A few days ago.

  Unlike the bustling southern gate, where caravans clogged the roads and merchants spilled into the dirt paths like ants from a hill, the western gate felt strangely empty. The winter air hung thick and cold, carrying only the quiet shuffle of boots and the distant creak of wooden carts. Snow clung to the stone walls in soft white patches, like a thin blanket slowly swallowing the kingdom’s outer defenses.

  Kana pulled her hood lower as their small group approached the checkpoint.

  Her breath came out in pale clouds. The others—Sherry, the man, the woman, and the youngest girl—looked nervous but hopeful. The sight of the capital’s walls usually meant safety.

  For Kana, it meant complications.

  One by one, the guards checked their documents. Their armor gleamed faintly beneath the winter sun, etched with the crest of the kingdom. When Kana stepped forward, she handed her parchment from the academy.

  The bald guard took it, scanning it with narrowed, critical eyes. His breath hissed out slowly.

  Then he lifted a hand—stopping her.

  “The documents look real,” he said, his voice low and suspicious. “But all academy students are still stationed in the north. If they returned, they’d enter through the northern gate.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “And the latest report says they’re still days away—at least less than a week.”

  The cold suddenly felt sharper against Kana’s skin.

  “So who are you,” the guard continued, “pretending to be a student of the Academy?”

  Behind her, her travel companions gasped.

  “You’re a student?!”

  “You? The academy?!”

  Their voices overlapped, shocked and confused.

  Kana resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

  I should have just sneaked in. This is a bad idea.

  The bald guard stepped forward. “We’ll investigate this further before you’re allowed to enter. Follow me.”

  He raised two fingers and gestured to another guard standing watch, “Cover for me. Code A.”

  The assistant guard stiffened, acknowledging the seriousness of the code.

  Kana exhaled slowly. “This is a goodbye,” she said to the group behind her. “Don’t worry. I am really a student from the academy.”

  The man scratched his head, half-stunned, half-awed.

  “I heard the academy trains monsters… talented monsters. Still didn’t think you were strong enough to wipe out a hundred bandits.”

  Kana forced a laugh, scratching her cheek. “I’ll probably see you again in the central district. One of my classmates spends too much time shopping there. Don’t tell anyone what I did there.”

  “Of course,” The man chuckled. “Then we’ll meet again.”

  “See you,” Sherry and the others said, waving nervously.

  Kana waved back, then turned—and followed the guard.

  They passed through a short stone hallway beside the main gate. The sounds of travelers faded behind them, replaced by the faint hum of enchanted lanterns fixed on the walls. The air was colder here, the stone swallowing warmth.

  The guard pushed open a heavy wooden door.

  Inside was a closed interrogation room—bare, sparse, lit by a single rune-lamp overhead. The kind of place meant to strip comfort from a person and expose truth.

  The guard stepped in after her and shut the door with a dull thud that echoed too loudly.

  Kana’s eyes narrowed, every instinct in her body tightening.

  The hair on her arms prickled.

  It was… too secure. Too isolated.

  He didn’t ask her to sit.

  Didn’t ask her anything.

  Just stared.

  Kana flexed her fingers casually near her sleeve where her dagger lived in her [Inventory].

  The guard finally spoke.

  “Now,” he said, voice dropping into something more dangerous, “tell me who you really are.”

  ….

  “I’m Kana, first-year student, class [Ranger],” she said calmly.

  The bald guard leaned back slightly, considering her.

  “I know.”

  His tone wasn’t accusatory this time—but it wasn’t believing either. It hung between them like a taut wire.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Kana wet her lips and began explaining, making sure some important ones wouldn’t be mentioned—such as the hostaging of the crown prince.

  “The northern expedition… it didn’t go as planned,” she said. “There were complications. Too many to count. At some point, the professors assigned me a separate mission—to assist in rescuing someone important.”

  She paused, watching his reaction carefully.

  “When we were about to leave, I used a dungeon item. A [Teleportation Scroll]. It threw me off course. I ended up outside—I mean the other side, and here I am.”

  For a moment, the guard said nothing.

  Only silence.

  Then he sighed, long and heavy—like someone who’d heard too many lies in his career and hated the possibility of hearing another one from someone who looked so young.

  “You look like the same age as my daughter,” he murmured. “Your story is detailed… very detailed. But stories are easy. I need proof.”

  Kana’s mind churned. A dozen options filtered through her thoughts.

  Then she remembered.

  Slowly, she reached toward the pocket near her hip—pulling from her [Inventory] with a slight twist of her fingers.

  Golden metal gleamed in the dim rune-light the moment she revealed it.

  The Gold Badge.

  The guard’s eyes widened. The breath caught in his throat. His hand hovered forward as if he were approaching something sacred.

  “This is…” His voice faltered as he took it gently from her, examining the crest, turning it in his palm. The weight. The shine. The unmistakable authenticity.

  “You’re… one of the Gold Badge holders,” he whispered. “This year’s?”

  Kana nodded. “I was awarded after the first examination. I heard rumors the badge is well-known even outside the academy. Is it enough?”

  What happened next surprised even her.

  The man snapped to attention—straightening his back with a sharp inhale.

  His boots clicked together. He saluted.

  “A thousand apologies for delaying you,” he said, voice filled with sudden respect. “I should have realized it immediately. Only a handful ever earn this honor.”

  He hurried to open the door, nearly stumbling in his haste.

  “I will personally escort you back to the main gate. And—please—take a horse. Borrow it… no, forget borrowing. Keep it. We wouldn’t dare inconvenience a Gold Badge holder.”

  Kana forced a polite laugh as she retrieved the badge and tucked it away again.

  Useful? She looked at the badge with new eyes.

  This is far more useful than I ever imagined.

  ….

  Kana shielded her eyes from the sudden burn of sunlight as she stepped out of the dim, rune-lit room. The air outside tasted different—fresh, open, and carrying the faint scent of hay from the nearby stables. She blinked, letting her vision adjust, then swung herself onto the horse the guard had practically begged her to take.

  The creature snorted, stamping its hooves with restless energy.

  “Easy,” Kana whispered, patting its neck. “We’ll go fast soon enough.”

  She nudged it forward. Wind whipped against her cheeks as the horse accelerated, the world narrowing to pounding hooves and the steady rhythm of her breathing. For a few heartbeats, she let herself enjoy it—the simple purity of motion. Stabilizing her balance as if she were born for this.

  By the time she caught sight of the four people she rescued, she was already slowing, pulling gently on the reins.

  They turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Relief spread across their faces.

  “I’ll go first,” Kana said, lifting a hand. “I need to report to someone. She might actually kill me if I don’t.”

  The man she’d helped rescue laughed, the sound light despite everything they’d gone through.

  “Go ahead. Another student capable of killing you? The academy is… really quite something.” He grinned, shaking his head. The others waved, cheering weakly as she urged the horse forward again.

  She returned the gesture, then rode east, letting the familiarity of the path guide her.

  Hours later, the landscape shifted. Stone fences, tilled earth, and the bittersweet smell of cooking charcoal greeted her. The large, sturdy building came into view—the orphanage. Her home before she had a class, before she had marble energy, before she had anything to call her own.

  But something felt… off.

  The yard was empty.

  No children playing tag.

  No laundry swaying on lines.

  Not even Aldo’s usual scolding voice echoing across the walls.

  Kana frowned, scanning the watchtower. Empty.

  That wasn’t right.

  She dismounted and knocked sharply on the wooden gate.

  A scuffle sounded above her—the scrape of boots climbing the ladder. Seconds later, a familiar head peeked over the watchtower rail.

  Kana’s chest loosened. She couldn’t help the smile that rose to her lips. She lifted her hand and waved.

  The gate creaked open. Aldo appeared, half a loaf of bread in one hand and crumbs scattered across his chin like he’d been in a battle with his breakfast.

  “Kana?” he said, blinking. “I thought you weren’t visiting until next week.”

  “It’s cold out here,” he added, stepping aside. “Come in.”

  Kana exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders as she stepped through the gate. The orphanage smell—wood, soup, ink, and something sweet she couldn’t quite place—wrapped around her like an old blanket.

  “It’s a long story…” she muttered. “I need to let Suri know first that I’m safe.”

  At the mention of the girl’s name, Aldo paused—just a second, but Kana caught it.

  He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking older.

  “I thought she was with you,” he said slowly. Then he motioned toward the doorway. “Let’s hear your story inside.”

  …..

  As Kana pushed open the door of the orphanage, warmth spilled over her like a tide—heat from the cooking hearth, laughter, the faint smell of stew thick with root vegetables, probably it was Suri’s mother cooking for lunch. The wooden hinges groaned softly, and every child in the hall froze mid-bite.

  A heartbeat of silence.

  Then—

  “KANA!”

  Chairs scraped. Spoons clattered. Small feet thundered across the floorboards as a flood of children crashed into her. Kana barely had time to brace before two leaped onto her, one wrapping arms around her neck, the other clinging to her waist.

  She lifted the closest child with practiced ease, spinning him once. The others immediately erupted with protests.

  “Me!”

  “No, me next!”

  “That’s unfair!”

  Kana laughed—an honest, bubbling sound she hadn’t felt in weeks.

  To be fair, she simply let herself fall backward onto the floor.

  A wave of giggles swallowed her as a dozen tiny hands clambered over her coat, tugged at her sleeves, pressed their cheeks against hers. Someone accidentally kneeled on her stomach, another on her thigh, but she didn’t mind.

  For the first time since the northern fortress and empire incident, her chest loosened.

  She had done something good. These children—children who once flinched from adults, who didn’t know what it meant to laugh without fear—were smiling now. Loudly. Freely.

  Shar stood near the doorway, broom in hand, eyes squinting suspiciously as if expecting a second group to appear behind Kana.

  “Where are the others?” Shar asked, tone sharp but laced with concern.

  “It’s a long story,” Kana said, gently removing a child biting her sleeve for attention. “But I need to let them know I’m here first.”

  She looked around, senses sharpening.

  She focused on her [High Awareness] —threads of mana clinging to walls, ceiling beams, windowsills. Residual traces of illusions. Suri’s illusions.

  Kana’s eyes lit with an idea.

  “How about a little game?” she announced loudly.

  Excited murmurs erupted immediately.

  “Game?”

  “What kind?”

  “Is it like last time? The hide-and-seek one?”

  Kana lifted a finger dramatically. “There’s something hiding inside this house. Something like a shadow—on the floors, on the ceilings, maybe even under your beds.” Gasps rose. She lowered her voice mysteriously. “Once it moves… tell me. Verify it first. Whoever finds it gets a wish from me. As long as it’s something within my capability.”

  She was about to explain the rules further—

  But the children were already sprinting away.

  Scattering through hallways, diving under tables, flinging open cupboard doors. Shouts echoed:

  “I saw one! No—just a sock!”

  “Check the kitchen!”

  Kana stood and brushed off flour, bread crumbs, and… was that jam? She smiled anyway.

  Let them search.

  In the chaos of play, she hoped one thing:

  She must quickly come in contact with Suri’s illusion.