Chapter 98

"Friends… friends. Friends."

His master's voice, clipped into flat, staccato beats, struck Ethan's body like thrown stones.

Ethan felt his fingertips going cold and rigid as he raised his head.

His master gripped the cup he'd set down, knuckles white, muttering through clenched teeth.

But it lasted only a moment. The expression crumbled, and his shoulders began to heave.

"Pfft. Heh. Bwahahaha! Ah… ha! No. No, it's nothing. You just caught me off guard, that's all… heh. It was funny."

His master raised a weathered hand to cover his eyes, wheezing out strangled little sounds.

As if he'd truly heard the most ridiculous thing in his life.

"Alright… alright. Friends. Tell me more."

Ethan stared at his master's face, then squeezed the hands resting on his knees.

He shook his head once, then began to lay his thoughts bare in a steady voice.

"Those friends… I've never been good with people, and they came to me first. Talked to me. Looked out for what I was missing. Laughed and cried over my problems like they were their own. I learned a lot just watching them. And even if it's only a little—"

"—Bwahaha! I was wondering what you'd come out with!"

The sharp burst of laughter shattered like glass. Ethan winced at the piercing edge of it.

Across the table, his master was already spilling over with raucous, cascading laughter.

"Ha…."

Then, in a single heartbeat, everything changed.

His master lurched forward and jabbed a finger against Ethan's forehead, pressing hard.

"Ethan."

"……"

"Ethan Welton. You naive little fool."

The words cut through him without resistance. Every trace of warmth had drained from his master's voice.

"After everything they put you through, you still haven't learned? Sitting there spouting soft-hearted drivel."

His master pulled his hand back and settled upright in his seat. A series of disgusted tongue-clicks followed.

"I'll say it one more time. The people who gather around you fall into exactly three categories. First: clueless idiots who haven't figured out what you can do yet. Second: halfwits who see your ability and lose their minds—screaming and running without an ounce of self-control. Third: scheming snakes who want to keep you in the palm of their hand so they can use you however they please. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing—"

"Master."

Ethan was the one who cut him off.

He forced himself to ignore the roughness scraping at the back of his tongue and drew a small smile.

"You're not wrong about some of that. I'm not trying to deny everything you just said. But luckily for me… things are a little different now. There's an exception."

Ethan swallowed past a dry throat. Before his master could add another word, he pushed ahead.

"The truth is, I met someone at school who's in a similar situation. The kind of ability you can't tell anyone about—the need to keep it hidden no matter what. That part's the same."

"Ethan. Poor boy. So pitiable. Finding a couple of things in common and jumping straight to calling someone a friend…."

"—But that's not the important part."

His voice was firmer this time. Ethan bit down on his lower lip and let his eyes fall shut.

Hot breaths kept surging from somewhere deep in his chest, and his temples throbbed with a sharp, aching pulse—

But the words he needed to say to the man sitting across from him only grew clearer.

"He's shameless and does whatever he wants. Up until last semester, I couldn't stand exchanging more than a word or two with him. But now… things are a little different."

Ethan paused briefly, then continued.

"He meets me head-on. He doesn't make excuses for what's already happened, doesn't try to spin things. Every bit of distrust and suspicion I throw at him—he takes it all as a given. And then he keeps upending my expectations, keeps proving himself, over and over."

The voice that had faltered picked up again, threaded now with the faintest trace of a smile.

"Part of me finds it annoying. And sometimes he's so self-centered I don't think we could ever fully get along. But still… I'm starting to think maybe something could change."

Ethan opened his eyes slowly and looked across the table. He met his master's frost-hardened face and forced a smile.

From the very bottom of his consciousness—low and deep, where it had lain coiled in silence—a single fragment of memory began to rise.

"Because, Master. I still remember. I still believe. What you left me with—"

"Ethan!"

The roar exploded outward, shaking the walls. Ethan shut his mouth at once.

His master sat across from him as if he'd just heard the most preposterous thing imaginable, slamming his palm against the table in a fury.

"I can't listen to another word! It's too pathetic to watch! Someone who was nothing but bad blood has changed a little recently, and that makes him your friend? Ha ha… I've got plenty to say, but let's start with the most important thing. Ethan. Do you really think people can change that easily? A person's true nature can never be changed—and it never will!"

Ethan said nothing more. He simply took in everything unfolding before him, watching in silence.

The bloodshot veins flooding those glaring eyes. The tendons standing taut along the shouting throat. The fingers slashing furiously through the air.

"—Pack your things! Now! Whatever school or academy you've been wasting your time at has ruined you completely! I can't stand the sight of it!"

"Ah… right. I see."

Ethan let a thin smile slip and murmured softly.

"Mikhail. You were right. The only one here… was me all along."

He rose from his seat. Then he leveled his gaze at the contorted face before him and spoke.

"Master. Do you remember what you told me?"

It came in the shape of a question, but he wasn't looking for an answer. The words flowed onward without pause.

"Don't let past experiences stand in the way of change. Don't be held prisoner by old pain—turn it into a stepping stone. Accept that what defines us isn't stagnation or being stuck in place, but moving forward. Continuing the cycle."

Ethan bit down hard on his lip, and the hand he'd placed on the table clenched until his knuckles went white.

From the scalding breath pouring out of him, a cry tore free—raw as a scream.

"The master who said those things—would hear what I just told you and laugh in my face? Not a chance! Never!"

Ethan reached behind his back. In the empty air where nothing should have been, his fingers found something solid. He seized it and pulled.

SHRRRING!

A clear, ringing note of steel filled the space. Without an instant's hesitation, Ethan swung.

The blade surged forward in a flash, carving a trail of scattered gold through the air.

"……"

Ethan stared straight ahead, expression carved from stone.

The figure wearing his master's face blinked vacantly, then looked down at the deep wound etched across its body.

"You…!"

Its mouth worked open and shut, gasping like a fish.

But Ethan had no interest in hearing another worthless sound. He fixed his eyes on the thing before him and twisted the corner of his mouth.

"If you're going to impersonate someone, at least do it properly."

The thing couldn't even manage a death cry.

It simply crumbled—collapsing inward like a sandcastle swept away by the tide.

Rumble….

Everything else followed in its wake.

The vivid red fruit. The campfire and its gentle warmth. The cozy arrangement of furniture and belongings.

All of it melted and ran like wet paint, tangling into itself, pooling into a void of black.

Ethan staggered, pressing a hand to his forehead. A crushing wave of exhaustion and grating noise bore down on every nerve.

But his knees didn't buckle. He endured it all, clinging to consciousness as it tried to blur and slip away.

"Hff…."

A short stretch of time passed.

The weight on his shoulders and the static clawing at his ears were still a nuisance—but no longer unbearable.

Ethan shook his head and steadied himself.

He faced the new scene materializing before him, then glanced down at his right hand.

Flutter.

Resting in his palm were the colors of a guide.

A single two-toned Crystal Wisp, beating its wings.

---

Mikhail had turned to face the darkness behind him, gazing steadily into the black void beyond.

He stood at the point where the fractured spaces intersected—which meant Ethan's space should be visible from here.

…Flutter.

Before long, a two-toned Crystal Wisp drifted into view.

Trailing behind it, Ethan was pale-faced and swaying, looking ready to collapse at any moment.

But his gaze held firm—locked straight ahead. His feet never stopped moving.

Pssshh.

The Crystal Wisp dissolved into dust and vanished. Ethan halted before the obstacle blocking his path.

What had manifested as a wall was a mass of thorned vines—dozens, hundreds of razor-sharp barbs jutting in every direction.

Points keen enough to carve deep wounds with the slightest graze.

Ethan stood there, breathing hard, staring up at the barrier.

[—Did you see that? He was covered in wounds just yesterday! And now look at him—completely fine!]

[—Disgusting! There's no bigger monster than that!]

The scenery shifted into a crowd of figures encircling Ethan.

Lifelike puppets tracked his every movement with unblinking stares.

Voices calling him a monster, mocking and jeering, layered over each other at varying pitches until they rang as vivid as reality.

"……"

Ethan swallowed a deep breath, the murmuring crowd at his back. He clenched his hanging fists.

From his parched lips, a low voice emerged.

"Remember."

Mikhail watched in silence. He already knew what Ethan would say next.

"The only one here… is me."

The moment the last syllable fell, Ethan bit down on his lip and stepped into the thorns without hesitation.

Riiip—. Rip—.

The barbs tore through his skin as he pressed forward.

With every step, fresh wounds and thin trails of red multiplied—only to close and heal, again and again.

But Ethan didn't stop. Not a whimper, not a sob escaped him as he kept moving forward.

"……"

Mikhail watched him a moment longer, then smiled faintly and turned away.

Thud.

The instant he cleared the dark tunnel, the world around him transformed into a sunlit forest.

Birdsong drifted through the air. Leaves rustled overhead. Mikhail took in the tranquil scene, then turned to face the space behind him.

Footsteps on grass—and there was Ethan, stepping through into the clearing just behind him.

"Hff…."

Ethan stood still, drawing slow, steadying breaths.

He wiped a hand down his face, then raised his eyes forward.

The same composure as always settled into his gaze, and golden sunlight fell across it like a sharp, clear gleam.

Mikhail tugged at the corner of his mouth and spoke.

"Took you long enough, Ethan."

---

Click.

Perched on a tree stump, Mikhail rotated and interlocked the pendant fragments he'd obtained from Jever's stall.

The assembled pendant looked ready to fall apart at any moment—but it was sturdier than it appeared. It would hold through the commotion ahead.

"The two-toned Crystal Wisps. How many do we have left?"

Ethan's even voice cut in. Mikhail tucked the pendant inside his coat and answered.

"Three."

"Is that going to be enough?"

"Yeah. We're almost there."

Mikhail brushed the dirt from his clothes and stood.

He released one Crystal Wisp into the air, then jerked his chin at Ethan, who leaned against a nearby tree—come on.

Ethan's footsteps fell in close behind without delay.

"Ethan. There's something I need to tell you."

They'd been tramping through the underbrush for about ten minutes when Mikhail spoke, eyes still fixed ahead.

"What."

"Your real sword. I told you not to hesitate when the time comes to swing it."

"Yeah."

"Keep that promise. In the fight ahead."