City Z’s late morning light was unforgiving—bright, sharp, and almost too real. The streets buzzed with the subtle chaos of everyday life: clusters of people weaving around each other in a hurried dance, the low hum of conversation layered beneath the mechanical growls of passing vehicles, and the occasional blare of a horn slicing through the rhythm like a warning shot. Kaidren walked amidst it all, but never truly part of it.
He wore a plain white T-shirt and soft green jogger pants that swayed gently with each step. A pair of clean white sneakers muffled his footsteps, and a slim black sling bag crossed diagonally over his chest. His black hair shimmered faintly beneath the sun’s gaze, still damp at the tips, revealing that he’d showered before heading out. He looked... ordinary, almost painfully so. But that was the point.
Kaidren moved in silence, threading his way through the masses without brushing so much as a shoulder. His steps were smooth, calculated, his awareness sharp—each movement meant to avoid contact, to maintain distance. He passed through the crowd like wind through grass: unseen, unfelt, unnoticed.
The background noise rolled over him: chatter from clustered café tables, the rumble of engines, the clipped tones of street vendors. He paid none of it any mind. His thoughts were elsewhere, trailing back to the yellow gas that had wafted from the second pot back in the apartment.
Minor energy recovery potion.
That was what it had been.
He recalled the taste—foul, metallic, but not entirely unpleasant. At the time, his limbs had still felt sluggish, heavy with the residual weight of weakness. Yet after one spoonful from the second pot, something in him had shifted. A subtle strength bloomed in his muscles, a quiet vitality warming beneath his skin. It wasn’t much. Not enough to sprint or leap rooftops. But to Kaidren, it had been perfect.
Two potions—one for weakness, one for energy recovery. He’d poured them carefully into separate glass jars, now sealed tight and nestled securely in his black sling bag. These weren’t just concoctions; they were leverage. Collateral for the millions of AUR he intended to loan. And after the bank, there was the Kessen betting match. Another calculated risk. Another step forward.
As Kaidren neared the edge of the sidewalk, his gaze lifted, catching the familiar shape of the Aegis Bank across the bustling street. It stood exactly as he remembered from the night before—sleek, modern, imposing. Its white and blue façade gleamed beneath the sun, and the bold red letters of its name glistened against the glass and steel. It almost looked proud of itself.
He slowed to a halt at the curb. The traffic light was still green.
Others beside him were also waiting, a crowd of strangers trapped in the momentary pause of urban life. Kaidren barely registered them. His eyes swept lazily over a PSERD patrol unit standing nearby—The Psychospiritual Enforcement and Regulation Division. They were nothing more than glorified police officers in this world. Still, their presence was noted.
The light turned red.
Kaidren moved immediately.
His body, still recovering but strengthened by the energy potion, propelled him forward in long, purposeful strides. To an observer, it might have seemed like a brisk walk. To those around him, he was a blur of motion, cutting through the crossing crowd before most had even registered the change.
Moments later, he stood before the bank’s entrance once more.
The same steel and glass structure. The same stone path leading to the automatic doors. The air conditioning blasted cool air against his skin as the doors hissed open, a contrast to the warmth of the sun behind him. Inside, the Aegis Bank was just as he’d left it—cold, efficient, polished.
The interior bore the signature blue-and-white motif, with clean marble floors and modern furnishings. Tier 3 esper guardians stood watch in the far corners, their presence more symbolic than necessary. Their eyes tracked movement, but none lingered on him. Not yet.
To his left and back, behind thick black glass partitions, sat the rows of bank employees—tidy desks, thin monitors, hands typing away or shuffling paperwork with mechanical precision. The noise inside was muted, professional. The tension in the air was institutional.
The two esper guardians flanking the entrance to the restricted zone were the same as last night. Kaidren recognized their aura, not their faces. He doubted they remembered him, but it didn’t matter. He remembered them.
He stood for a moment, letting the cold air settle over him, letting the silence dig beneath his skin.
The sling bag at his side felt heavier now—not from weight, but from the meaning it carried.
Inside that small bag were two glass jars that represented everything he had to offer. Not his name. Not his bloodline. Not even his power. Just two potions, brewed in a rented apartment with half-sketched instructions and guesswork. But they were his. And they were enough.
At least, they had to be.
Kaidren didn’t let himself hesitate a second longer. Without wasting a breath, he began scanning the rows of counters before him, scrutinizing each banker with sharp precision. His gaze flitted from one face to another—some too cheerful, others too distracted. He didn’t want cheeriness, nor distraction. He needed someone who looked like they wouldn’t laugh at his face.
Because despite his usual aloofness, Kaidren didn’t enjoy embarrassment—no matter how unlikely. He wanted this to go smoothly, cleanly. If he could do something in peace, then peace was what he’d choose. No drama, no complications.
Still, a part of him—irrational as it might be—imagined the scenario playing out badly. A banker bursting into laughter, calling over colleagues to mock the ridiculousness of some teenager asking for millions in loaned AUR. He knew he was probably overreacting, but... better safe than sorry.
So he stood still, silent and calculating, his presence now drawing attention from the Tier 3 esper guardians stationed at each corner of the Aegis Bank. A few of them subtly shifted their weight, murmurs buzzing through comm devices. To them, Kaidren’s quiet observation likely read more like scouting than decision-making.
Then—there. A counter far to the right. A banker stepped into view. He wore a finely pressed tuxedo, sharp at the shoulders and buttoned with precision. A buzzcut framed his head, and rectangular glasses sat cleanly across the bridge of his nose. His face bore deepened lines and tired creases, but he held himself with dignity.
And his eyes—those caught Kaidren’s attention the most. Hollow, worn, heavy with something Kaidren couldn’t quite place. Not sadness. Not fatigue. Something quieter, deeper. Like they had both seen too much and chosen to say nothing.
It was, strangely, familiar.
Kaidren lingered on that expression a moment longer before walking toward the counter. The man was still busy scribbling notes on paper documents, old-school despite the sleek digital surfaces all around him. His fingers moved with steady exhaustion, betraying years of repetition.
In the man’s mind, Kaidren’s approach hadn’t registered yet. He was somewhere else entirely—thinking about his son. A little boy, only nine, who lived across the ocean with his wife. He hadn’t seen them in over a year. The memory of his wife’s warm dishes floated into his thoughts—the way she used to hum quietly while cooking. He missed them terribly.
But the rhythm of approaching footsteps broke him from his reverie. His eyes lifted.
Black hair. Black eyes. Calm and unreadable expression. A boy—not more than seventeen, maybe eighteen. The man blinked.
Rising to his feet with professional grace, he greeted Kaidren with a respectful nod.
"Good morning, sir. How may I assist you today?"
Kaidren stopped before the counter. The air-conditioned bank buzzed in the background, distant chatter and footsteps forming a low murmur. He met the man’s gaze, unblinking.
"Hm," he hummed, soft and noncommittal.
The banker didn’t seem fazed. Years in customer service had taught him to roll with all types. Business was business.
"Please, take a seat," he offered, motioning toward a cushioned chair beside the counter. Kaidren nodded slightly and sat, his movements precise.
The banker adjusted his glasses. "So—what can Aegis Bank do for you today?"
Kaidren leaned back ever so slightly, arms relaxed but voice firm. "I’d like to take out a loan."
The man nodded, pen hovering. "Alright, and how much are we talking about?"
Kaidren looked him straight in the eyes. "Fifteen million AUR."
It wasn’t a shout. It wasn’t dramatic. It was said with such flat, effortless calm that for a moment, the entire bank felt like it paused.
The banker blinked. Pen still poised in the air. One beat. Two beats. Silence.
Even the distant hum of voices seemed to hush.
He stared at Kaidren, who simply stared back, as if he’d just asked for directions to a coffee shop. No tension, no pride—just a statement of intent.
The banker set the pen down.
"...I see," he said slowly, his voice low. There was no mockery, no disbelief in his tone—just measured professionalism.
And under it, a flicker of curiosity.
The silence held between them like a thread, taut but unbroken. Whatever happened next, it was clear: this wasn’t going to be an ordinary transaction.