Standing by the window, Shirone watched the late autumn leaves whirl chaotically between the mountains.
Three years had passed—he was now fifteen.
Though traces of boyishness remained, his face had grown strikingly beautiful, enough to turn heads.
"I’m heading out, Mom."
"Don’t overdo it. We have enough firewood."
"Winter’s coming. Better prepare early."
The cold air stole his breath as he stepped outside.
Seasons arrived faster in the mountains, and snow already crowned the peaks.
"If I want to be back by sunset, I’d better hurry."
But Shirone wasn’t one to fear the cold.
Three years of Spirit Zone training had forged mental endurance beyond most adults’.
Though he’d grown less shy and mingled with the mountain children, he had no close friends.
They were different from him.
The mountain kids were rough—even the girls thought the same way.
A year ago, a woman named Hauran from a nearby settlement had tried to seduce him.
When the six-years-older woman made physical advances, Shirone panicked and refused.
Enraged, she threatened to ruin his family if he spoke of the incident.
Remembering it now, he scoffed.
Nothing had come of it, but he’d spent days sick with worry.
I hope she’s doing well.
Arriving at the logging area, Shirone lightly struck a tree with his axe, then examined the notch.
If "seeing" meant using his eyes, then he wasn’t seeing anything at all.
It’s not something eyes can find.
Repeating an action or thought endlessly sometimes reveals its underlying principles.
After three years of experimenting, Shirone was finally grasping it.
I feel it with my mind.
A method some might call mind’s eye.
His gaze sharpened—then, unlike before, he struck the notch with full force.
Thunder echoed as the tree fell.
Luck played a part, but by now, Shirone succeeded once every ten attempts.
Finishing his work, Shirone sat on the fallen tree and entered the Spirit Zone.
His Spirit Zone now spanned a 40-meter sphere—a level that would place him among the elite even at the magic academy.
He felt the world beneath the earth.
As if merging with nature, he sensed the swaying trees, the squirming worms, even the sound of roots drinking water.
Lost in its rhythm, five hours passed in an instant.
"Huh? It’s dark already."
After meditation, he chopped the wood and loaded it onto his back.
At home, he spotted an unfamiliar carriage in the yard and peered into the stable—two white horses he’d never seen before were eating hay.
No cheerful greeting came.
The atmosphere was tense.
His mother’s face was grim, and a strange old man sat in the living room, speaking with his father.
"Huh? Dad? You’re back already?"
It was unusually early for someone who’d left at dawn to sell goods.
And where was the usual shower of kisses? He just stayed seated.
"Shirone, greet our guest. This is Head Butler Temuran of the Ozent family."
The old man approached.
"Pleasure. I’m Temuran."
"Nice to meet you. I’m Shirone."
Shirone bowed politely.
Even a mountain boy like him knew the Ozent name—a second-tier noble family based in Creas, renowned for producing warriors.
"I came here to meet you."
Though a commoner, Temuran’s speech carried noble refinement.
Tormia’s class system divided people into nobles and commoners, but reality was more complex.
Those closely tied to nobility held higher status, while outsiders like the Vincents were often scorned as lowborn.
Why would someone of his standing come here?
"Let me take a look at you."
Temuran examined Shirone’s physique, bone structure, even his gaze—like livestock.
Just as indignation rose, the butler asked:
"Yes. I’ve studied since childhood."
Shirone’s patience neared its limit.
"Could you explain why you’re here?"
Temuran’s eyes turned sharp.
"You’ve quite the reputation. A woodsman’s son who reads books, and devoted to his parents?"
His tone was almost mocking.
As Shirone prepared to retort, Temuran dropped a bombshell.
"How would you like to work for House Ozent?"
Shirone felt like he’d been struck by lightning.
No—that wasn’t the real question.
This was a second-tier noble house offering employment.
"The main family is relocating its grand library. We can’t trust just anyone with this—10,000 volumes, some of which must never leave our walls. Laborers will handle the heavy lifting, but the sorting will be done by just you and me. It’ll take about two years."
Shirone’s heart nearly burst.
His sharp intuition sensed poison hidden in the offer—but it was a cup he’d gladly drink.
Temuran named the price outright, prideful enough not to deceive a commoner.
"Only you and your family will know of this. If any books go missing—or even if rumors spread—you and your family will die."
Now Shirone understood his parents’ grim faces.
Even if he stayed silent, two years was long enough for anything to go wrong.
Yet he couldn’t refuse.
"For risking your life, you’ll be paid generously—far more than your father earns hunting. A chance to lift your family from poverty."
Vincent’s face flushed red.
"I didn’t agree for the money! I just—I just wanted Shirone to—!"
A worthless father’s "gift" to his son was a death gamble.
"...I only wanted him to chase his dreams."
"What, hoping he’ll climb the ranks with flattery? Wake up. This is employment. You begged me to take him—for money."
"Yes, and that’s why he’ll guard the books, not study them. If even one goes missing, his head rolls. That’s the deal."
Vincent gritted his teeth.
When he’d heard a noble needed literate commoners in town, he’d rushed to Temuran, begging him to take Shirone.
Worst of all, he feared what Shirone would think. Does he believe I sold him for coin?
"Get out. We don’t need your money. If I’d known, I’d never have asked. LEAVE!"
Temuran looked surprised.
For a fifteen-year-old, let alone a lowborn, this was terrifying.
"Are you certain? I’m not trying to scare you. If even a whisper of this leaks, you’ll be executed."
"Yes. I’ll do it. I won’t let anything slip—and even if rumors spread, I won’t resent you. Let me go."
Such resolve was hard to ignore.
Temuran nodded slowly.
Everything was perfectly aligned.
He was a lowborn who could be killed at any moment—yet deeply filial and remarkably sharp.
Temuran turned away, satisfied with his efforts.
Temuran: "I’ll return for you in a week. If you change your mind by then, you’re free to refuse. But remember: once you enter the mansion, you cannot leave until the work is done."
Without another word, Temuran opened the door and left, clearly uninterested in even glancing at Shirone’s family.