Chapter 115 The Birth of the Future Hobby, ‘Aarem’
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Now then, Chief Crafter. Shall we begin?”
”Ah, yes. The armor adjustments, correct?”
As the nouveau riche and the catgirl continued bickering nearby, the Head of Judiciary turned to me, his polite tone slicing through the noise. I answered quickly, and he nodded with a faint, knowing smile.
”Shall we proceed at once?”
”Hmm. Won’t it take quite some time?”
”Ten minutes at most.”
”Ten minutes? That’s… unusually fast.”
Since no other customers were around, I decided to finish things quickly. The Head of Judiciary donned his armor, and I began the adjustments, moving with practiced precision—neck, armpits, arms, waist, thighs, knees, ankles—fine-tuning each joint to match his movements. Finally, I had him take up his sword and shield, flowing through a set of standard stances. Ten minutes later, as promised, it was done.
”How does it feel, Head of Judiciary? I think it turned out well.”
”Incredible… it moves like I’m wearing a noble’s suit, not armor.”
He moved through his forms again, smooth as a blade of wind. Even the metal barely clinked as he swung. Fluid, efficient—almost too perfect. Seriously, how does a noble and a Judiciary official train like that?
”Once you hang the armor on the rack in that stance, it’ll remember this perfect fit. You can recall it any time.”
”…Chief Crafter, are you certain that hanger is worth only six hundred thousand? It seems underpriced.”
”It’s just an automated armor rack with no advanced tech—too much for such a simple mechanism.”
”…Am I the only one who thinks that’s insane?”
”I don’t think you’re wrong.”
The argument between the nouveau riche and the catgirl fizzled into uneasy silence. I had the feeling my words left them both wondering.
”My apologies, Chief Crafter. I’ll need a cloak as well.”
”Understood. Give me a moment.”
He probably didn’t want to draw attention by walking outside in full plate. Fair enough. Mithril-thread cloaks were out of the question—not licensed for sale—so I combined giant bat wing membranes with a blend of Crafting and Alchemy to form a single sheet, then tailored and stitched it into a cloak. Its dark brown hue would blend well at night. Its dark brown hue would blend well at night.
”How’s this?”
”You casually fused the membranes into one, didn’t you?”
”All thanks to Crafting and Alchemy. With practice, anyone could do it.”
”Think you could learn that?”
”If I trained for ten years in both Crafting and Alchemy… maybe I’d get a clue.”
Their chatter reached my ears, but I knew it wasn’t as easy as it looked. This was my trade, after all. Combat magic, though—that was another story. I could optimize Spell Formulas, sure, but actual battle control? Not a chance. Even Calmys-san had declared I had no talent for dueling.
”Hmm. Perfectly done. A color change, and I could wear this to a ceremony.”
”I prioritized subtlety this time. If you tell me your family crest and colors, I’ll prepare a formal version later.”
”Even after-sales service, impressive.”
He seemed deep in thought—hopefully not considering making me his house Crafter. I liked my freedom too much for that. Especially with the ‘Chef’ still aiming for the dungeon’s deepest floor.
”For now, let’s get your armor adjusted as well.”
”Eh—ah, right. Please do.”
Leaving the Head of Judiciary to his thoughts, I turned to the nouveau riche. He looked startled but obediently drew his armor from his inventory and began suiting up. Before I could offer help, the catgirl was already assisting him—an oddly intimate familiarity between them, more like a married couple than adventuring partners.
Once he was ready, I began the same process as before, removing every hitch in movement, especially around the legs. With his armor’s added weight, even a slight restriction could mean slower dodges—and more injuries. I wanted to minimize that risk.
The catgirl watched my hands closely, determination in her eyes. She probably wanted to handle such maintenance herself someday, in case they couldn’t return to the shop before their next expedition. I respected that. Still, I hesitated to suggest the Arcane Armor’s auto-adjust feature—it cost over ten million at minimum. Even my own ‘Genbu’ model, derived from the ‘Black Iron’ prototype, sat at exactly that price. Funny thing—the armor I was adjusting now might actually surpass that old model’s defense, even without the attack and speed bonuses. Embarrassing, but… seeing my own growth reflected in steel felt pretty good. Funny thing—the armor I was adjusting now might actually surpass that old model’s defense, even without the attack and speed bonuses. Embarrassing, but… seeing my own growth reflected in steel felt pretty good.
Before long, the adjustments were complete.
”How does it feel? I’d say it’s quite good.”
”‘Quite good’? With results like this, that’s some serious modesty, shopkeeper.”
He flexed his limbs experimentally, then drew a shield-sword from his inventory. The aura he gave off was both protective and imposing—like a living fortress.
”Julon, can I ask you something?”
”Of course. What is it?”
While I checked for armor friction during movement, the catgirl’s voice caught my attention. Something had clearly been on her mind.
”When Uncle—the Head of Judiciary—called you ‘Chief Crafter,’ what did he mean? The current Chief is supposed to be the City Mayor, isn’t she?”
”Ah, that. I’ve already been appointed as her successor. It’s just not official yet—I’m still a student.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering through them. Understandable.
”Do you know what qualifies someone to be Chief Crafter?”
”At minimum, being the finest Crafter in Whirlwind.”
”Correct. And your armor proves you’re exceptional. Even preparing this ‘Undead King’s Garment’ is no small feat. So tell me, how far does your skill really go?”
A vague question—but fair. Proof of ability speaks louder than claims. Not that I needed her approval, but she clearly knew what she was talking about.
”If you want proof, the Central Library keeps all registered patents. Searching my name will be faster.”
”Wait—don’t tell me you’re that Tatara Julon?”
”I don’t know any other Tatara Julon my age, so… probably, yeah. I’m him.”
Well, maybe a few older ones, if you go back far enough.
”Do you realize how old your earliest patent is?”
”About ten years ago. Either the operational Spell Formula for Arcane Armor, or Demonsteel—I forget which.”
”It was the Spell Formula. Given the timing, you would’ve been in primary school.”
”I was trying to build a simplified Arcane Armor back then. Not my brightest idea, in hindsight.”
”No wonder they call you a natural disaster, not a prodigy.”
Her sigh was long and weary, but there was understanding in it. Then she looked me straight in the eye.
”Did you know you’re even more famous among Alchemists than among Crafters?”
”I think I understand why,” I said quietly.
”Then… you actually have one of those things?” the catgirl pressed.
”Yes. This, right here.”
I reached into my inventory and produced the egg. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
”So this is what they spent their lives chasing…”
”The recipe’s already public, but even the City Mayor couldn’t reproduce it. The Imperial Capital’s Royal Alchemy Institute failed too.”
”You single-handedly beat an entire nation’s worth of geniuses… damn it, you really are a natural disaster.”
Her words came out half in awe, half in exhaustion. The Head of Judiciary, watching our exchange, only smiled wryly.
Just then, the doorbell chimed. Another customer? That was unusual—normally the shop’s system handled one party at a time.
”Welcome,” I called out.
”Hope I’m not intrudin’, Tatara-han.”
A rare visitor indeed—the head of the merchant guild. Very rare.
”What brings you here today?” I asked.
”This,” she said simply.
From her inventory, she pulled out a box about the size of a small crate. Not large, but heavy when I took it.
”What could this be…?”
”Best open it after closing, honey,” she said with a grin.
I decided to trust her instinct. If she said to wait, there was probably a good reason.
”…Merchant Guildmaster, are you delivering something dangerous to the Chief Crafter?” the Head of Judiciary asked, suspicious as ever.
”Now, now, that’s harsh,” she laughed. “I’m all sincerity when it comes to Tatara-han.”
”Then why wait until closing time?”
”Well… that’s…”
She trailed off, glancing sidelong at the nouveau riche and the catgirl. Ah, so she didn’t want to reveal the contents in front of others.
”Hmm. Chief Crafter?” the Head of Judiciary said.
”Yes?”
”Would you allow me to inspect the contents of that box?”
…Were the two of them on bad terms? Or was this because it involved me somehow?
”No,” I said firmly. “She entrusted it to me, so I’ll open it here. Thank you for your concern, Guildmaster.”
”Ah, can’t be helped then,” she sighed. “Guess my timing’s the bad one today.”
Her voice carried a hint of regret. I nodded, lifted the lid, and froze.
”…Letters?”
Dozens of them—no, hundreds—filled the box. I picked one up and unfolded it carefully.
”Tatara-han,” she murmured, “those are the results of your work that day.”
”Ah… damn it. I really should’ve waited.”
The first sentence hit me like a hammer. My throat tightened. Before I knew it, tears had begun to fall. Why… why so many?
”Guildmaster, what is all this?” the Head of Judiciary asked.
”They’re letters from the people in the commercial district,” she said softly.
Each word of thanks stabbed at me. Gratitude from those I’d failed to protect—it was unbearable. Yet, at the same time, it filled me with something warm and fragile. Like being forgiven.
”Just yesterday,” she continued, “those who made it back safely said it was thanks to you. So they asked me to deliver these—this is only yesterday’s batch, mind you.”
Among them was a child’s letter, scrawled clumsily with one big “Thank you.” Another, penned in elegant script, expressed deep gratitude. Others recounted rebuilding their homes, reclaiming pieces of their lives. One was from a widow, thanking me for saving the stall that her late husband built. Every single one brimmed with life.
Could someone like me really accept something so pure?
”Tatara-han wouldn’t take coin, so this was the best reward they could give.”
”…I don’t know if I deserve it,” I whispered.
”No one else could,” she said. “Only you.”
Even with the guilt of those I couldn’t save, the joy of being thanked still outweighed it. How selfish I must be… yet, I couldn’t help it.
It took nearly ten minutes to calm myself before I carefully placed each letter back and stored the box in my inventory.
”…Thank you, Guildmaster,” I said at last.
”Don’t mention it, sugar. It’s your rightful reward.”
Her smile carried warmth, and I couldn’t help returning it. I wanted to repay her somehow—but a sudden idea struck me. With the Head of Judiciary here, this might be the perfect time.
”As thanks,” I said, “I’d like to discuss something—not a trade, exactly, but an idea. A potential new market.”
”Oh? You’ve got my attention,” she replied.
”I’d also like your input, Head of Judiciary. Legal framework and all.”
”Hmm. Go on.”
Their postures shifted instantly—sharp, attentive. The air grew heavier.
”…Should we even be hearing this?” the nouveau riche murmured.
”Next Chief Crafter presenting new tech to two guild heads? If we overhear, we might not live long enough to tell,” the catgirl muttered.
Not military tech, no—but she wasn’t far off the mark. Actually, she might be useful here.
”Excuse me,” I said, turning to her.
”Me?” she blinked.
”Yes. You wouldn’t happen to have the ‘Golem Crafting’ skill, would you?”
”Uh… yeah, I do, actually.”
”Perfect. Then I’d like your input.”
”My… input?”
Excellent. An outside collaborator secured. The word golem seemed to trigger something—Head of Judiciary’s eyes lit with interest.
”Chief Crafter,” he said, “could it be that project?”
”Yes, though… ah, damn, I didn’t bring a prototype.”
”In that case, allow me to show mine.”
He set a telekinetic armor unit on the counter—one he apparently carried everywhere. The Guildmaster leaned in to inspect it, brow furrowing.
”What a pretty iron statue,” she said. “So this is your new market?”
”Exactly.”
”Looks like any old ornament to me.”
”Oh, no, Guildmaster,” the Head of Judiciary said, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “This armor’s true nature starts now.”
He grasped the hanger unit, channeling mana into it. The armor straightened—and began to move on its own.
”What the—!?”
Both the Guildmaster and the catgirl cried out in shock. The Head of Judiciary’s grin turned downright boyish.
”This,” I said, “is my new product—the telekinetic armor, born from my practice with Golem Crafting.”
”A golem!?” the Guildmaster gasped.
”But… the control authority’s transferred? No, that’s impossible. Golems can’t be commanded verbally without direct link, and master rights are non-transferable!”
Her analysis was sharp—so she was the academic type. She’d already caught the key flaw.
”This model’s different,” I explained. “Its core design allows it to receive ‘mental commands’ from the hanger controller through an imprinted resonance circuit. The control authority lies in the device itself, not the core—so it can be transferred.”
The catgirl pressed a hand to her forehead. “That’s… absurd.”
”It can be passed on?” the Guildmaster said slowly. “Then… it can be sold?”
”Exactly. My proposal is to open a new market—one that brings Golem Crafters into collaboration and commercial use of telekinetic armor.”
”I see…” Her accent thickened. “Then this new core you mentioned—what is it?”
”This,” I said, placing a small crystal on the counter. “It’s called a Mana Condenser. I designed it while researching how to power a certain magical device.”
I handed one of the prototypes to the Guildmaster—a small, coin-sized crystal, no larger than a watch battery. In truth, it was a compressed mid-grade Mana Stone. It took ages to charge, but its output was extraordinary. Then again, that was the whole point—it had been designed to power a compact teleportation gate.
”This device can be recharged externally with any Mana Stone,” I explained. “Reusable, and quite stable.”
”So convenient, and yet so tiny,” the Guildmaster murmured, turning it over in her palm. The catgirl leaned in beside her, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
”So, Tatara-han—what exactly are you planning to sell?”
”I’ll need approval from the City Mayor, but my goal is to market the Mana Condenser and the controller unit.”
”I see,” the Head of Judiciary mused. “You’re not selling the armor itself, but the cores that power it—and bringing Golem Crafters into the trade.”
He caught on quickly. The Guildmaster tapped her chin, thinking.
”As a product, it’s fascinatin’, but it’s weak on its own.”
She wasn’t wrong. Just another clever invention wouldn’t sustain a market. The whole idea was to give Golem Crafters—often overlooked—a new way to profit. But a mere curiosity wouldn’t do. The whole idea was to give Golem Crafters—often overlooked—a new way to profit. But a mere curiosity wouldn’t do.
”…You’ve been eyeing the Head of Judiciary’s telekinetic armor for a while now,” I said lightly. “Want one, don’t you?”
”Want it? I need it!” the Guildmaster and the nouveau riche shouted in unison. The catgirl sighed, shaking her head. Both of them flushed, caught in the act—but who could blame them? It was impressive tech.
”So, basically,” I continued, “this is something that appeals to the inner boy in everyone. We sell the condensers and controllers cheaply, let Golem Crafters forge custom armors from iron or steel, then have them pilot and battle them.”
”Battle them!?”
Three voices overlapped—Head of Judiciary, Guildmaster, and nouveau riche alike. The catgirl, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes, probably realizing how easily this could be militarized. “Yes. On a large field, maybe one-on-one duels, or even full army battles. Racing contests could work too. What I’m proposing is… a new kind of competition market.”
”Yes. On a large field, maybe one-on-one duels, or even full army battles. Racing contests could work too. What I’m proposing is… a new kind of competition market.”
Essentially, it was a hobby—like the battle toys from my previous world: spinning tops, racing minis, or fighting models. A craft-and-battle pastime, powered by telekinetic armor. The Guildmaster and Head of Judiciary both went silent, minds racing with calculations—profit margins, logistics, regulations.
The Guildmaster and Head of Judiciary both went silent, minds racing with calculations—profit margins, logistics, regulations.
”Let’s say we host a tournament,” the Guildmaster said slowly. “What would the rules look like?”
”Entry rules could include using only genuine condensers distributed by the merchant guild, age restrictions, and perhaps class divisions by weight.”
In combat sports, weight defined fairness—a few kilograms could decide a match. The same principle would apply here. Of course, in this world, Magic Metals like Mithril or Orichalcum could flip the balance entirely. Still, I hoped no one would be reckless enough to bring those to a casual hobby match. “So, you’d be selling those to the guild, right?” “Exactly.”
”So, you’d be selling those to the guild, right?”
”Exactly. The armors themselves would be crafted by individual workshops. The guild profits from the cores and the ecosystem that forms around them. It’s not genius—just practical.”
”I like that kind of practical,” she said with a laugh. “Got spirit, Tatara-han.”
Her grin widened, probably already envisioning the marketing campaigns. Next to her, the Head of Judiciary raised a hand to interject.
”Leaving the tournament aside for now—how do you plan to handle sales restrictions?”
”Age limits, maybe. Of course, parents could buy for their kids, but that’s unavoidable.”
He exchanged a look with the Guildmaster. She nodded, clearly considering verification systems or licensing.
”Honestly, every child will want one,” the catgirl said. “That condenser alone sounds like top-grade tech. Can it even be mass-produced?”
A fair question. I decided to be honest.
”If the guild handles distribution exclusively, I could make… maybe a hundred units.”
”A hundred a month?” she asked.
”A day.”
Her expression froze. “Are you insane?”
Probably. But technically, it wasn’t that hard—just compressing a mid-tier Mana Stone, refining it, and sealing it into a small metal housing. The real cost lay in the materials.
”So then…” she hesitated. “Could I use one of these to make a golem myself? Do I get a condenser?”
”As compensation for helping test the prototype, you can keep one.”
”All right… then, can I buy some Demonsteel?”
That stopped me cold. The merchant guild and the City Mayor hadn’t permitted me to sell Demonsteel directly—only to craft and sell equipment made from it.
”…Tatara-han,” the Guildmaster said with a grin, “I’ll make an exception. You’ve got my permission to use Demonsteel here, for this Golem only.”
”Are you sure?”
”Guildmaster’s authority, sugar. But only here and now.”
”Understood.”
I pulled out five kilograms of iron ingots and five small Mana Stones, refining them into Demonsteel. Using three kilos, I crafted a new suit of armor—identical in appearance to the nouveau riche’s. His eyes lit up as he realized it. I carved the resonance spell formula into the plating, inserted the condenser, and handed it to the catgirl.
”…You forged the whole body too? I only meant to make an Iron Golem,” she said, almost impressed.
”Ah, sorry.”
”It’s fine. I just don’t like how easily you read my intentions.”
Well, it wasn’t that hard to tell. She clearly liked the nouveau riche. Her suspicion of me earlier had been part jealousy, part professional pride. I hoped things worked out for them.
While she transformed the armor into a telekinetic unit, I used the remaining two kilos of Demonsteel to forge a hanger-type controller, tuning its mana wavelength to match the armor’s. Making sure it wouldn’t cross-link with other controllers was always the tedious part.
”…There. It’s done,” she said, wiping her hands.
”Eh? For me?” the nouveau riche blinked.
”Don’t flatter yourself,” she said coolly. “I’m a girl—interest lies in the tech, not the guy.”
”Girl?” he echoed, teasingly.
Her expression turned flat. “You wanna get punched?”
He flinched, and I couldn’t help thinking—yeah, calling that figure “girl” was asking for trouble.
”Speaking of which,” she said briskly, “how much does Demonsteel even cost?”
”Thirty thousand per kilo. So five kilos makes one hundred fifty thousand.”
”It’s twice as strong as iron, right?”
”At least.”
”That’s… cheap.”
”Too cheap,” came the simultaneous voices of the Guildmaster and the Head of Judiciary.
Was it really that low?
”Tatara-han doesn’t care about profit,” the Guildmaster sighed. “He always sets the bottom price. Thirty thousand is what it costs after customers bring their own materials. Since you used yours this time, price should be seventy thousand per kilo—three hundred fifty thousand total.”
”Still sounds cheap,” the catgirl muttered.
”Too cheap,” the other two echoed again.
”I—uh—personally find that plenty expensive,” I offered weakly.
Even after the Guildmaster’s explanation, the catgirl still insisted Demonsteel was cheap—and the Guildmaster and Head of Judiciary both agreed with her. The nouveau riche, though, practically shouted that it was expensive. Judging by her calm tone, the catgirl’s family must be loaded. Considering she was childhood friends with the Head of Judiciary’s son, she was probably noble-born herself.
”Iron or steel would be far cheaper,” I pointed out. “But I figured you’d want to match the Head of Judiciary’s design.”
”True,” she admitted.
”If kids are the buyers, they’ll go for cheaper materials anyway. Demonsteel’s overkill. Iron and steel would be the standard choice for Golem Crafters.”
She mulled it over for a moment before speaking again.
”This won’t take off if we stick to ordinary golems.”
”Huh?”
She wasn’t wrong—but I hadn’t expected that angle.
”Julon, you’ve been down in the dungeons a fair bit, haven’t you?”
”Yes, up to the thirty-fifth floor without issue.”
”Then you’ve seen monster-type golems down there, right?”
Ah. I understood. She meant they looked ugly.
Aesthetics mattered—especially for kids.
”Adults might find that ruggedness charming,” she said, “but kids? They care about how it looks. Your armor’s cool, but a standard golem? No one under ten would touch it.”
”A matter of design, then,” I nodded.
I hadn’t considered that. Doing everything myself meant I’d never noticed the gap.
”Most Crafters don’t make mini armor pieces, right?” I said.
”Many workshops can’t afford to,” the Head of Judiciary mused. “What about involving accessory specialists?”
”Now that,” said the Guildmaster, snapping her fingers, “is where I come in.”
While we were still thinking it over, she took charge.
”Those kinds of Crafters are all registered with the guild. I’ll reach out to them myself.”
”Would that be all right?”
”In exchange, I’ve got a favor to ask of you, Tatara-han.”
”A favor?”
I tilted my head.
”Make me a telekinetic armor—your absolute best.”
”…Sorry?”
”Three days before the city festival. If you have it ready by then, I’ll use it to make this craze explode across Whirlwind.”
Her tone carried conviction—an unmistakable mix of determination and ambition. I couldn’t help but smile.
”All right. What kind of design do you want?”
”You’ve still got the ones for the Head of Judiciary and his son, right?”
”Yes, those armors were based on my original designs.”
She crossed her arms, thinking deeply. “Then maybe… show me your own armor.”
”Of course. One moment.”
I pulled out Genbu. The black plating gleamed as the hanger’s mechanical arms adjusted and locked it in place.
”So cool,” someone whispered.
”What a ridiculous use of engineering,” the catgirl muttered. “Why does the status display float above it?”
The Guildmaster studied Genbu closely, then spun toward me, eyes gleaming.
”I want it. Exactly this. No changes.”
”That’s cheating!” shouted both the Head of Judiciary and the nouveau riche in unison. The catgirl only sighed, though her gaze stayed locked on the armor.
”What kind of insane tech is packed into that thing?” she murmured.
”Even the City Mayor ordered a full report ban until after the festival,” I replied. “That’s how bad it is.”
”I hate that I don’t understand any of it, but I can feel how dangerous it is,” she said with a groan.
While she sighed, I started preparing. Best to finish quickly before anyone changed their mind. Same weight as before, same base frame as Genbu, but no artillery in the shoulder shields. The helmet design was new—a smooth dome, narrow visor, twin glowing eyes, and a sharp jawline masked over like some avenging knight. Maybe my taste was showing, because it looked like something out of a dark revenge story.
”Chief Crafter,” the Head of Judiciary said drily, “you might’ve… idealized the face a bit much.”
”Our helmets were plain,” the nouveau riche added. “Why does yours look so heroic?”
”I wasn’t designing it to actually wear, you know,” I said. “This thing isn’t even breathable.”
Honestly, maybe I should just recreate every cool robot face from my previous life as golem armor. Once the new model was complete, I checked every detail, sighed with satisfaction, and carefully stored it in my inventory. The Guildmaster turned to me again.
Once the new model was complete, I checked every detail, sighed with satisfaction, and carefully stored it in my inventory. The Guildmaster turned to me again.
”Tatara-han, you remember my request?”
”To have one unit ready before the festival, right?”
”Then why’d you finish today!?”
”I figured it’d make planning easier?”
”Your sense of timing is backward, sugar…”
Rude. I wasn’t descended from the Torakuma matriarch, no matter what people said—though her youngest daughter did like me, for some reason.
”Well, this’ll make promoting it a breeze,” the Guildmaster said at last. “Thanks.”
”No, thank you. You’re taking a risk on my idea.”
She smiled wryly at that.
”Still… ‘telekinetic armor’ sounds too heavy. Got a catchier name?”
Oh? That was my cue.
”Then—combine ‘Armor’ and ‘Golem.’ Call it Aarem.”
”Aarem,” she repeated, testing the sound. “I like it. Easy to say, has a nice ring.”
And so, the telekinetic armor gained a name. Aarem—the start of what might become Whirlwind’s next great hobby.
When they finally left the shop, the catgirl handed me thirty-five thousand on the way out—the payment for the nouveau riche’s Aarem. I’d thought they’d forgotten, but apparently not.
Once the door shut behind them, I powered up my tablet behind the counter. A bird’s-eye feed lit up the screen—an ongoing pursuit. Cipher was tracking Tatia’s mana signature perfectly. Each mini-Tatara along the route picked up her trail, transmitting clean visual data without cluttering the screen.
Tatia kept changing paths whenever one of the small Tataras spotted her, but the pattern was clear—she was being herded toward my home. Every so often, she even paused to pat one of the decoys on the head before moving on. Was that arrogance, or just… fondness?
Sometimes, Ethelena and the others flickered into her line of sight, subtly guiding her path like hunters driving prey. It was impressive—and maybe a little terrifying.
Another feed switched in: Tatia’s outfit today was shockingly modest. A soft white top with open shoulders, cropped denim pants, and plain sneakers built for running. Her hair, tied with a red ribbon, gave her a gentler look. Honestly, someone glancing her way might not recognize her at all.
”You’re really going all out, huh,” I muttered.
No wonder Ethelena and the others lost her yesterday. But this time, there’d be no escape.
Driven into a corner, Tatia finally stumbled up to my shop and burst through the door, out of breath.
”Excuse me, is this the—oh…!”
”Welcome back, Tatia,” I said with a calm smile.
Her eyes went wide as she froze at the entrance.
You can’t outrun the wind, little bird. Not from us—your wings.
Notes:
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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