The inn was a modest establishment called the “Fruit’s Stall,” a place that smelled of stew and stale ale.
Ayanokoji rented a small, clean room with the thug’s money.
It wasn’t much, but it provided a bed and, more importantly, a quiet space to process the day’s events.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees.
His mind was a calm sea, even as it worked through the day’s chaos.
The fight, the near-mugging, the silver-haired girl—it was all data to be sorted.
He was not a stranger to violence or danger; the White Room had been a constant, brutal competition for survival.
But this was different.
The rules were unknown, the power scales unimaginable.
The core issue was his own ignorance.
In his world, he was a master of the game because he knew all the rules.
Here, he was a novice.
He was physically and mentally superior to the average citizen, as the thugs had proven, but he was likely an insect compared to beings like the silver-haired girl.
He remembered the pressure he felt from her.
It was not hostile, but it was overwhelming.
If she had been an enemy, he wouldn’t have lasted a second.
His goal was no longer simply to graduate, but to achieve absolute security.
And the first step to security was information.
The next morning, he rose with the sun.
He spent the remaining funds on a simple breakfast and some dried meat that would keep.
He then set out, not to wander aimlessly, but to find a source of wealth.
Physical labor was inefficient.
Gambling was statistically sound if he could find a game of skill, not chance.
He settled on a crowded street corner near the market, a place where people of all classes mingled.
He observed.
He was not looking for a job; he was looking for a problem to solve.
A problem that someone would pay to have solved.
He found it in a merchant’s stall.
A man was arguing with a burly customer, his face red with frustration.
The customer was claiming a piece of jewelry was a fake, while the merchant insisted it was genuine.
The argument was drawing a crowd.
Ayanokoji saw an opportunity.
He slipped through the crowd and stood silently, listening to the argument.
The merchant was a well-dressed man, clearly of some means.
The customer was a mercenary type, with a sword at his hip and a scar on his cheek.
The jewelry in question was a silver necklace with a small, blue gemstone.
“The stone is a fake!
You’re a cheat!” the mercenary bellowed.
“I purchased this from a reputable dwarven craftsman!
You insult my honor!” the merchant retorted.
Ayanokoji stepped forward.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he said, his voice calm and clear.
The two men looked at him, surprised by his sudden appearance.
“I may be able to settle this dispute.”
He gestured to the necklace.
“If I may?” The merchant, desperate for any resolution, handed it over.
Ayanokoji examined the gem.
He didn’t know anything about gems in this world, but he knew about physics.
He held the gem up to the light, then scratched it with a small, sharp stone he’d picked up earlier.
The blue gem didn’t scratch.
He then held it against his skin; it was cold.
“A true gemstone,” Ayanokoji stated, “will not be scratched by a common rock, and will remain cool to the touch, even when warmed by the hand.
This stone has both qualities.
It is not glass.”
The mercenary was dumbfounded.
The merchant was overjoyed.
The crowd murmured in approval.
The mercenary, embarrassed, threw the coin he owed at the merchant and stormed off.
The merchant, a portly man named Kadomon, beamed at Ayanokoji.
“Incredible!
You saved my business!
How can I ever repay you?”
“I don’t need repayment,” Ayanokoji said.
“I need information.” He learned more in the next hour from Kadomon, over a mug of cold juice, than he had in the entire previous day.
Kadomon explained the political landscape, the Dragon, the Sword Saint, the Royal Selection, and the existence of the Witch’s Cult.
He spoke of spirits, magic, and terrifying creatures called Mabeasts.
Ayanokoji listened, his mind a voracious sponge, categorizing and filing every piece of data.
That evening, his funds replenished with a small bag of coins from a grateful Kadomon, Ayanokoji found himself drawn back to the slums.
He was looking for the boy in the tracksuit again, not out of altruism, but because the boy was another anomaly, another potential source of information.
He found him in a worse state than before.
He was cornered by the same three thugs from yesterday, but they had brought a friend—a massive man with a cruel grin.
The boy in the tracksuit was on the ground, bloodied but still trying to stand.
The three thugs he’d seen before were limping, their injuries obvious.
The new man, however, was different.
He was confident, his stance suggesting some actual combat training.
“See, boss?
That’s him!
The freak in the black coat who took us down!” one of the injured thugs whined.
The “boss” cracked his knuckles.
“So, you’re the one who messed with my boys.
You’re gonna pay for that, kid.”
Ayanokoji assessed the situation.
He could walk away.
The boy was a stranger; his fate was not his responsibility.
But he was also a source of information, and his brutal death would yield no data.
Furthermore, the “boss” had now indirectly threatened him.
Eliminating a potential threat was logical.
He stepped into the alley.
“He’s not the one you want,” Ayanokoji said, his voice devoid of emotion.
The boss turned, a sneer on his face.
“Oh?
And who the hell are you?”
“I’m the one who did that to your men,” Ayanokoji stated, gesturing to their injuries.
“He was just a bystander.
Let him go.”
The boss laughed, a harsh, barking sound.
“You?
A scrawny kid?
You got guts, I’ll give you that.
But you’re about to lose them all over the pavement.”
The boss charged.
He was fast for his size, but his movements were still linear, predictable.
He threw a heavy right hook.
Ayanokoji didn’t block; he moved, swaying his body just enough for the fist to whistle past his face.
He simultaneously delivered a sharp, brutal strike to the man’s solar plexus.
The boss’s eyes widened, and he doubled over, gasping for air.
Ayanokoji didn’t stop.
He followed up with a knee to the face, connecting with a sickening crunch.
The boss’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.
The three thugs, already terrified, turned and fled, their earlier bravado gone.
The boy in the tracksuit stared at Ayanokoji, his expression a mix of shock and admiration.
“You… you did it again.
You’re insanely strong!”
“I told you to find a safe place,” Ayanokoji said, wiping a speck of blood from his shoe.
“Why are you still here?”
The boy’s face fell.
“I…
I have nowhere else to go.
I’m not from around here.
I don’t have any money, and I can’t understand why I’m here.”
Another outsider, Ayanokoji thought.
This was a significant data point.
It suggested his own arrival was not an isolated incident, but part of a larger pattern.
Before he could respond, he felt it again.
The pressure.
He turned to see the silver-haired girl from the day before standing at the entrance to the alley.
Her amethyst eyes were fixed on him, and her expression was one of intense, unreadable curiosity.
“That was very efficient,” she said, her voice soft and melodic.
“You are not a warrior, but you fight like one.
You are not a mage, yet you defeat men twice your size.
Who are you?”
It was the most direct question anyone had asked him.
He met her gaze, his own eyes cold and analytical.
“I am Kiyotaka Ayanokoji,” he said.
“And you are the most powerful person I have sensed in this city.”
The girl, who would later introduce herself as Emilia, tilted her head, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
A small, gray cat spirit that had been resting on her shoulder, Puck, yawned lazily.
“Lia, I like this one,” the cat said, its voice a shock.
“He’s sharp.
And he doesn’t seem afraid of you at all.”
Ayanokoji had found his second, and most significant, puzzle piece.
The girl was beautiful, powerful, and clearly connected to the larger mysteries of this world.
And she was now interested in him.
This was not luck.
It was the predictable outcome of creating a disturbance in a system.
The question was, how would he use this new variable to his advantage?
He didn’t know yet, but he was eager to find out.