Lakane district
Denlea supermarket
Pele city
Nation of Haumea
The supermarket Mother Ruth brought them to was overflowing with life. Vendors lined the aisles, loudly advertising their goods to passing customers, while the air was thick with the smoky, mouthwatering scent of grilled lochfish. Voices overlapped, laughter echoed, and footsteps blended into a constant hum of activity. They were in the clothing section now, with Mother Ruth speaking to the front staff about outfits she wanted to buy for the kids. Eren had been tasked with keeping an eye on everyone while she handled the details, while Ash had been allowed to wander off on his own. Patry and Carla were already at each other's throats, tugging back and forth over an item neither of them was willing to give up. Eren couldn't help but smile at the sight.
It reminded him of his own childhood—of the countless arguments he and Ash had gotten into over trivial things. Ina, on the other hand, stood quietly beside him, her small hand wrapped around his. She hadn't said a word since they arrived. Eren glanced down at her, wondering if the rejection from the Owen family still weighed on her. He didn't bring it up. He didn't know how to—not when he couldn't fully understand her pain himself.
He'd never been considered for adoption when he was younger. Eren still remembered the orphans who had grown up alongside him—kids his age who had eventually been chosen, given families of their own. One by one, they had left Atwell Orphanage behind. Only he and Ash remained. Eren wondered what would become of the younger ones if they were never adopted. Would they grow up feeling like they had no future? All because their Anima wasn't considered good enough by society's standards?
The thought made his chest tighten. His acceptance into Namer Academy suddenly felt heavier than before. It wasn't just an opportunity—it was a responsibility. Namer was the first step toward his dream, a dream he'd doubted more times than he cared to admit. But now, the path had opened. And he had to walk it. Not just for himself—but so that one day, his siblings might have the same chance.
"Eren. Eren."
Mother Ruth hissed his name, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Can you handle that, please?"
Eren sighed and stepped in. He swiftly took the item from Patry's hands and returned it to the shelf.
"No fair," Patry complained.
"Stop acting like spoiled brats," Eren said firmly. Then he turned to Carla, who was about to stick her tongue out. "And don't you start."
After finishing up in the clothing section, Mother Ruth led them through the rest of the supermarket. They were heading to meet Ash by the Lochfish vendor. Ash was already there, seated at a round table, waiting. Eren noticed immediately how far the table was from the others. Ash had chosen a spot on the edge of the space, instinctively keeping his distance. He'd always been like that.
As a kid, Eren hadn't understood why Ash acted that way—or why others treated him differently. Mother Ruth had tried to explain, but it was only after growing up alongside him that Eren truly saw it.
It wasn't just Ash's talent or power. It was how people reacted to him. Some envied him. Others feared him for reasons they couldn't even articulate. Most preferred to keep their distance. It was another ugly facet of the world they lived in. Eren wouldn't deny that he'd envied Ash at times. But he hated the way people treated him. Strangely, it mirrored Eren's own experience—two sides of the same cruelty.
One was looked down on for having no Anima. The other was feared for having too much. As they sat down with Ash, Eren noticed nearby customers glancing over, murmuring among themselves. The orphans of Atwell were well known in this area. Especially Eren. And whether he liked it or not, he could feel the weight of eyes on him—watching to see what he would become next.
"Do you think they're scared Eren's gonna go on a rampage again?" Patry whispered as they settled into their seats.
"Not on my watch," Mother Ruth said firmly, shooting Eren a sharp look.
Eren sighed. He remembered the last time they'd been here all too well. How long ago had it been? Sister Judith had brought them out for lunch after school, and Eren had already been in a foul mood. One customer had muttered something about not wanting to sit within five feet of "people like them." That had been enough. Eren had confronted him, demanded he say it to his face—and from there… things had escalated.
"I still can't believe you managed to get us unbanned from this place," Eren said, glancing around the restaurant.
"Alejandro is an old friend of mine," Mother Ruth replied calmly. A waitress approached with a tray of food, smiling warmly at Ash. He acknowledged her with a simple nod.
"You already ordered for us?" Eren asked.
"I got here first," Ash said. "It made sense to order before the line got ridiculous."
He gestured toward the counter, where a long, noisy line of customers baked under the midday sun.
Eren followed his gaze and grimaced. "Yeah… I'm glad we're not standing in that."
The waitress placed the food down as Mother Ruth helped distribute it. Ash had ordered six lochfish burgers, a side of fried Petri, and Erum juice for everyone.
"I don't see you complaining," Ash said as Eren shot him a look.
"So what were you doing before we got here?" Eren asked.
"Picking up my final paycheck," Ash replied.
He'd been working part-time at a local shop that sold refurbished magitech and old appliances—a job Mother Ruth had helped him get. Eren had worked there once too, until he'd been fired for arguing with a customer.
"Did you get it?" Mother Ruth asked.
Ash nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out a neatly wrapped package. He handed it to her.
Eren frowned. "What's going on?"
Mother Ruth smiled and slid the package across the table toward him.
"Open it."
Eren hesitated. He glanced between Mother Ruth and Ash, but neither gave anything away. It wasn't his birthday—that was still a month away. Carefully, he unwrapped the gift. Inside was a sleek, silver device—thin, rectangular, and unmistakably high-end. Eren froze.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He lifted it from the packaging, staring at the Amulet Cell in disbelief.
"This must've cost a fortune," he said slowly, looking up at Mother Ruth.
"Do you like it?" she asked, smiling.
"An Amulet Cell?" Eren said, a little too loudly.
Several patrons glanced their way. Eren flashed his fist, and they promptly looked away.
"Could you not shout?" Ash muttered as Patry and Carla burst into laughter.
"But I already have one," Eren said, shaking his head. "You didn't need to spend anything on me."
He recognized the model instantly—it was Satou Industry's newest release, launched earlier this year. The price alone made his stomach twist.
"It's fine," Mother Ruth said gently. "I used your money."
"My… money?" Eren echoed.
"Don't think I don't know about your little nighttime trips," Mother Ruth added calmly.
Eren nearly dropped the cell. He stared at her, caught completely off guard—heart pounding as he realized just how much she really knew.
"You knew," Eren muttered.
"Of course I did," Mother Ruth said gently. "I also knew you were secretly donating your money to the orphanage." She paused, then added with a soft smile, "I'm sorry—but I couldn't accept it."
"That money was meant to—"
Mother Ruth raised a hand, stopping him. She shook her head slightly, warmth lingering in her eyes.
"I know how much you care about us. You always have," she said. "But the responsibility of the orphanage rests on us adults. You shouldn't be carrying that weight." Her smile widened. "You should use your money on something that helps you. Like this magitech."
She tapped the device lightly. "Now, while you're at school, we can stay in touch."
"And," she added, "this model comes with a built-in holo-projector."
"What?" Eren blinked. "Seriously—a projector?"
"I already synced my contact info," Ash said casually. "And the orphanage landline."
"…Thanks," Eren said quietly.
He couldn't find the words for everything he felt.
"Hey," Ash smirked. "Don't start crying on us."
"I'm not crying—" Eren stopped mid-sentence.
The restaurant door swung open.
Ash followed his gaze, his brow darkening into a scowl. Tyron Oyster walked in with his usual group of cronies. Tyron was one of the most privileged kids Eren knew. The Oyster family owned the largest power factory in Pele City—the backbone of the city's infrastructure. They were obscenely wealthy, and Tyron made sure everyone knew it.
Especially Eren.
They'd known each other since freshman year, and Tyron had never forgiven him for one thing—Eren couldn't be bullied. No matter how much magical power Tyron flaunted, Eren always met him head-on, fists included. Over years of fighting, Eren had learned an important truth: having power didn't mean knowing how to use it.
Eren clenched his fist, forcing the urge down. Tyron wore a sneer, already scanning the room. Eren couldn't help but feel a flash of anticipation—he couldn't wait to show the bastard how much stronger he'd become since their last encounter.
But Tyron and his friends took a table far from them. A small part of Eren was disappointed.
"Is that the boy you usually get into fights with?" Mother Ruth asked, her tone firm. The look she gave Eren made her stance clear.
"He looks like a brat," Carla said, sauce smeared around her mouth.
Patry snickered in agreement.
"He is," Ash said. "But don't waste your energy on him."
Eren exhaled and turned his attention back to his Transcell, letting the tension drain away.
"Alright," Mother Ruth said briskly, clapping her hands. "Let's focus on our food."
The kids nodded, their attention returning to their plates—leaving Tyron and his cronies in the background, where they belonged.
****
"…You'd think that with the Aranka forces from the Middle East pushing into the Eastern Continent, the Global Union would respond decisively. What do you think, Schawmer?"
"According to our sources, the Security Council is currently debating sanctions against the nation of Aran."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to just send in a Magic King and smooth things over?"
"You have to understand what deploying a King-class Hunter actually means," Schawmer replied. "There's been relative peace for nearly three hundred years since the Third World War. Sending even one King would be tantamount to declaring war."
"And that's the last thing anyone wants. So what options does the Global Union have to protect the Eastern Continent—"
"Look who it is, boys. It's Eren the Mundane."
Tyron's voice sliced through the broadcast.
Eren exhaled slowly and lowered the crystal receiver. After lunch, he'd wandered off alone through the market district, browsing shops and enjoying the rare freedom. Mother Ruth had practically forced a handful of quids back into his pocket, insisting he finally spend something on himself. He was inside a magitech shop now, scanning shelves lined with enchanted tools and trinkets. He hadn't planned on buying anything—just window shopping. Apparently, that wasn't going to last.
Tyron Oyster and his usual entourage were closing in. Eren could tell immediately—the brat was looking for a fight. Tyron had never gotten over the humiliation of being beaten in front of their classmates. Ganging up on Eren must've seemed like poetic justice.
Eren clenched his jaw. He didn't mind fighting them—but not here. Not in Singuay's shop. The owner would report the damage straight to Mother Ruth, and that was a lecture he didn't feel like enduring.
"Tyron," Eren said flatly, "don't tell me you're still sore that I came out on top in our class performance. Get over it. We're not in public school anymore."
"I don't give a fuck," Tyron snapped. "I heard a rumor." His grin sharpened. "You got into Namer University, Walker?"
"…How did you—" Eren groaned.
Of course. Mother Ruth.
"Wait," Tyron said slowly. "It's true?"
"Bullshit," Cyrus—his closest lackey—laughed. "There's no way this Mundie got in when you didn't."
Eren didn't bother responding. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out his Namer Academy student ID, holding it up between two fingers. Cyrus went quiet. And for the first time, Tyron's grin faltered.
"Sorry, guys," Eren said calmly. "You're not on my level anymore."
"H-How?" Tyron stammered. "How did a Mundie like—"
"I wouldn't call me that again," Eren said quietly.
For a brief moment, his Anima surged. It wasn't an attack—just pressure. But it was enough. Tyron and his goons instinctively stepped back as the weight of Eren's presence washed over them.
"H-He has Anima," one of them whispered. Fear flickered across Tyron's face—only to be swallowed by rage. Snarling, he yanked out his grimoire, flaring his magic recklessly and flooding the shop with unstable power.
"Really, Tyron?" Eren said flatly. "In here?"
His Amulet Cell chimed. Ash was calling.
Damn it. Not now.
Eren ignored the call and moved. In a blur, he bolted from the shop. He didn't even bother going full speed. He didn't need to. Tyron and his goons shouted and chased after him, crashing through the crowd as Eren weaved effortlessly between people and stalls. He made sure they could keep up—just enough.
He wasn't running away. He was leading them. For four years, Tyron had made his life hell. Ever since their first meeting, when Tyron had tried to subdue him with magic and ended up on the ground instead. After that, the fights never stopped. And Eren had always won. Now it was time to end it. He turned sharply into a narrow alley just before the next corner.
A dead end.
Perfect.
The group caught up moments later, several of them doubled over, gasping for breath. Idiots. They had magic, yet didn't know how to reinforce their bodies. Only Tyron stood tall—steady, breathing controlled. The only Ascendant among them. Eren felt the Anima reinforcing Tyron's body.
Good, he thought. You've improved.
"This won't be like last time, Mundie," Tyron growled. "I'm going to—"
He stopped. A swirling aura wrapped around Eren's fist, dense and controlled.
"…You awakened," Tyron said slowly. "A Magic Warrior. And you're already at Initiate rank."
"That's bullshit," Cyrus snapped. "That can't be right!"
The rest of the group murmured uneasily. Fear crept into their faces.
"Think you're a Hunter now?" one of them scoffed weakly.
"Does he look like a Mundie, you idiot?" Tyron hissed.
The goon flinched. They all stared at Eren now—finally understanding what they were standing in front of. The boy who used to beat them without Anima… now had it. And a lot of it. Tyron studied the darker blue hue of Eren's aura, his jaw tightening.
"…Let's go," he said at last.
He turned away. He knew better now. Fighting Eren here wasn't worth it. Eren could feel it—Tyron had lost the will to fight. But that didn't sit right with him. Not today.
"Where do you think you're going?" Eren said.
The air turned cold. They turned— And Eren was already moving. He slipped past Tyron in a flash, his fist crashing into the jaw of the one who'd called him a Mundie. Eren carefully held back his strength—but it was still devastating. The boy was launched into the air, blood spraying as his jaw shattered. He hit the ground unconscious. Eren didn't pause. He stepped into the center of the alley and spun, unleashing a wide roundhouse kick. His foot never touched them—instead, he released a compressed concussive wave. The alley detonated. Bodies flew, slammed into walls, and collapsed in a heap. Only two remained standing.
Tyron.
And Cyrus.
And Eren, standing between them, fists still wrapped in quietly raging Anima.
"Hey—hey—hey! Don't think we're falling for your tricks again!" Cyrus shouted.
Eren smiled, savoring the fear in Cyrus's eyes as he stared back at him.
"Why, you bastard—"
"Wait. Hold on, Cyrus." Tyron grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.
"What's going on here?"
Both boys froze. The voice came from behind them. Eren looked up, stunned, to see Onyanko standing at the mouth of the alley. His massive frame blocked the light, clad in a light teal jacket and dark brown pants. Eren couldn't help wondering why he was wearing something like that in this heat.
"It's Onyanko," Cyrus whispered.
"Let's go," Tyron said immediately.
He and Cyrus bolted, leaving their unconscious goons behind without a second glance.
"What was that about?" Onyanko asked.
"Where did you come from?" Eren replied.
"I saw you being chased around the corner," Onyanko said. "Figured I'd see what the fuss was about." His gaze drifted to the bodies scattered across the alley. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."
Eren followed his eyes, then said nothing. The two of them left the market square together, walking side by side along the uneven stone paths of the Lakane District. Eren had abandoned the idea of spending his remaining money. He glanced at Onyanko, whose hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his expression unreadable—completely at ease despite the awkward silence.
Is he not bothered by the heat? Eren wondered again.
They kept walking until they reached Eren's favorite spot by the Lakane River, where the trains rumbled past in the distance.
"I've heard the rumors," Onyanko said at last. "The Mundane boy. Eren the brawler. Awakened to Anima."
"Oh," Eren muttered.
He hadn't realized word had spread that fast. In Lakane, he'd always been known as the thug who liked to fight despite having no Anima at all.
"And you got accepted into Namer Academy," Onyanko continued. "A school for the Awakened."
Eren glanced sideways at him, catching something in his tone.
"Sounds like you don't approve," Eren said.
"You're a skilled fighter," Onyanko replied. "One of the best martial artists I've ever faced. You beat me without using Anima."
"And?" Eren asked.
"You could've gone pro," Onyanko said. "With the right enchanted tools, you might've had a real shot at the top. And now that you've awakened, I figured you would—"
"Go pro?" Eren repeated.
Sunlight poured down on him, reflected by the slow-moving river until the water itself seemed to glow. A single memory surfaced in his mind—a black-haired warrior clad in black metal armor, a majestic figure that had filled an eight-year-old boy with awe.
"Sorry," Eren said quietly. "I have no interest in becoming an MMA fighter."
Onyanko studied him. "Then what's your dream?"
Eren didn't hesitate.
"To conquer the world,"