As Marin stood at the reception desk, still trying to process the fact that the academy had no cafeteria, he noticed Caleb suddenly stiffen. His hand, which had been casually pointing toward the street outside, dropped instantly to his side like he'd just touched fire.
Marin followed Caleb's wide-eyed stare.
A shadowy figure was approaching.
As the figure stepped into the light, Marin recognized him — tall, calm, and purposeful — it was Orien.
"Oh, it's you," Orien said, raising a brow as he stopped in front of them. "I was actually about to ask reception which room you were in. Lucky I found you here, kid."
He placed a heavy hand on Marin's shoulder.
"Perfect timing. We can head out now. Time to celebrate your official induction into the academy."
Marin smiled, but his eyes drifted to Caleb.
The receptionist looked like he was sweating bullets.
His back was stiff, his breathing shallow. He didn't even greet Orien — just stood there, as if afraid to move or speak.
Marin tilted his head, confused.
Why does everyone act so weird around Orien?
He wasn't like the supremacists or the elitists. He was kind, respectful… decent.
Wasn't he?
Orien gave Marin's shoulder a light squeeze and gently began steering him away from the desk.
Caleb gave Marin a helpless look — like he was seeing off a man about to walk into something he didn't understand.
Marin tried to hold the stare a second longer, but Orien started talking again, and he turned back to him.
"So," Orien said cheerfully, "since we're celebrating, where do you want to go? Somewhere fancy? Quiet? Full of noise?"
Marin blinked. "Me?"
Orien grinned. "Well, it's your day, isn't it?"
"Honestly…" Marin scratched his head. "I don't know anyone here. I don't even know where I am. Actually—what's the name of this city?"
Orien looked amused. "Auron City. The capital of everything and nothing. You'll find a bit of the whole world here. No matter what you're looking for—beauty, filth, comfort, corruption—you'll find it."
"That's… oddly poetic."
Orien laughed. "Yeah, well, this place brings out the philosopher in people. So where do you wanna go?"
Marin looked sheepish. "Uhh… you choose. Just keep in mind, my wallet is running on hopes and dreams. I am yet receive my salary as it's only 4 days since I joined."
He chuckled nervously, but Orien raised a brow.
"You haven't checked your messages, have you?"
Marin pulled out his phone and scrolled.
Sure enough, there it was: "Salary Credited." Orien said "We get paid in advance."
He blinked. Then blinked again.
"Wait… is this missing a zero? Or two?"
Orien laughed. "Kid, you're new. You think we get paid like celebrities? Even Nathan doesn't earn the kind of money you're thinking of."
"But… doesn't Nathan own a private jet or something?"
"Nope. Only one private plane here — belongs to the Author himself. And he only lets people fly it if he personally allows it."
Marin's eyes narrowed. "So those bastards… that's why they rushed the contract. Didn't even let me read it properly."
He frowned. "But how did they send the money? I never even gave them my account details."
Orien's face was unreadable for a moment.
Then he smirked.
"Kid… the Author is omnipotent. He knows what's in your pants. He knows how long you take in the bathroom. Some say he can peek into showers if he wants to. The reddit's full of theories."
Marin gulped. "Okay, that's creepy…"
He wanted to say and he still pays us this little? — but decided not to.
Soon, they were out of the academy and on a bus headed toward the outskirts of Auron City. The clean streets gave way to tighter alleys, aging buildings, and winding lanes that whispered of survival more than success.
Eventually, Orien led Marin to a small diner tucked between broken walls and flickering street lamps.
But the moment they stepped inside, Marin froze.
The place didn't look like a diner. It looked like the VIP section of a five-star hotel — polished wood, soft lights, velvet booths.
The man at the entrance straightened immediately.
"Good evening, sir," he said, addressing Orien with a respectful bow. "We've been waiting for you."
Marin blinked. Waiting for him?
"Show us to the cabin," Orien said with a nod.
The man guided them through a narrow passage and into a private cabin — plush leather seats, golden cutlery, candles that flickered but never dripped.
Marin sat down, looking visibly uneasy.
His brain was already doing the math.
The food. The service. The setting. The kind of celebration that could bankrupt a small family.
Orien noticed.
"Relax, kid," he said, leaning back comfortably. "You're not paying. Just pick what you want to eat."
Marin released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He thought Orien would be treating him.
A waiter approached.
"Sir," he asked, looking at Orien. "Shall I bring your usual?"
Orien shook his head. "Let the kid choose tonight."
Marin looked through the menu — and though every item sounded like something royalty would eat, he picked something familiar. Something simple.
Dinner was warm, filling, and surprisingly comfortable.
As they finished eating, a man approached Orien and whispered something. Orien shook his head.
"Not now. Wait a minute."
Then he turned to Marin.
"Go on, kid. Step out for a bit. I'll settle things here."
Marin nodded and left the cabin.
The night air outside was cooler. He wandered a bit. The glow of the diner faded behind him, and soon he found himself on the edge of the nearby slums.
Children played barefoot on cracked pavement. Clothes hung like tired flags across wires. Life here was quieter, harder.
He stood still, absorbing the contrast.
Then—
"Thief! Stop that girl! Someone stop her!"
Marin's eyes shot toward the sound.
A girl was running, maybe ten years old. Her dress was torn, her hair wild. She clutched a loaf of bread in both hands and sprinted barefoot, eyes wide in terror.
Before Marin could react, a blur moved past him.
Orien.
With practiced ease, he caught the girl by the back of her tattered shirt and lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing.
She kicked, flailed — but never let go of the bread.
Then, in one desperate gulp, she shoved the entire thing into her mouth and chewed furiously, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, eyes glimmering with panic and tears.
A man came running up, breathless and angry.
"That's her!" he shouted. "These street rats — no respect! We work hard to our asses to earn that bread and they just steal it from us."
Orien turned to the man and nodded.
"She stole from you. What punishment do you think she deserves?"
The man pointed at the girl. "Breaking her arms will teach her to not steal from people who work hard."
Marin took a step forward.Thinking wait… he's not serious. He's not actually—
But before he could speak, Orien looked at the girl, whose mouth was still full, her eyes overflowing with silent tears.
Then Orien reached for her hand.
Marin watched in frozen horror as he took her tiny wrist in his large palm.
He's just going to scare her, Marin told himself. Just teach her a lesson.
But then—
CRACK.
A sharp, sickening sound filled the air.
The girl gasped silently — not from her throat, but from her eyes. Her pupils shrank. Her body tensed.
Before Marin could even scream, Orien took her second hand.
"Stop—!" Marin shouted, lunging forward.
But—
CRACK.
It was done.
The bread still sat inside her swollen cheeks.
She didn't cry. She couldn't.
The pain was so much, her voice had abandoned her. But her eyes were filled with tears which started flowing out one after another .