Ezio woke up knowing something was wrong.
Not in the dramatic way people talked about in stories—not with visions or thunder or a sudden surge of power. It was quieter than that. More insidious.
He woke up… empty.
The dormitory ceiling stared back at him, cracked and damp, but the familiar weight of exhaustion was gone. In its place was a thin, cold clarity, like waking up after a fever broke. His heart beat slow and measured. His thoughts slid into place with unnatural precision.
It took him several seconds to realize what was missing.
Fear.
He sat up slowly. The room looked the same. His desk. His lamp. The loose floorboard hiding the Machiavelli scroll. The cracked mirror.
But when he thought of Liora, of the poison needle, of Lin trembling in the hallway… there was no spike in his chest.
Only data.
Lucifer's voice slid into his mind, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Kiddo… that's not good."
Ezio swallowed. "What?"
"You're not scared," Lucifer said. "That's how we know something broke."
Ezio swung his legs off the bed. His movements felt too smooth. Too deliberate. As if someone else had taken over his body's scheduling.
He stood, then froze.
For a split second, he saw himself collapsing in the middle of the room, blood pooling around his mouth.
He blinked.
The vision vanished.
His heart didn't even race.
"Did you see that?" Ezio whispered.
Lucifer didn't joke. "Yeah."
Ezio walked toward the washstand. The mirror reflected him normally—pale, tired, eyes a little too sharp—but behind the reflection, something felt off. Like a second image was trying to push through.
"I keep seeing… things," Ezio said. "Future things. But some don't happen."
Lucifer sighed. "That's because you glued two fate engines together and called it a seed."
Ezio rubbed his temple. A dull ache pulsed there, growing sharper with each breath.
"You've got Casanova emotion flow," Lucifer continued, "and Machiavelli probability breathing running at the same time. One wants desire. The other wants control. They're ripping each other apart inside you."
Ezio's stomach tightened. "So what happens?"
Lucifer was quiet for a moment.
"Either it stabilizes," he said, "or it eats your mind."
Ezio laughed weakly. "That's comforting."
"Hey, kiddo, you stole a god's accounting system and jammed it into a seduction engine. You don't get comforting."
Ezio wiped his face with shaking hands. When he pulled them away, they were faintly red.
Blood.
A small nosebleed, but enough to make his stomach lurch.
He staggered back to the bed and sat, breathing slowly, trying to calm the swirl inside his chest. His Illusion Seed felt wrong now—too hot in one moment, too cold the next, like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
His emotions flickered.
One second he wanted to laugh.
The next, he wanted to tear something apart.
Then—nothing.
Lucifer's voice lowered. "Kiddo… this is cultivation sickness."
Ezio closed his eyes. "Can I fix it?"
A pause.
"Yes," Lucifer said. "But not cleanly."
Vesper noticed immediately.
When Ezio stepped into the Crimson Pavilion that afternoon, she stopped him at the threshold. Her gaze flicked over him, sharp and measuring.
"You're leaking," she said.
Ezio frowned. "Leaking what?"
"Probability," Vesper replied. "And desire. And something else I don't like."
Lucifer muttered, "Told you she's scary."
Vesper led Ezio to the mirror hall. The smoked-glass mirror reflected him oddly now—his outline wavered faintly, like a double image trying to occupy the same space.
"What did you steal?" she asked quietly.
Ezio hesitated.
Vesper's eyes hardened. "Don't insult me. Your aura smells like Machiavelli."
Ezio's throat tightened. "A primer."
Vesper went very still.
"You grafted a Ledger pattern onto an Illusion Seed," she said. It wasn't a question.
Ezio nodded.
"That is forbidden even in their sect," Vesper said. "You're lucky you're still coherent."
Lucifer snorted. "He's charming like that."
Vesper ignored the voice she couldn't hear and turned back to Ezio. "Your seed is tearing itself apart. Casanova wants emotion. Machiavelli wants detachment. You cannot be both without an anchor."
Ezio swallowed. "So what do I need?"
"A stabilizer," Vesper said. "A Minor Ledger Seed."
Ezio's eyes widened. "Another seed?"
"Not another core," Vesper corrected. "A graft. A regulator. Machiavelli disciples cultivate them to keep their probability sight from fracturing their minds."
Lucifer laughed softly. "So basically, kiddo, you need stolen medicine to fix your stolen disease."
Ezio's hands trembled. "Where do I get one?"
Vesper's gaze slid toward the velvet-curtained entrance that led to the club.
"You steal it."
The Night Market felt different this time.
The same velvet, the same music, the same glow—but Ezio could no longer lose himself in it. Everywhere he looked, he saw overlapping futures, half-formed and contradictory.
A man laughed—and Ezio saw him being slapped moments later.
A woman smiled—and Ezio saw her crying in a hallway.
Some of the visions happened.
Some didn't.
It made his head throb.
Lucifer whispered, tense now. "Don't trust the first future you see. That's how the sickness lies to you."
Ezio's stomach churned. "How am I supposed to know which is real?"
"You don't," Lucifer said. "You guess. Welcome to gambling with destiny."
Ezio forced himself to focus. He scanned the room not for beauty, but for stability.
He felt it eventually—a calm, disciplined aura near the upper balcony. A woman in black-and-gold robes sat alone, sipping wine. Her emotions were tightly controlled. Her probability field was smooth.
A Machiavelli disciple.
Ezio's pulse quickened.
Vesper's voice echoed in his memory: Not to grow stronger. To survive.
Ezio approached her table.
The woman looked up. Her eyes were sharp and analytical. "Can I help you?"
Ezio let his voice soften, letting Casanova's training flow. "I'm looking for someone who doesn't belong to this noise."
Her gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued.
Lucifer whispered instructions—when to pause, when to mirror, when to let silence do the work.
Ezio spoke of quiet. Of ambition. Of wanting more than what the university offered. He didn't flirt. He didn't beg.
He listened.
The woman's defenses lowered, just a fraction.
Ezio felt her Minor Ledger Seed—a faint, steady node of probability anchored near her heart.
He extended a silk thread.
Pain flared in his wrists. His vision blurred.
He saw two futures:
In one, she noticed.
In another, she didn't.
Ezio chose.
He pulled.
The thread sank into her aura, hooking something small and dense. She inhaled sharply, eyes widening just a bit.
Ezio's head exploded with pain.
But the seed came free.
He staggered back as the stolen Ledger fragment slammed into his Illusion Seed. Fire and ice collided in his chest. For a terrifying second, he thought he would tear in half.
Then—
Stability.
The storm quieted.
His thoughts aligned.
The false futures fell away.
The woman blinked, suddenly pale, confused. "I… I need air," she murmured, rising unsteadily.
Ezio didn't follow.
He stood there, breathing hard, feeling the hybrid seed settle into a new, colder rhythm.
Lucifer's voice was hushed.
"Well, kiddo… you didn't just take medicine."
Ezio wiped blood from his lip. "Then what did I take?"
Lucifer chuckled darkly.
"Addiction."
And for the first time since his heart broke, Sung Jin Ezio felt truly awake—sharp, focused, and slightly less human than he had been before.