The market was alive with noise — vendors shouting prices, steel ringing from forges, and the smell of roasted food drifting in the air. The Circle walked together through the crowd, but it was Kaito who led the way with quiet certainty.
They expected him to stop at weapon stalls, or armor racks, or jewelers. Instead, he paused at a corner stand where bundles of tightly rolled cloth were displayed. His hand brushed over a coil of deep blue wraps, the fabric rough but durable.
"These," he said.
The shopkeeper blinked. "Just the wraps? Not much protection in that, boy."
"Doesn't need to be," Kaito replied. He picked up several bundles and tossed a heavy pouch onto the counter. The coins spilled out with a sharp jingle, enough to make the vendor's eyes go wide.
Aria's brow furrowed. "That's more gold than these scraps of cloth should ever cost."
But Kaito was already moving on. At another stall, he ordered practice dummies—heavy, reinforced, the kind used to test weapons and endurance. More gold changed hands, enough to buy a month's supply of arms. The vendors looked at him like he was royalty.
When the Circle regrouped outside the marketplace, arms full of bundles and crates, Mira finally snapped. "Kaito, seriously—where does someone like you get all this money?"
Kaito adjusted the wraps slung over his shoulder. His expression stayed unreadable. "Don't worry about it."
"That's not an answer," Ryo pressed. "You buy all this like coin grows on trees. What's your secret?"
Kaito's grip tightened around the spear strapped to his back. "My secret is that I don't waste time explaining myself."
The tension lingered, but he walked on, leaving the others to trade uneasy looks.
—
That evening, the training yard echoed with the sound of fists, spear strikes, and the dull thud of practice dummies taking hit after hit. Kaito had stripped down to the bare wraps and shorts, the deep blue fabric binding tightly across his torso, and wrists. Each movement sent sweat rolling down his skin, the wraps darkening as they clung to him.
He moved with precision, his spear cutting arcs through the air, smashing dummies into splinters. The wraps gave him freedom — no armor to weigh him down, no distractions.
The Circle trained nearby, but more and more they found themselves watching him instead.
Aria leaned against the wall, eyes narrowed in thought. The way he fought—disciplined, relentless—spoke of years of mastery. And the way he had paid for it all so casually.