Mario immediately felt the difference between the other parts of the city and this northern district.

  As he walked, his eyes couldn't help but wander over his surroundings.

  The streets were wider, the stone beneath one's feet smooth and unmarred, maintained without visible effort. Buildings rose taller here, their facades scrubbed clean, their windows unbroken and faintly gleaming. No vendors shouted for attention. No clutter spilled onto the roads. Everything had its place.

  Order ruled this district.

  He continued to walk through the district at a steady pace, his gaze drifting forward without lingering too long on anything. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a particular building.

  The structure stood firm and clean, its walls untouched by grime or neglect. He stood there briefly, then stepped inside.

  Cool air washed over him instantly, brushing against his skin and seeping through his clothes. The sudden temperature change made him stiffen slightly before he adjusted.

  His eyes lowered.

  The floor beneath his feet was polished to a mirror-like sheen. It reflected the ceiling lights—and his own reflection.

  Mario stared at the image staring back at him.

  His clothes were worn, faintly dirty from work that never truly washed off. Against the flawless floor, the contrast was unmistakable.

  Mario shook his head slightly.

  Then he moved forward and stopped in front of an outlet. A woman stood behind the counter, her expression neutral and controlled. To the side lay a small stack of tickets and a lone ballpoint pen.

  Mario reached for them.

  As his fingers closed around the pen, the winning number for this week surfaced in his mind.

  He began to write.

  The numbers formed neatly on the paper—but midway through, his hand slowed.

  Another image forced its way into his thoughts.

  The man who was supposed to win using this number, and also the same man who was supposed to die after winning.

  'Am I saving him or stealing from him?' An idle thought passed through his mind.

  He paused briefly before putting the matter behind him and continued writing.

  Once finished, he handed the ticket to the woman at the counter. She took it without comment and input the numbers into the computer. The machine hummed softly before printing the ticket.

  Mario waited in silence.

  When it was done, he reached into his pocket and took out ten copper coins, placing them on the counter one by one.

  Payment complete.

  He accepted the printed ticket from the woman and turned away.

  Leaving the building, the cool air was replaced once more by outside warmth. He proceeded toward home without stopping, and without any change in his expression.

  Upon arriving, he opened his briefcase and placed the ticket inside carefully, ensuring it wouldn't bend or slip out. Only then did he close it and head out again toward his workplace.

  After reaching his job, Mario followed his usual routine. He checked in with the timekeeper first, exchanging minimal words, then made his way toward the owner's office.

  He raised his hand and knocked.

  The same silence answered him.

  "It's a pity I won't be able to say goodbye," he murmured quietly.

  He turned away and returned to his spot.

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  After asking the loader for help, he began working, his hands moving with practiced efficiency.

  Days passed like this.

  Work. Home. Repeat.

  The rhythm never changed.

  A week later—

  Burp.

  Mario leaned back slightly, letting out a satisfied sound before calling up his proficiency panel.

  [Proficiency]

  [Skill: Fish Cleaning — 0 Tier (Peak) 158/1000 | Rough Cooking — 0 Tier (Advanced) 410/500]

  He stared at the panel.

  After a week of steady progress, both skills had advanced by a stage—the latter had advanced twice.

  But he also noticed the slowing of his progress, especially his Fish Cleaning skill at Peak—it had only progressed to a hundred and fifty even after almost three days.

  '...Is this because my body has almost completely adapted?... Or do I need to try cleaning a much harder fish?'

  Eventually, after resting for a few minutes, he walked out and took his dried clothes from the line before walking to the public bathroom.

  He washed himself and his worn clothes.

  Mario returned home and hung his wet clothes before taking out the chair and sitting outside.

  A heavy breath escaped him as he muttered to himself, "This is it, then."

  'Tomorrow I'll leave.' His shoulders slumped.

  The cool night air brushed past.

  While sitting, the silhouette of a tall person appeared, entering from the alley.

  At first he didn't pay it much attention, but when he heard the familiar voice, he already knew who it was.

  Jason approached Mario and crouched on the ground beside him.

  They remained silent for a few minutes, letting the quiet night and the chirping of crickets fill the air. Eventually, Mario opened his mouth and asked, "You visited the orphanage?"

  "Yeah," Jason answered in a low voice.

  He let out a sigh before gradually looking at Mario.

  Through the light from the sky, he could see Mario's expression slightly.

  It was calm, almost indifferent, blending with the atmosphere of the surroundings perfectly.

  This was the first time Jason had seen Mario's true expression without him pretending in front of him and others.

  It looked aloof and yet lonely at the same time.

  'So this is the real him, huh?' Jason thought as memories from their childhood appeared in his mind.

  It was a child with the same expression. The other kids had been interested in him back then since he was new, but he never paid them any mind.

  Gradually, the children lost interest in him.

  Jason, being a year older than everyone, was more mature back then, though he didn't really intentionally get close to him either.

  However, Jason would often see that child with the same look on his face while gazing at the night sky, as if he was waiting or maybe simply watching.

  Then something changed after two years—that child learned to interact and showed expression toward them.

  He didn't understand it then, but now, looking back and watching him in the present, a thought appeared in his mind: 'He was always the same and never truly changed.'

  A complex emotion appeared in him. Sadness, or pity perhaps?

  Eventually, he also turned his head upward and looked at the night sky.

  The stars suspended in the night were bright and beautiful.

  He opened his mouth, his voice slightly shaking before returning to normal. "The old man said you're leaving?"

  Mario kept his gaze on the night sky. After a brief pause, he turned his eyes toward Jason and nodded.

  "Yeah."

  "Why, though?"

  "…No reason." Mario's voice was quiet. "It's just that the director said I should live for myself." He shifted his eyes back to the sky. "So I will."

  "The old man did?" Jason's voice paused momentarily. "…I see."

  They remained silent for half an hour before Jason's voice resounded as if in a daze.

  "Hey... Mario, can you tell me?... Why do you keep looking at the stars?"

  "Why...?" Mario muttered, glancing briefly at him before turning his gaze back toward the sky.

  "Because the stars are beautiful... Yet they're out of reach."

  "I'm simply admiring their beauty." He shrugged, stood up, and carried the chair back inside.

  '...Is this the truth or another...?' Jason turned his head and watched Mario's back as he entered inside.

  "Are you really leaving?" He stood up and asked again, as he still couldn't believe that Mario would actually leave the director's side.

  He and everyone from the orphanage knew how close Mario and the director were.

  Mario's reply echoed faintly from within the house.

  "Yeah."

  His voice was calm—almost peaceful—as if the decision had already been made long ago, and all that remained was to follow through.

  Jason remained outside for a few minutes, his eyes never leaving Mario's door as if waiting for a different answer.

  Eventually, he sighed and walked out of the alley.

  ---

  Capital City — Northern District

  Inside a luxurious villa.

  Inside a spacious room hung a massive portrait of a family of four.

  At the center stood a middle-aged man with a handsome, well-defined face. His black hair was neatly kept, and his blue eyes carried quiet authority. His hands rested confidently on the shoulders of the woman beside him.

  She appeared to be in her late twenties, with a beautiful face framed by brown hair. Her hazel eyes were calm and composed, her posture elegant.

  In front of her stood a young man who looked to be around fifteen. He had brown hair and blue eyes, resembling her slightly—but his sharp gaze mirrored that of the man behind him.

  Beside him stood a younger boy, no older than seven. His black hair contrasted with his vivid blue eyes, which were identical to those of the middle-aged man.

  They looked every bit like a noble family.

  Not far from the portrait, a couch sat against the wall.

  On it, a young man in his twenties sat cross-legged, his brown hair neatly arranged and his blue eyes focused on a holographic board game in front of him. His attention was fixed entirely on the game, fingers moving with casual confidence.

  In front of him was a holographic image of a human whose gender and appearance couldn't be identified.

  The door behind him suddenly opened.

  An old man entered.

  He wore a butler's suit, clean and formal. Despite his age, his body remained slightly muscular, and he stood straight, carrying himself with the dignity of someone who had once held a blade for a living.

  "What is it, Sir Kyle?" the young man asked without looking back, already aware of who stood behind him. The honorific slipped out of habit. His gaze never left the board. 'If I move here, I can check the king. When it retreats, the queen is lost… and after that, it's only a matter of moves before the win.'

  His fingers hovered above the piece.

  '…But that would be boring.' He shook his head slightly and deliberately ignored the winning line. Instead, he made an intentional blunder. Only then did he lift his eyes to the holographic figure before him, a faint curiosity glinting within them—as if waiting to see how the other would react.

  'What is there to consider?... I've obviously made a blunder.' After a few moments the curiosity in his eyes was gone, replaced by boredom. '...Too slow.'

  "Young Master, you need not call me 'sir.' I am merely a humble butler now."

  "Ah, right. Sorry about that, Kyle." The young man's tone was careless as he waited for his opponent's move. "So what is it?"

  Kyle showed no sign of offense. He seemed used to this.

  "A winner has appeared this month, Young Master."

  "A winner…?" the young man echoed absentmindedly.

  Then the meaning registered.

  His hands paused mid-move before his eyes brightened and turned toward Kyle, finally tearing his attention away from the game.

  "From where?"

  "From the same place as the last winner. Two months ago."

  "From the same place…" He muttered, lost in thought.

  Another winner. Same location. Such a short interval.

  "Is it confirmed?"

  "Yes, Young Master."

  The young man stood abruptly.

  "Prepare the vehicle. I will meet this person."

  "Yes, Young Master." Kyle bowed with practiced grace before turning to leave.

  Before the old man left, the young man's voice echoed inside.

  "Tell Zenith that another winner has appeared in the same place as him. I'm leaving to meet this person."

  The door opened again as the butler peeked his head in. "Yes, Young Master."

  The door closed again.

  The young man remained behind.

  He walked toward the large portrait and stopped in front of it. A mix of emotions flickered across his face—anticipation, restraint, something darker beneath.

  "Soon," he whispered.

  Turning away, he left the room.

  Behind him, the game remained frozen on the screen—his pieces trapped, his king already defeated and cornered by his opponent, and he had lost the bet of a hundred thousand points.