Kaelen sat perfectly still on the wooden stool, his jaw working slowly on the last bit of bread. To anyone watching, he was just a hungry kid lost in a meal. In reality, his mind was running a high-speed diagnostic.
He watched the curtain where the woman, Kana, had disappeared. The air in the shop felt different now—heavy, like the pressure in a room just before a boss fight triggers. His instincts were screaming. In his old life, ignoring a gut feeling was the quickest way to lose a championship. He wasn't about to start now.
He began to break down the interaction into cold, hard facts.
First, she knew the previous owner of this body. She called him by name and mentioned seeing him just a few days ago. That meant she had a baseline for how "Kaelen" was supposed to act. But the boy she knew was a coward who took his own life. The man sitting here now was someone who had conquered every world he'd ever entered. The gap between those two personalities was huge, yet she acted like nothing was wrong.
Second, her kindness was too perfect. She saw the bruises on his neck—a clear sign of a suicide attempt—and she must have seen the ink on his shoulder when he leaned forward. Even a common bully like Baron had nearly fainted at the sight of a Tattooed. This woman? She didn't even blink. She just offered him water and a place to sleep. It was a classic "Safe Zone" trap.
Third, and most importantly, her ignorance felt faked. If a village brat knew the hierarchy of ink, there was no way a woman who had lived here for decades didn't. She was playing the role of the oblivious grandmother, but she was playing it a little too well.
He shifted his weight, feeling the weight of the silver coins in his pocket and the faint hum of the Phantom Grin Mask on his back. If she was a threat, he was at a massive disadvantage. This body was still weak, his mana pool was tiny, and he was trapped in a small room with only one exit.
The sound of footsteps approached from behind the curtain. Kaelen didn't move, but his eyes narrowed, focusing on the fabric. He let his breath go shallow, his muscles coiled and ready to trigger the speed burst the moment things turned ugly.
The curtain pulled back, and Kana stepped out. She was smiling that same warm, crinkly smile, but to Kaelen, it now looked like a mask that was starting to slip.
Kana stepped closer, holding a ceramic mug that steamed with a thick, herbal aroma. The liquid inside was a deep, murky red.
"Grandma Kana prepared a special drink for you," she said, her voice sounding even softer than before. "It's cold outside, and your body is so brittle, little one. This will warm your blood and help you sleep."
Kaelen's eyes locked onto the surface of the liquid. It didn't look like tea. It had a slight, oily sheen that caught the dim light of the bakery. Every alarm bell in his head was deafening now. If he refused, he confirmed he was suspicious, likely triggering an immediate confrontation he wasn't physically ready for. If he drank it, he was walking into a status ailment he might not recover from.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the mug. Her skin was unnaturally cold—like a reptile.
Inside her mind, Kana was practically howling with a dark, twisted joy. Beneath her long, heavy wool skirt, a hidden mark on her ankle began to throb with a dull, sickly light. It was a Green Ink tattoo—the image of a serpent with three heads, its fangs dripping with a spectral fluid. She was two levels above Kaelen, a seasoned predator hiding in a den of flour and sugar. Her power was built on the very thing she was handing him: poison.
The tension in the room grew so thick it felt like the air was being sucked out of the shop. Kaelen raised the mug to his lips, the scent of the drink hitting him like a physical warning. His finger hovered near his shoulder, ready to trigger the Phantom Grin Mask for a desperate dash toward the door.
He tilted the mug, the liquid touching his lower lip—
SLAM!
The front door of the bakery swung open with such force that it hit the interior wall with a bone-jarring crack. A gust of freezing mountain air rushed in, swirling the flour dust on the floor into a miniature storm.
"Old Lady Kana!" a young, booming voice shouted, dripping with arrogance and impatience. "Are you in here? My father sent me to collect the 'tithe'!"
Kaelen froze, the mug still pressed to his face. He cut his eyes toward the door. Standing there was a young man clad in fine leather armor, his hand resting on the hilt of a polished shortsword. He looked strong, well-fed, and carried the unmistakable aura of someone who owned the street he walked on.
Kana's smile didn't just slip; it vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine, murderous irritation.