Tanaka stiffened the moment he saw the man's face. Even through the haze of adrenaline, through the trembling in his fingers as he held his mask in place, he recognized him.
Tristan Priam. A knight of the Dragon Kingdom. Someone Tanaka had met once—long ago, yet not long enough.
Over a year had passed since that day in the Royal Castle. The day the royal candidates were gathered…The day Tanaka was forced to face the truth that he would never see his real family again. And the day he let every ounce of bottled fury explode onto nobles, guards, and pretty much anyone near him.
Tristan had been one of the unfortunate people caught in that storm.
Tanaka hadn't forgotten the look on the man's face when the "commoner" forcibly pushed past him.
Whether he still held that resentment or not… Tanaka didn't intend to find out.
He subtly angled his head downward, fingers tightening over the sides of his fox mask, making sure it hadn't shifted.
"Is something wrong, James?" Garitch asked.
Tanaka shook his head quickly. A silent, firm no.
Tristan exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods Nora found help in time. In any case… I didn't know you were capable of fighting."
Tanaka shook his head again, sharper this time.
No, I am not.
Ever since he was rendered unable to use magic, Tanaka found the necessity to rely on his body. Although it was impossible for him to access strength that is at the level of a super-human.
For humans, such power was accessed by using something called the flow method. Though not considered magic, physical fighters are capable of using mana to boost their own physical capabilities, such as speed, toughness, and strength.
To use such technique, having an Od was necessary, which Tanaka did not possess.
But that didn't stop him from training his body through traditional means, push-ups, pull-ups, etc...
Of course such trivial meant little in this world's standards, but his body being at his optimal state dictated whether he lives or dies, and thanks to the confrontation he had with Wilhelm, he was able to access an extra edge in combat.
Controlling the flow of blood or rather Blood Bending as he named it, it was an effective trump card that consumed very little mana. Thanks to his affinity with water magic and Cepheus exercising such an ability, Tanaka was to replicate it and use it to some extent.
The cat like knight stared at Tanaka in confusion, as he didn't utter a single word, seeing that Garitch chimed in.
"Well," Garitch stepped between them with a nervous laugh, "let me clear things up. This is my bar, and this is James—my employee. He's mute, so he can't speak."
"I see," Tristan replied, bowing his head slightly. "Forgive my lack of consideration."
Tanaka nodded stiffly, shoulders tense.
"Once again," Garitch said, "I want to express my gratitude. If there is any way I can repay you—"
"There is no need," the knight cut him off without hesitation. "I was simply doing my duty. However… if possible, I would like to ask a few questions on another matter."
Garitch brightened. "Of course. If I can help in any way, I'll be—"
"I'm heading off,"
Tanaka scribbled quickly, showing the notebook just long enough for Garitch to see before tucking it away.
Tanaka shook his head.
He could almost hear the question the knight would ask next—just like every other knight who'd passed through the bar lately.
They were all searching.
Searching for the Sin Archbishop of Pride.
Searching for Stride Vollachia.
And Tanaka—Stride—James had no intention of being questioned.
"James," Garitch called gently as Tanaka headed to the door, "thank you again for protecting Nora."
Tanaka halted only long enough to give a short nod, then slipped outside, hand pressed to the side of his mask as though afraid that something might rip it off again.
*********************************************************************************************************
A small, tidy home sat at the end of a quiet street. A woman with bright orange hair and hazel eyes answered the door the moment he knocked.
"Oh—you must be James. Please, come in."
A woman with bright orange hair and warm hazel eyes stood before him. Though she smiled, her expression bore the unmistakable heaviness of lack of sleep.
"Oh—you must be James. Please, come in."
Tanaka lowered his head politely and stepped inside.
A man soon joined her. He had short brown hair, emerald eyes, and the same weary look etched deep around the edges.
"I'm Will Bright," he said gently. "And this is my wife, Laila. Thank you for agreeing to see our son."
Tanaka gave a small nod.
Will led him down a narrow hallway. Before opening the door, he knocked softly.
"Hugo… we're coming in."
The room was dim, only a single oil lamp glowing on the bedside table.
A young boy lay on a futon, utterly still.
His skin was pale—almost translucent. His lips held no color. His eyes, wide open, were red-rimmed and glassy, fixed on the ceiling as if staring at a world no one else could see.
He did not blink.
He did not react.
Tanaka approached, notebook in hand, and wrote his first question.
"For how long has he been like this?"
Laila clasped the fabric of her sleeves tightly, knuckles white.
"It started when he went out to play," she whispered. "The other children came back… but he didn't. Everyone in the village searched for him. They found him unconscious near the forest outskirts."
Will's jaw tightened.
"When he woke up, he wouldn't speak. Days passed… then weeks… and he just kept getting worse. "He swallowed. "The physicians all said the same thing—no injury, no illness, nothing wrong with his organs. "We wanted to take him to the Dragon Kingdom, to meet Felix Argyle… but the opportunity never came."
"We are afraid that something... Something is wrong with Od."
It is possible to cast magic through the Od or use it as an alternative for the mana, it's the life energy synonymous with the soul. However, doing so can be dangerous, as casting this way can easily shave off one's lifespan; while they won't die after running out of Od as it's not possible to take to use it all. However, they will no longer be themselves either which could explain the boy's condition.
Tanaka was the only exception for this case
Grief trembled in the mother's voice. Desperation lingered in the father's.
And beneath their pain, Tanaka felt a quiet sting—an echo of something he had buried long ago.
He knelt beside Hugo.
Mana gathered in his palm—soft, faintly luminous, humming like a small heartbeat.
Light passed over the boy's limbs, his chest, his throat.
Tanaka inhaled slowly.
He knew his own limitations: he was no master healer and barely an apprentice in matters of gates and curses. But he had a method—one shaped through Beatrice's guidance, Felix's treatments, and more unfortunate experience than he would ever admit.
His palm hovered above Hugo's body. Mana pushed outward, reacting to any stray presence.
The first rule of cursing was always the same: physical contact. If a shaman had touched the boy, the trace would linger.
Tanaka waited for the telltale tug of corrupted mana. Nothing.
He muttered under his breath.
"…No curses."
He shifted his hand toward the center of Hugo's chest—the location of the gate.
A subtle pull met his palm, like iron to a magnet.
The gate was still there. But that alone meant very little, every living being had that.
Tanaka focused, comparing what he sensed with the countless healthy gates he'd examined. A normal gate held an Od at its center, an orb of life force around which mana spiraled in a steady orbit—expelling excess to avoid poisoning the body.
The speed of that spiral, the density of the mana, the way it pulsed—those things varied between people and was the indicator to how strong a person is.
But the structure was always recognizable.
Tanaka closed his eyes and listened—
—to the flow
to the rhythm
Something was off.
Not violently wrong. Not corrupted.
But something is somewhat off.
The movement of mana itself was normal—steady, predictable.The waste was being expelled properly.Nothing suggested poisoning or stagnation.
But the amount of mana circulating—
Tanaka's eyes snapped open.
'Why is it this much…?'
Absorbing more than any twelve-year-old should be capable of.More than most adults.
There were individuals who held mana way more than others, such as Emilia and Roswaal.
Those two were extreme examples and of course the boy did not compare to them but it was still strange.
It felt disproportionate, almost forced.
And yet the boy didn't react.His body didn't swell.
And yet the boy didn't react.His body didn't swell.His gate didn't strain.
It was simply taking all of it.
A dangerous thought crossed Tanaka's mind.
'If I were to absorb some of that mana…'
If he did, he could replenish his strength—maybe even help relieve the child's condition.Two problems solved at once.
But the idea was too convenient, too baseless.
He pushed it out of his mind immediately.
A faint sting crept across the back of his hand. The skin had begun to darken again—evidence of the cursed blood reacting to the strain, protesting his continued use of mana.
The glow around his palm flickered out.
Tanaka quietly pulled back his hand and slipped his gloves on again.
He wrote in his notebook:
"His Od and gate are intact."
Will leaned forward, desperation breaking through the cautious hope in his eyes."Then… what's wrong with him? Is there a way to cure this?"
Tanaka hesitated before writing his response.
"I can't promise anything. But I will come back to take another look."
He needed more information—guidance that only someone more experienced could give.At this stage, guessing would be worse than useless.
*********************************************************************************************************
The night had fully settled by the time Tanaka walked back toward the inn. A soft orange glow spilled from the lanterns hanging along the street, their light pooling on the cobblestone like warm pockets of safety.
Garitch was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
"Oh—there you are. How did it go?" he asked, lifting a hand in greeting.
Tanaka flipped open his notebook and scribbled quickly:
"I haven't found the issue yet. I'll need to see him again."
Garitch let out a slow, worried breath. "I see… Well, you did what you could. Don't push yourself too hard, alright? And thanks again for helping them."
Tanaka nodded once.
They exchanged a few more words—Garitch's voice softening into a tired but sincere "Good night, James"—before parting ways in the quiet hallway.
Tanaka entered his room, shut the door behind him, and let the silence settle.
He sat on the edge of his bed, loosened the tension in his shoulders, then crossed his legs atop the mattress. His breathing steadied.His thoughts dimmed.
He closed his eyes.
And the world shifted.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Light poured in all at once—too bright, too clean.
A blue sky stretched endlessly overhead, its color soft and almost nostalgic. White clouds drifted lazily across it, casting slow-moving shadows over an expanse of green hills rolling far into the distance. The air carried no scent, no temperature—just a quiet, comforting stillness.
At the center of this peaceful landscape stood a simple arrangement: several chairs, a table, and a parasol casting a gentle shade.
It resembled a dream.Or a memory.Or the Windows XP wallpaper.
Tanaka exhaled softly as he looked around.
"…It's much more sunny than the last time I was here."
Beneath the parasol, seated with regal indifference, was a man with long white hair and a robe that looked both ancient and impossibly pristine. His posture was relaxed, one fist propping up his cheek as though he had been waiting for hours.
He opened his eyes just enough for the icy blue beneath to gleam—sharp, winter-cold, and assessing.
Cepheus spoke without lifting his head.
"Try to control your pathetic mood swings. It has been quite a while since it hasn't snowed in here."