinize the faces of those I encountered. So now, I had to relearn how to walk, to do it differently. Not to scrutinize but to broaden my focus. Not to look for potential dangers, because if I spotted such a threat, "Purity" would compel me to intervene. This was no easy task...

There was a time when, at Izao's age, I used to walk like this — gazing not at passers-by, but at the clouds drifting high above, at leaves casting intricate shadow patterns on the sand, changing like a kaleidoscope as the wind shifted direction or intensity. It was a long time ago. Now, it was difficult to recall this youthful nonchalance. Music helped a little, so I deliberately chose a disc filled with light, some might even say pop songs, with simple and catchy tunes. Complicating things further, the Wilflaes area, where I now lived, greatly resembled a typical metropolis from my Earth: ordinary high-rise buildings spanning five to nine floors, a standard four-lane road, even trees in the alley that were familiar from my previous life. Of course, there were differences — the houses here followed different architectural styles, but these differences were so minor that my eyes had grown accustomed to them long ago. Or consider the cars, most of which ran on gas or electricity — a significant difference, but in terms of exterior design, they were almost indistinguishable from the Volkswagens, Toyotas, or Fords of my Earth. If I lived in the clan quarters or the old city, my eyes would certainly be drawn to many more alien aspects.

The distinctiveness of the capital becomes most apparent in the northern, aristocratic part of the city. There, the cityscape undergoes a drastic transformation. Instead of high-rise buildings, there are patriarchal houses, no taller than three stories, which more closely resemble country residences or chateaus. Their design deviates from the typical citywide architecture, with each clan quarter built according to its own traditions. For instance, in the quarter belonging to the Sharot clan — hailing from the family of Gothic wolves — there are no houses taller than three floors, and all of them are equipped with fireplaces, regardless of the tropical climate! I recall my surprise upon seeing chimneys on these small, quaint houses, reminiscent of a medieval European scene. But such are the traditions of this family of shapeshifters — they do not stray from them, even after living for two centuries in a climatic zone entirely different from their origin.

I am quite taken with the clan quarters. Their originality and the sense of temporal displacement that permeates this part of the capital are fascinating. However, it's disappointing that one can't just take a stroll there. This part of the city is exclusively reserved for the clans and vassal families.

There are no barriers or checkpoints at the entrance — no police guarding the Hill. But anyone who is not of aristocratic lineage or doesn't bear a clan symbol risks never returning from a jaunt in this area. Should such an unfortunate pedestrian disappear, no one will launch a search. There won't even be a criminal case opened to investigate the disappearance. Here, such behavior is deemed "suicidal." The locals don't find this shocking in the slightest. There are no outraged articles, no investigations, no cries for scandalous revelations. Here, this is a standard facet of life, as familiar as crossing the roadway on a green light — if you dash across on a red light, then the fault lies with you. The same applies to wandering through the clan quarters. I only dared to explore that area while in the Break. It truly is beautiful, unique, and captivating with its alien quality and adherence to traditions gathered from all corners of the world.

The tourist sections of the city — the South Embankment, the Founders' Park, and Equality Square — may not possess the unique character of the clan districts, but they have their own distinctive beauty. Upon first encountering the embankment, its expanse garbed in monumental marble, I couldn't shake off the impression that a fragment of my beloved St Petersburg had somehow been transported to Wilflaes. The park, dedicated to the initial colonists of Sky Bay, is brimming with monuments and enchanting pedestrian mazes. You can meander for hours, prolonging the pleasure of witnessing a vast array of trees, shrubs, and flowers imported from around the globe. Equality Square, named to commemorate the formal declaration of equality between shapeshifters and ordinary humans, isn't groundbreaking in design. If you've visited Vienna or any other large, historic European city, it won't astound you. However, it will undoubtedly leave a favorable impression. Everything has its place: the monument at its center, the beautifully arranged mosaic of cobblestones, and the musical fountains with subtle lighting opposite the municipality. These features invariably attract crowds, particularly in this heat.

Yes, Wilflaes possesses its own unique beauty, with spots that can surprise and captivate. The challenge for me was traversing all-too-familiar city streets, resisting the urge to scrutinize passersby, peer down alleyways, or assess corners from where another adventure could potentially leap out at me. The music and the play of shadows on the sandy alleyway were my salvation from reverting back to the usual rhythm of a paranoid pedestrian. Nevertheless, this was sufficient. After a leisurely forty-minute stroll, I arrived at the embankment.

The open vista of the bay, teeming with ships, yachts, boats, and water trams, along with the invigorating wind, quickly elevated my mood, which had been threatening to descend into gloom. The music disc had already begun its second rotation, and I found myself singing along to the more memorable tunes. My spirits soared like a yacht leaving the bay, catching a favorable wind. I even contemplated pausing to gaze at the ocean for a moment. However, just then, the clouds dispersed, and the evening sun began to blaze relentlessly, immediately quelling my desire to stand under its rays.

The restaurant I was heading for was at the far end of the Tourist Quay. Despite its location in a popular spot, finding an open table in the evening was a breeze. I was fortunate enough to secure a seat by the window overlooking the bay.

I could have opted for the tables under the awnings outside, arranged in neat rows along the embankment, but I was drawn to the chill of the air-conditioned room. The air was simply easier to breathe in here.

Owing to the heat, the meatballs with julienne — which was the reason behind my nearly hour-long trek — weren't exactly a hit with the restaurant's patrons. The waiter informed me that I would have to wait about twenty minutes for them to be cooked.

After a brief survey of the restaurant's clientele and determining that there were no signs of impending trouble, I donned my headphones. I turned my back to the hall, focusing instead on the white sails bobbing about the city harbor. After some contemplation, I realized that even in my past life, I wouldn't have minded owning a house with such a splendid bay view. The longer I stay here, the more enamored I become with Wilflaes. As a city, it appeals to me — it is convenient where necessary, familiar in the typical residential and business districts, but it also has its unique charm, which you can easily fall in love with. If it weren't for the heat, which has plagued me with some form of psychological hangover since Syria, I would be entirely content with this location to which unknown forces guided me.

My order was delayed, and the waiter kindly offered me tea on the house. I graciously accepted. The delightful, slight bitterness of the green tea, reminiscent of the renowned oolong, was an excellent thirst quencher and stirred up pleasant, light thoughts. There is something to be said for this scenario — secluding oneself from the world with good music, gazing at a lovely landscape with a soft focus, sipping an exquisite beverage. A form of simple, daily meditation, which I found quite appealing.

The flavor of my finally cooked order further uplifted my mood. The taste, aroma, and diversity were even better and richer than what Izao's memory had suggested to me. The thick, jelly-like hot julienne exploded with its mushroom flavor as soon as I bit into the crispy minced meat exterior of the meatball, filling my mouth. Perhaps it was just hunger talking, but after tasting the first meatball, I was in awe, and I now seemed to have a new favorite dish!

Regrettably, the serving was small, as it is in many other restaurants. As I finished the last third of my meatball, I even contemplated ordering another round. The only thing that deterred me was the additional expense, which wasn't part of my plans. I had already treated myself today by coming here. Despite my jovial mood, I needed to remember not to let my guard down to the point of neglecting my financial constraints. Once I figure out how to outsmart the jackals, I could afford to dine here every day for lunch, if I wished!

No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than my left palm flared up, a reminder from "Purity." Blast! The cursed blade chose such an ill-timed moment to make its presence known, nearly spoiling my splendid mood!

Rubbing my palm, I realized I would have to somehow grow accustomed to the wakizashi's caprices, as getting rid of the sword any time soon seemed unlikely. I would need to learn to coexist with it. Of course, completely reforming my thought process to not ponder illicit means of wealth accumulation would be a challenge. However, learning to ignore its "warnings," not flinching every time the "fire of heroism" seared my hand — this was feasible.

With that in mind, I signaled the waiter and removed my earphones to order another cup of tea. Aside from the usual training in the Break, I had no further plans for the day, so I could afford to luxuriate in relaxation for another third of an hour.

Before I could put my headphones back on and take a sip of my hot tea, a melodious female voice echoed from behind my shoulder.

"I'm pleased to see you in good health, young hero."

[1] TLN: The reference is to a historical movie, specifically this part of the melody and song https://youtu.be/VsDn5TtYrRY?t=25. The lyrics go something like, "Keep your head high, regardless of whether everything is going well or not." It fits the situation perfectly.

[1] TLN: This is from the same song.