The air was colder than usual.
Kahel walked home from the Café du Nord, the distant sound of a scooter humming through empty streets. Streetlamps flickered with that tired yellow glow Vouille never seemed to fix.
He said nothing. Showed nothing.
But he knew.
Someone was following him.
Not close enough to be seen. Not far enough to be forgotten.
He didn't turn his head. He didn't change pace.
But his hand was already brushing the inside of his jacket. Just in case.
The energy in the air was faint, but it was there. A ripple just outside the reach of normal senses.
It felt like someone breathing without making sound.
He kept walking. Crossed a narrow alley. Cut through the field behind the bakery.
Then he stopped.
In the middle of the field, with wind brushing through the tall grass, Kahel slowly took off his backpack and set it down beside him.
"I know you're there," he said.
Silence.
Then a footstep behind him.
"I'm surprised," said a voice. Male. Young. Confident. "Most people don't notice me until they're already on the ground."
Kahel turned.
A boy about seventeen stood on the edge of the field. Short silver hair, hands in the pockets of a slim black jacket, and an expression that was somewhere between amused and indifferent.
"Who are you?" Kahel asked.
The boy tilted his head slightly.
"Call me Varen. I'm with the Association."
Kahel said nothing.
"I saw what happened with that rogue," Varen continued. "Amateur stuff, honestly. Still, you held your own better than expected."
Kahel studied him. His posture, his breathing, the faint way the grass didn't bend around his steps.
He was trained. Polished. Dangerous.
"I didn't ask to be followed," Kahel said.
"No, but you walked into our world," Varen replied, taking a slow step forward. "And now we're curious."
"Curious?"
"About what you are."
Kahel's eyes narrowed. "I'm just someone trying to grow stronger."
"No. You're something else. You're doing this without guidance, without a master, without pills or spirit stones. That's not just rare. That's impossible."
The wind picked up.
Kahel didn't answer.
Varen stopped a few meters away and crouched to pick up a pebble.
"You're not part of any sect. Not born into a martial family. But your qi? It's different. Wild, raw, but deep. It feels like… it wasn't meant for this world."
He tossed the pebble up, caught it, then smiled.
"So I've been sent to test you."
Kahel's fists clenched.
"I'm not interested in games."
"Too bad. This one's already started."
Varen's foot slid forward.
The pebble vanished from his hand.
Kahel dodged to the side just in time as the stone sliced through the air like a bullet, carving a line in the grass where his head had just been.
He didn't hesitate.
He struck back, low kick, then elbow.
Varen blocked the kick with one hand and weaved around the elbow like wind around a tree.
Fast.
Kahel twisted, sweeping behind him and launching a backfist that Varen barely dodged. The strike brushed his hair.
The two stepped apart.
Breathing steady.
"You're calm," Varen said. "That's rare. Most self-taught fighters are wild. You fight like someone who's trained in solitude for years."
Kahel didn't respond.
Varen lowered his hands.
"Good enough," he said. "You passed."
"Passed what?"
"The reason I didn't come at you with killing intent."
Kahel's jaw clenched.
"I'm going to report you to the Association. They'll want to see you themselves."
"And if I say no?"
"Then they'll come anyway."
Varen turned, hands in his pockets once more.
"Keep training. You'll need it."
As he vanished down the street, Kahel stood alone again, breath fogging in the night air.
First the rogue. Now this.
And the world he thought was hidden?
It was watching him.
And it had started to move.