Ângelo Orson was just a few steps from leaving the castle when, suddenly, a memory struck him like lightning:
"Son, remember: Maxima City has beautiful girls. If you go out… wear something nice."
He paused, glancing down at his simple outfit, and let out a small chuckle.
— Ah, Dad… you were right. This city really has some stunning girls…
With a mischievous grin, Ângelo spun on his heels and dashed back into the castle. He practically tripped up the stairs in his hurry, flung open the wardrobe in his room, and chose the outfit that screamed him: stylish, modern, vibrant — exactly the look of a confident teenager.
Finally returning to the courtyard, ready to explore Maxima City and maybe make a good impression, a strong voice cut through the air behind him:
— Ângelo! We need to talk!
Ângelo froze instantly.
The voice was unmistakable.
He turned slowly… and there was Tocre, 14, black hair plastered to his head with sweat, chest heaving, dressed in his traditional battle attire. He looked like he had run across half the empire just to reach his cousin.
In the center of the castle courtyard, Tocre locked eyes with him.
Something serious was about to unfold.
Tocre walked toward him slowly, each step firm, echoing across the courtyard. Sweat dripped down his face, his breath was deep, but his voice remained calm — as always.
— I decided to check out the castle because you finally arrived, — Tocre said, approaching Ângelo.
Ângelo's eyes widened.
— What the heck! What are you doing here?! It looks like you took on the entire castle guard just to get to me!
Tocre tilted his head, serene as ever:
— Are you deaf? I said I came because you arrived. — He shrugged casually, unfazed. — And yes, about the guards… it's true. They asked me to demonstrate my skills.
Ângelo let out a snort-laugh.
— Of course they did. The guards here love to suffer… But anyway… what are the plans for Pilgrims' Day?
Tocre kept his calm posture, but his eyes scanned the surroundings, analyzing everything.
Ângelo grinned broadly:
— That's what I'm talking about! Dad said Maxima City has gorgeous girls. Let's go check them out!
Tocre frowned immediately.
— What? You still talk like a rogue… You don't even know how to talk to a girl. Your antics are exactly why Asher hates you so much.
Ângelo put a hand on his head, offended:
— Hey… I don't buy that. My charm is flawless! I'm naturally irresistible!
Tocre inhaled deeply — always composed.
— You're lazy and weak. That's the truth.
— Hey! — Ângelo interrupted immediately. — That's not what Asher saw this morning! I beat him easily!
Tocre's eyes widened just a fraction — but only slightly.
— Ângelo… Asher is the prince of the Fire Empire, trained by the best warriors in the kingdom. What happened this morning was luck. You better train more.
Ângelo stepped forward, conviction in every movement:
— My father is the strongest warrior alive. I've been trained by him. So don't underestimate me, Tocre.
Tocre lifted his gaze to his cousin… calm, steady, almost philosophical.
— Ângelo… I'm not underestimating you. I just see the truth clearly. And the truth is… you have potential — a lot — but you trust yourself too much and train too little. That's a risk.
Ângelo crossed his arms, trying to hide a smile.
— So you're saying I have talent but I'm lazy? Is that it?
Tocre responded with his trademark calm:
— Exactly.
Ângelo sighed… then smiled.
— Alright, alright… let's head to Pilgrims' Day. But first… can you change that outfit?
Tocre tilted his face toward the sky, unconcerned.
— What? You're really going to wear that? — Ângelo complained, frowning at his cousin still in his battle uniform, caked with dust and dried sweat.
Tocre, as always serene, simply adjusted his posture and replied, annoyingly calm:
— The guards at the gate…
Before he could finish, one of the guards approached, holding a transparent bag. Inside, a smart outfit shimmered in the courtyard light. The guard stopped in front of Tocre and bowed.
— Young Tocre, your outfit has been prepared as requested.
Inside the bag, perfectly folded, was a sleek black suit, tailored to fit the boy flawlessly — every measurement precise to the last millimeter.
Ângelo's jaw dropped.
— A SUIT?! Are you really going to wear that? You look like you're going to a wedding, not taking a stroll!
Tocre picked up the bag gently, unfazed by Ângelo's overreaction.
— This is the formal attire for young trainees, — he said, eyeing Ângelo up and down. — Though I admit… your outfit suits you.
Ângelo raised his eyebrows, a mix of offense and pride:
— Of course it suits me! It's style, man! Pure natural charm! — He tugged at his jacket collar like a hero in a holographic cape. — Are you really wearing that? It's so serious!
Tocre answered without emotion, heading toward the castle's changing room:
— Formality draws more attention than your "irresistible attitude." Besides, someone needs to maintain our group's honor.
Ângelo blinked, confused.
— Hey! That's provocation, isn't it?
— No. — Tocre replied, already disappearing behind the curtains. — It's just a fact.
A few minutes later, Tocre emerged from his quarters.
Ângelo went speechless for two full seconds — the maximum he could stay quiet.
Tocre looked like a young diplomat: tall, posture flawless, hair slicked back, black suit tailored to his frame, every fold in place. His calm aura combined with the outfit gave the impression he was unbeatable in any discussion — or battle.
— Ugh… — Ângelo muttered, crossing his arms. — Now everyone's going to look at you first!
Tocre just raised an eyebrow.
— I thought you were "naturally irresistible."
Ângelo opened his mouth… closed it… and then opened it again.
— You… you're ridiculously smart, you know that?
— I'll take that as a compliment. Shall we? — Tocre extended a hand toward the gate.
Ângelo sighed but smiled.
— Fine, fine. Let's see these girls in Maxima City… and I'll prove that charm beats a suit.
Tocre inhaled deeply, almost smiling.
— Good luck. You're going to need it.
The two walked toward the main gate, ready to blend into the vibrant city beyond — each with his own warrior style.
Ângelo strolled through Maxima City, hands in his pockets, shoulders swinging with typical teenage confidence. He squinted at the streets.
— I don't know… — he muttered. — These streets are way too… decorated.
Tocre, beside him, straightened his immaculate suit and asked calmly:
— What do you mean, too decorated?
— I mean… flags, lights, music everywhere… it's not normal.
Tocre looked at him like one would at an exotic animal.
— Ângelo… today is Pilgrims' Day.
Ângelo's eyes went wide, and he almost screamed, startling half the street.
— WHAT?! Today?! But it's supposed to be tomorrow!