The restaurant is packed, every table filled with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Zara pushes through the crowd with Saint draped over her shoulder,
"Excuse me…" she mutters, weaving past bodies, bumping into a few by accident. Heads turn and stare at them both,
They reach the hallway outside the bathrooms when a waiter quickly intercepts them.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't be here like this. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." His tone is polite, but firm.
"What?" Zara freezes, her eyes dart around the restaurant. She feels the weight of dozens of curious gazes.
'Oh god… but what am I gonna do with Saint?' Her mind races. She then exhales sharply. 'No choice.' Straightening her shoulders, she lifts her chin, Saint still heavy against her.
"Do you know who I am?" Her voice cuts sharper now. "Don't make me call my father, Vino Wolf."
The murmur in the room shifts instantly. The manager hurries herself over, bowing her head.
"We're sorry for the trouble. You can of course stay. Mr. Vino is most respected around here. Please, use the staff bathroom."
'Vino Wolf? Better remember that name,' Saint thinks, staying silent,
Zara blinks, caught off guard by how quickly the situation changes. "Could you get me a first aid kit?" she asks.
"No problem, ma'am. We'll bring it right in."
Zara nods and guides Saint into the staff bathroom. She raises him onto the edge of the sink and starts unbuttoning his shirt nervously while blushing,
"Thank you," Saint says softly, still acting injured.
Zara offers a small, polite smile, rolling her sleeves up. Just then, a staff member slips in with a first aid kit.
"Um… actually, I'm not very good at this," she admits, avoiding eye contact.
The staff member glances between her and Saint.
"I will handle it, no worries. You can relax and find a table. Your friend will join you shortly."
"Okay… see you later then, Saint." Zara lingers for a second, then leaves the bathroom.
The staff member kneels, carefully opening the kit. His eyes narrow as he examines the bruises. They're far too weak to cause an injury and need actual treatment.
Saint sighs, tired of keeping up the act. He rises to his feet mid-treatment, pulling his shirt back on, buttoning it with deliberate calm.
"Don't mention this to anyone. I will know if you do." His voice is low, commanding.
The staffer stiffens, eyes wide. His breath catches as Saint's bruises heal themselves before his eyes, the wounds vanishing unnaturally fast.
"Y-yes…" he stammers, clutching the kit to his chest.
Saint opens the door without a backward glance. His eyes immediately find Zara seated at a table, waiting. In a moment, his face shifts into an innocent smile. He walks over and sits himself in front of her.
"Wow, guess he must've been a talented nurse or something, you look brand new!" she laughs, relief in her voice.
Saint chuckles lightly, brushing it off. "Yeah, he was… Did you order anything?"
"Oh, yeah, for us both… I hope you don't mind."
Closing his eyes, Saint offers her that same gentle smile,
"I don't mind…"
Her eyes brighten, "Good! Yeah, the wine is really good here." She speaks with excitement, her earlier nerves fading.
"Yeah?" Saint leans in, indulging in the conversation.
Their food arrives not long after,
"Two medium-rare Miyazaki wagyu ribeyes for the couple," the waitress says, placing the plates before them.
Zara blushes faintly. Saint doesn't correct her,
"Thank you," he replies smoothly,
Zara tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his gaze, they begin to eat.
"So… I've been meaning to ask, are you famous or something?" Saint asks in between bites, studying her reaction.
"Famous?" Zara's eyes widen. "Um… I wouldn't call myself that… It's more my family that's famous."
"Oh yeah? What do you do?" Saint asks casually,
"Um… I have a mana ability…" she says softly.
Saint raises his brows, acting surprised. "Really? What is it?"
"It's called Prophetic Fortunes… I give them out to people based on their mindset."
He nods thoughtfully, already knowing the truth but acting clueless.
"My father used this ability of mine to rise to the top… sometimes I feel like he's only keeping me around for that reason…" Her voice lowers.
Saint reaches across the table, his hand resting gently over hers. "That must be really hard. Do you want to talk more about it?"
Her blush deepens. "Uh… s-sure, um… I don't know, I just think he prefers my siblings over me… they don't have abilities like me, they are really powerful. They always trained together, doing physical activities. I was always… kind of left out growing up…"
She pauses, realizing she's said too much. Her hands shoot up to wave awkwardly. "I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you, we've barely just met."
"It's no issue, really. I can understand why you feel that way," Saint replies softly.
Zara looks up, eyes on his face. "Thank you… I haven't told anyone that, so thank you…"
A waiter walks up and clears their finished plates, moving quietly around their table.
"No worries," Saint says, his voice steady. "I feel for you. That's an interesting power indeed."
'I do feel bad for Zara,' Saint thinks, 'She seems like a good person, not like Shinsei told me. It's good to be careful, but she doesn't deserve to be in the crossfire. I'll get what I came for, then leave her alone.'
"Um… do you want me to use it on you?" Zara asks shyly.
"On me? Are you sure?" Saint studies her carefully. "I'd like to, but not if it strains you or anything."
"No, it's not an issue for me. You've done so much for me today already… I want to. It can help you for whatever you're working on in the future."
Saint gives her a warm smile. "Okay then, how do you do it?"
Zara clasps her hands together, pulling out a small notebook. "How many verses do you want?"
"Verses? Uh… 3… or, no. 4, is that okay?"
She nods eagerly, ripping four sheets from the notebook. She lays them on the table in front of him.
"Put your hand on the papers, then think of what you want to achieve at this moment in time."
Saint complies, he thinks about avenging Prince and taking down the corrupt religion he mentioned to him.
Zara places her hand over his. Blue mana slowly flows across their skin.
"Wow… that tickles," Saint says with a charming grin,
"Sorry…" Zara giggles.
Letters start forming beneath their joined hands, 'Amazing…' Saint thinks, eyes wide in awe.
"All done," Zara says warmly, pulling her hand away. "Make sure you don't show me, it's bad luck." She tucks the notebook back into her purse.
"Oh, okay…" Saint replies, lifting the first note.
"I forgot to mention that they are in metaphors, so maybe one will be harder to decipher than others."
"I see… can I read them now or do I have to wait?"
"Go for it," she encourages, hands clasped with a smile.
Saint reads the first verse in his mind,
'The compass shall lose its needle in four corners of the world.
Three broken clocks will resume their ticking at your approach.
They will descend with you where no stars shine.
Even betrayal will forget their names.'
Saint inspects the first verse thoroughly, Zara looks at him with bright eyes,
"Wow, this is amazing, Zara…"
Saint moves to the second note,
'Justice will fall like rain, but its waters will drown your joy.
You must tread the soil where no spell has ever taken root.
The mirror will show no light behind you, only the weight of skill.
And when dawn returns, it shall kneel before your new name.'
Saint takes a deep breath, slightly shaking, he moves on to the third note.
'Elenin sleeps beneath the dust of forgotten prayers.
There, the broken seers will call you by your unspoken title.
They will awaken what still sleeps beneath your skin.
But only if you burn the book penned by false gods.'
Saint closes his eyes, silent for a moment. "Can I save these?"
"Yes, of course. But what about the fourth one?"
"I'm gonna save it for the future." He smiles faintly, slipping the notes into his pocket.
"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom." Rising from his seat, he heads for the back.
Inside the bathroom, Saint grips the sink, staring at his reflection. The air grows heavy. The ground trembles beneath his feet. His strength slightly cracks the porcelain as his grip tightens.
The mirror cracks. His fractured reflection stares back, distorted and broken. The fluorescent lights flicker above him, shadows twisting across the walls.
'Why was I born?'
A single tear slips down his cheek. He stays quiet for a moment then straightens up, composing himself, he fixes his shirt before stepping out again to return to Zara.
…