Chapter 160

The ceremony proceeded without a hitch.

Mikhail watched Germain deliver the closing address once the venue had settled, then made his way up to the stage when the winning team was called.

"—It's been a campaign full of twists and turns! And the glory of first place goes to Salvator Academy! Let's give them a round of applause!"

The moment the gold-gleaming first-place trophy landed in Mikhail's hands, applause erupted from every corner.

After the awards came the closing declaration—the formal rite that wrapped up every procedure from the campaign's opening to its final curtain.

Once the emcee left the stage, voices as numerous as the people gathered began buzzing through the banquet hall.

"There's someone I've been dying to meet. How am I supposed to find them in this crowd?"

"Did the Magic Research Institute not show? They may have withdrawn, but they still put up impressive results. I was hoping to hear what they had to say."

People moved with purpose—sizing up who was worth approaching, chasing down the latest gossip.

Mikhail was about to turn and leave before anyone could reach him, but paused and spoke to Dian at his right.

"Dian. I need a favor."

"Huh? Out of nowhere?"

"There's a man in a gray scarf with a goatee, and another wearing a string of pearls. They'll be heading this way."

"Scarf and goatee… pearl necklace?"

"Yeah. When you see them, say hello. And if they look like they're searching for someone, tell them Ethan was called away on urgent business. Make sure you do."

The two people he'd asked Dian to watch for were the capital's bank director and a well-known spirits broker.

Figures who'd had their eyes on Ethan during the ceremony—people who would have a significant impact on his reputation and the rumors that followed.

They were tied to the next episode and the missions to come.

Mikhail slipped away, blending in among the servers carrying platters and dishes, moving along the columns and edges of the hall where eyes couldn't easily follow.

There are more people I need to make contact with.

His quiet footsteps carried him toward the third-floor balcony.

The kind of place banquet guests would only drift out to after hours of drinking and talking—to catch some air.

Which meant, for now, it would be nearly deserted.

Mikhail arrived at the balcony entrance. But instead of stepping through, he pressed himself out of sight and peered inside.

A figure in a deep hood was speaking into a communication stone.

"—. ——."

A sound-dampening spell, perhaps. Only static reached his ears. But the crest visible beneath the edge of the man's cloak was one he knew well.

It belonged to the southern great mage family—the Leventias.

Mikhail finished reading the situation and stepped onto the balcony.

"Kashien Leventia."

The man mid-conversation flinched hard. He spun toward Mikhail and thrust his hand out in the same breath. Mana gathered in his outstretched palm.

Fzzt!

But Mikhail didn't so much as blink. He spared one glance at the sparking mana above the man's hand, then shifted his gaze to the still-active communication stone and continued.

"There's only one reason you'd bother planting eyes in a place you have no ties to."

"……"

"I'm Mikhail Senit."

The air was still. Mikhail stared at the glowing communication stone and let the corner of his mouth rise.

"I'm done hiding. I'm stepping forward and carrying on my father's name. Try to stop me if you'd like."

With one last look at the stone casting its silent light, Mikhail turned and walked off the balcony.

In the dark corridor leading back toward the banquet hall.

His footsteps echoed through the quiet air as he curled the hand hanging at his side into a fist.

"……"

What he'd just said to Kashien was a calculated threat—delivered with confrontation in mind.

And under normal circumstances, a move like that carried more risk than reward.

But this time was an exception. This would keep the Leventias from meddling too aggressively in the next episode.

If the original progression held, the mission would've been set at a moderately challenging difficulty—shaped by a mix of suspicion and curiosity aimed at Ethan, a commoner.

But with Mikhail himself in the picture, that changed. The mission wouldn't be assigned at the same difficulty as the original.

Instead of harder, it would become far easier. A task anyone could handle without breaking a sweat—all show, no substance.

The one who'd create that variable is the head of House Leventia: Garelt Leventia. He'll look at me and see my father's shadow.

Garelt knew full well that Joseph had built his fame and achievements by turning the tide of battles at the lower front lines.

He'd never willingly hand Mikhail the chance to build that same kind of reputation. He'd try to minimize any opportunity for Mikhail to distinguish himself.

But the person who can change Garelt Leventia's mind—at this point, there's only one.

The legitimate heir of House Leventia. Kashien Leventia.

A figure whose composed, intellectual demeanor stood in sharp contrast to the explosive magic he wielded.

Despite his youth, he was more cautious and deliberate than Garelt himself.

Flutter.

Mikhail heard the soft sound of a turning page.

He could picture it clearly—Kashien sitting at a desk where every object was arranged with precision, poring over documents.

Flutter. Flutter.

Before every scheduled campaign or expedition, Kashien would review more paperwork than even the family head, Garelt, identifying every irregularity and exception.

And that same temperament would apply equally to the provocation Mikhail had just delivered.

[…I deeply share Father's view that the Senits act recklessly. However, even if we suppress his exploits in the short term, that would amount to nothing more than a stopgap measure.]

[This once, please assign them the mission as originally determined.]

Kashien was someone who'd inherited the family's long-held ambition to bring down the Senits.

He would react to the provocation by actively weighing in on the mission selection process.

[Mikhail Senit has never shown his true capabilities until now. Word of his campaign exploits may have spread, but that alone is woefully insufficient for gauging his actual ability or achievements.]

[If we're to defeat him in the future, gathering detailed intelligence must be the first priority. Please, Father. Grant me this request.]

He would push for a closer look at Mikhail's real strength.

By making him undertake a high-difficulty mission—just as the original progression intended.

A meticulous disposition. Right now, though, that personality is working in my favor.

Creeeak—

Mikhail arrived at the banquet hall's side door. He reached for the handle, turned it, and stepped inside.

Night had long since swallowed the last traces of sunset.

But the chandeliers overhead blazed like suns, driving back the darkness, and beneath the lively atmosphere, voices exchanging news mingled with the smell of alcohol.

Mikhail surveyed the scene, then accepted a cocktail from a passing server. He moved into the bustling hall and settled on his course of action.

I should hold down Ethan's spot for as long as he would've stayed. Besides, the conversations in here are bound to touch on conditions across the region, so….

Knowledge was power—a truth that held everywhere. He planned to mingle and drink just enough, keeping his ears open for rumors and stories worth remembering.

---

"Ugh, my head…."

Light crept through a crack in the pitch-black void behind his eyelids. A voice like cracked parchment scraped its way out of his mouth.

Mikhail pried open eyelids that weighed a thousand pounds.

What poured into his sluggish, grinding eyes was the interior of his guest room—though he had no memory of returning to it.

God. I'm actually dying.

Mikhail turned his head to the side. He was sprawled flat on his back across the bed.

He vaguely recalled sensing the moment the alcohol hit… but when exactly had things gone this far off the rails?

"Hah."

He was well and truly wrecked.

Mikhail pressed his throbbing temple and dragged himself upright, piecing together the events of the previous evening.

If there was a silver lining, it was this: the important moments were still intact in his memory.

Now that I think about it, how did last night play out again?

A pink-tinged glass wobbling on a server's tray.

He'd picked it up and waded into the buzzing banquet hall.

After that.

What lingered in his mind was a cacophony of voices crashing over one another.

He'd caught talk of trends in the capital and the approaching holiday festival.

Then he'd run into Edwin and Julien, exchanged quick greetings, and headed toward Salvator's table when—

"—There he is! The Senit heir is right over there!"

"Out of the way! When else are we going to get a chance to meet someone from the North!"

—a swarm of people had descended on him the instant they recognized his face, burying him in handshakes and introductions.

And then, at the end.

It was the conversation with Germain, who'd parted the crowd to reach him. Germain had offered a handshake and smiled with a hint of awkwardness.

He'd asked whether Mikhail was feeling better, apologized for the unforeseen circumstances and the sudden danger he'd been swept into.

And after that…

[If you're open to it, I'd like to keep in touch. If anything urgent comes up down the line—or if you ever need to reach out—feel free to contact me anytime. I'll help however I can.]

Then we swapped the drinks in each other's hands and drank. That's the last thing I remember.

Mikhail shook his still-pounding head, trying to rattle the fog loose, and dug through the crumpled inner pocket of his coat.

What emerged was the communication stone Germain had given him.

Its surface was engraved with symbols representing every branch of the central Guild—scales and a leather pouch, a magnifying glass and a shoe, among others.

Mikhail lingered on the wagon-wheel crest that signified a particularly high rank, then slid the stone back into his pocket.

He's a good man. As the backbone of an organization, as a future negotiating partner. And…

As a friend's father, too.

Flash!

Just as Mikhail shifted his gaze forward, a golden message materialized over his field of vision.

〔Quest: [Main] Conclude the Second Main Storyline — Complete〕

• Completion Reward: Shop Currency +1

A notification confirming the completion of the main storyline.

Mikhail was gauging the newly added currency when he tilted his head to the side.

That brings me to thirty points. Which means I should be able to buy the second fragment from the Hidden Shop.

〔Notice: Hidden Shop function has been activated.〕

The function activated the instant the thought formed. Mikhail selected what he wanted from the array of items and made his purchase.

〈Unique Talent Awakening Stone: Second Fragment〉

Clatter.

The fragment that settled into his hand was a crystal with the same dull luster as the first one he'd obtained.

Gray and lifeless for now—but once all three were gathered, it would find its true light.

Just one more to go.

Mikhail tucked the crystal into the opposite pocket and stretched his whole body in a long, drawn-out arc.

He was rolling his stiff neck when his eyes dropped to the foot of the bed, and he froze.

Han and Ul were huddled in a far corner, sniffing quietly.

Mikhail tilted his head, then called out to the siblings.

"Hey, you two. Come here."

"……"

"Why are you curled up all the way over there? Come on—get up here and sleep properly."

"……"

Mikhail stared at the tails thumping against the floor in obvious displeasure, then sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

"…Is this about the drinking?"

"Grrn."

"Look, I had no choice—I was meeting people. I didn't want to drink that much either…."

Having to plead his case to two utterly unforgiving faces was, admittedly, a little sad.

Mikhail tried a loose, conciliatory smile.

Han let out a huff through her nose, hopped down from the bed, and came padding back with something clamped in her mouth from the desk.

"What's this… ah."

What Han offered was a neatly trimmed plant stem. A purple herb with triangular leaves.

The more you ate raw, the more potent its hangover-curing properties—but the taste was absolutely…

"Bitter and nauseating, isn't it?"

"Snff."

"And you want me to… eat this? Right here? Can't I at least steep it in hot water or something?"

"Grrrrn."

Mikhail aimed a desperate look at the two who'd settled in front of him, but Han and Ul showed no sign of backing down.

Their eyes said it plainly: we're watching every second until you swallow it.

"……"

Mikhail glanced back and forth between the tail-wagging pair and the plant stem, then finally opened his mouth with halting reluctance.

The effects would be remarkable if he chewed and swallowed it raw. The pounding hangover would vanish in no time.

So from every angle, biting down was the smart move.

He knew that. He knew the effects, the benefits, all of it, and yet—

Crunch.

The instant the thick, viscous juice burst across his tongue, stars exploded behind his eyes.

If rotting soil and wild weeds had a love child, this was probably what it tasted like.

Mikhail clamped a hand over his mouth and bolted for the washroom.

His head did feel like it was clearing up, right on cue… but he never wanted that thing anywhere near his mouth again.

---

It was that afternoon.

Neiiigh—

With the long campaign finally behind them, it was time to head back to the academy.

Mikhail packed his things and made his way toward the main gate.

Between the rows of carriages lined up for various destinations, Lloyd stood with a light bag slung over one shoulder, waving.

"Mikhail, over here!"

"……"

"You're pretty late. Did something happ— ah."

Lloyd bent down to examine Mikhail's ashen complexion, and a grin spread across his face.

"Oh dear. I thought you looked like you were drinking past your limit. Paid for it, didn't you?"

"…More or less. About half of it, yeah."

Lloyd folded his arms and hummed a teasing little melody.

Mikhail gave him one long look—same as always, smiling without a care in the world—then stepped up onto the carriage bound for the academy.