After everything ended, the crowd scattered like leaves in the wind—some went home, others wandered without direction. Michael chose the quiet of home, though the whispers followed him like shadows brushing against his back. He didn't need to hear the words to know what they said, and yet he kept walking. Up ahead, he noticed Cherry and Felix deep in conversation, their heads close together.
"What are they talking about?" he wondered.
Then, almost as if fate answered, they turned toward the outskirts of the village.
"Are they going to my house?" he thought, heart skipping.
But as he followed, keeping to the shadows, the truth became clear.
"What? Not my house… but Love Lake," he muttered—too loudly.
Cherry stopped, eyes scanning the trees. "Thought someone was behind us," she said. "Never mind."
Michael ducked behind a tree, breath held. "Too close. I need to be more careful." he followed again, crouched in the bushes by the lake. He couldn't hear them, just watched.
A voice beside him shattered the silence. "Spying on them?"
Michael jumped. "Yeah! Wait—who are you?"
A boy stood calmly, about his age, with scarlet hair and a blade on his back. "Katsu," he said.
"You're Michael, right? Saw you at the Awakening today."
"You got your power too?" Michael asked.
Katsu nodded. "Hope I see you at the tournament next week."
"What brings you here?" Michael asked.
"I train. The lake helps me focus." They looked out over the water.
"They're finishing up," Katsu said. Michael stood.
"Guess I'll head out."
"Wait," Katsu said. "You know how conversations or, more likely to call it, dates like theirs usually end?"
"No. How?"
"You'll find out… in a year."
Michael blinked, unsettled. As he walked away, Cherry and Felix headed back toward the village. She felt the eyes on her again but didn't turn—she already knew who it was.
Michael followed until they reached Cherry's house.
"Why here?" he thought, creeping to the window.
Cherry appeared on the other side, smiling gently. "Stop following us," she said, then drew the curtains. Michael stood there, stunned.
"What am I even doing? "he thought, turning back toward the path home.
But at the same familiar fork in the road, someone waited.
Ralph. Michael sighed, eyes narrowing. "I don't have time for you today."
"Heard a funny rumor," Ralph said. "You got the fourth level of magical power. That true?"
Michael froze.
"Yeah, it's true!" said a voice. Renald stepped out.
"Of course. He told them."
Then Spinner appeared. "Hard to believe it's you," he scoffed.
"Why would I lie?" Renald shrugged.
"So, it's true," Ralph smirked.
Michael tried to pass, but Ralph grabbed his shoulder. "We're not done. I want a duel. Now."
"You're 3rd level, 9th rank. I'm 1st rank. We both know I'd lose," Michael said.
"Then one minute," Ralph grinned. "If you land one hit, you win."
Michael stared at him. "Fine. I accept."
What followed wasn't a duel—it was humiliation. Ralph dodged, countered, and toyed with him. Michael didn't land a single hit.
When time was up, he was on the ground, too bruised to stand.
"That's the mighty fourth level?" Ralph said, disappointed.
"Weakling," Spinner sneered. The three of them left, and Michael stayed there, fists clenched in the dirt.
"Why won't you move? Get up!" but his body refused.
Eventually, he stood and walked home, every step a reminder. At home, the silence roared louder than Ralph's voice. He couldn't sit still.
"I need to get stronger." He left again, feet moving on their own.
By sunset, he stood outside the bakery. Julius was waving off a customer.
"Have a great day, Julius!"
"Always a pleasure!" he called.
"Hello again, Mr. Julius," Michael said.
Julius turned, blinking. "Whoa. You look awful. Ralph again?"
Michael nodded.
"Can I come in?"
"Of course."
The scent of warm pastries wrapped around him. Julius poured tea as Michael slumped into a chair.
"What's your level?"
"Fourth," Michael said.
Julius paused. "Wait—fourth?"
"Yeah. I get that reaction a lot." Julius rubbed his face. "There are only three levels…"
"The elder told me otherwise," Michael explained. "Said he found proof when he was young—traveling. The fourth level exists."
"So the world's been lying?" Julius muttered.
"Can I ask you something else?" Michael asked.
"Go ahead."
"How old is the elder, really?"
"No clue. He looked the same when I was a kid. I've never heard anyone call him by name. He's just 'the old man.' A mystery."
Michael leaned forward. "Mr. Julius… Can you train me before the tournament?"
Julius looked at him for a long time, then shook his head slowly. "No, Michael. I won't."
"But why don't you want to train me?" Michael asked, unable to hide the frustration in his voice.
Julius looked away. "Because I'm weak, Michael. I only have the first level of magical power… and I haven't moved past the ninth rank in years." He gave a tired laugh. "And besides, I'm a baker. You don't need someone like me."
Michael frowned. "Then why did you give up? Why stop trying to get stronger?"
Julius went quiet. The smile on his face faded, replaced by something heavier. "If you really want to understand, then I'll have to tell you a story I haven't told anyone in a long time."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes distant.
"I was born in a village far from here—Aurorum. My family had a small restaurant, named after our surname: Furno. My father, Victor, was the head chef. My mother, Selena, handled the business. I had four brothers, five sisters. I was right in the middle—child number five. Everyone had their role. Some cooked, some served, I… I baked sweets. That was my world."
He paused. His hands were clenched lightly on the table.
"But one day… everything changed. A disaster fell from the sky. The Dragon of Calamities—Acnologia."
Michael sat up straighter. "Acnologia?"
"When he flew over, our entire village was destroyed. Gone. It doesn't exist on any map now. My mother… she died there. I don't know what happened to the rest of them—my father, my siblings. I never saw them again."
"I'm… I'm sorry," Michael said softly.
Julius nodded slowly. "After that, I wandered. Starving, alone, barely alive. I eventually found this village. They took me in, gave me shelter. I took the magical assessment like everyone else—found out I was only first level. Still, I fought. I joined tournaments, hoping to rise. But I never passed the first qualifying stage. Ninety-nine out of a hundred are eliminated there. And I was always one of them."
He looked at his hands, then smiled again—but it was a hollow one. "So I thought… maybe I'm not meant to fight. Maybe I should go back to what I loved. And so, here I am. A baker. And honestly, I'm okay with that."
Michael leaned forward. "But still… please. Train me."
"No," Julius said firmly.
"Please, Mr. Julius! I don't have anyone else. No one who believes in me."
"I said no."
"I just need the basics! Just enough to survive the first round!"
Julius groaned, rubbing his temples. "Ugh… fine! You win. You're not going to stop bugging me anyway. But listen—I'm a baker, not a fighter. Don't expect miracles."
Michael grinned. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"We meet tomorrow evening. After sunset."
"Got it!" Michael beamed and rushed out the door.
That night, as Michael drifted into sleep, something stirred in the quiet recesses of his mind. Not the usual darkness. Not the version of himself twisted by doubt. Something older. A voice, cold and composed.
"Choosing a baker to train you... What a foolish, naive decision. You have no idea what you're doing."
Michael twitched in his sleep.
"So... Acnologia has become Calamity? Interesting. I knew him, once. He was a childhood friend. I wonder what happened to him."