Chapter 59 - Chapter 411 – 420

Chapter 411 – The Clean Drain Mystery

In the aftermath of the house vanishing, the world's attention did not waver.

Governments, the Magic Association, even ordinary reporters — everyone was trying to piece together who Alex Elwood really was.

And so, they began to dig.

Day and night, investigators pored over public records.

Every school photo.

Every passport stamp.

Every blurry CCTV camera that had ever caught him in frame.

They found… nothing unusual.

From childhood to high school, from high school to early adulthood, he lived like an ordinary person.

Quiet. Alone.

Never the center of attention.

Except now the whole world knew that the "quiet boy" had fought gods and made a house vanish.

The strangest clue came from something so mundane it would have been dismissed — if the world wasn't desperate.

A month-old security camera feed from a shopping mall.

There he was, walking casually through a bright, crowded atrium, wearing plain clothes and carrying a bag of groceries.

He walked into a public restroom.

Three minutes later, he walked out, looking exactly the same.

At first, no one noticed. But the investigators who visited the mall found something odd.

The staff whispered to them in secret:

"Ever since that day, the bathroom smells like flowers."

At first, they thought it was just cleaning. But when they opened the drain covers, there was no grime, no buildup. Every pipe connected to that room was spotless — not just clean, pure, like polished glass.

No chemicals, no residue.

Just… purity.

The rumor exploded across forums:

"Did that guy… purify the drains?""No way. That's impossible.""My cousin works there. He says the smell of roses comes from the pipes every time it rains now."

It was absurd. It was ridiculous.

And yet, no one could explain it.

By the end of the day, a dozen conspiracy channels were already calling it a miracle:

"Alex Elwood: The Man Whose Urine Purifies Metal and Stone""Proof That He's Not Human – The Bathroom Incident""Could a Mortal's Body Produce Holy Water?"

Clips of him walking into the bathroom began trending globally. People slowed them down, zoomed in, trying to see if anything changed about him when he came back out.

There was nothing.

No glow.

No aura.

Just a calm, unremarkable walk.

Once the rumor about the clean drain spread, curiosity turned into something stranger. Crowds began to gather at every place Alex had been seen before. The shopping mall was the first. By noon the next day, the quiet food court and atriums had become crowded with people moving in groups, searching with a focus usually reserved for treasure hunters.

Some carried cameras. Others, tweezers and plastic bags. They weren't looking for souvenirs. They were hunting for something far more unusual.

"If a man who can punch a god leaves a hair behind," one man said breathlessly to a reporter, "that hair is worth more than diamonds."

Near the escalators, three teenagers knelt on the floor, peering between the tiles. In the café, two women carefully inspected every chair for a loose strand. Even the bathroom had been barricaded with signs saying Closed for Cleaning, but it didn't stop them. A group of young men were on their hands and knees, searching every corner for anything that might have been left behind — a hair, a thread, a fingerprint.

Within hours, this strange scavenger hunt spread online. People began visiting bookstores, bus stops, convenience stores, and quiet side streets in Kyoto where Alex had once been spotted on blurry security footage. Wherever he had walked, the ground was combed over as if a legendary treasure had been buried there.

Someone on social media wrote, If a single strand of his hair can withstand what he withstands, it must be indestructible. Imagine the weapons, the research, the magic that could be made from it.

It didn't take long for the whispers of a black market to appear. "I'll pay $100,000 for a verified strand of his hair." "A thread from his clothes could be worth a fortune." "Even dust from his shoes — priceless." The Association began cracking down on these auctions, but there were too many people and too many fake 'Alex artifacts' already being sold.

Hanabi was lying on the floor, scrolling through her phone, laughing so hard that her tail thrashed against the tatami.

"They're digging through trash cans looking for your hair!" she shouted, barely able to breathe from laughter.

Alex, who had been quietly brewing tea, didn't even look up.

"They won't find anything."

Morgan closed her book with a quiet snap.

"You've been using magic to erase traces, haven't you?"

"I don't leave things behind," Alex said simply.

Ciel, sipping her tea, tilted her head. "Even so, they'll keep searching. It's no longer about logic. It's about obsession."

Hanabi grinned, "At this rate, you're going to start a religion just by existing."

Alex sighed. "That's exactly what I don't want."

That evening, a video went viral of a man claiming to have found "a hair of the godslayer." He held up a strand of black hair in a sealed tube as though it were a holy relic. Within minutes, experts from the Association declared it a fake. But the damage was done. By the next morning, dozens more videos appeared, each claiming the same thing.

What had started as strange curiosity had now become something else entirely — a race to find even the smallest piece of Alex's existence, as if proof of his presence carried some kind of supernatural blessing. And the more they searched, the more the legend of the man who defeated gods began to grow, twisting into something larger than he ever intended.

Chapter 412 – The Hair That Shouldn't Have Been Found

The world had grown used to strange livestreams since the veil broke, but this one was different.

A popular streamer had been broadcasting from the shopping mall where the "clean drain" story had started. He was chatting casually with his viewers, joking that he would be the one to find something left behind by the man who made gods kneel. His camera followed him as he crouched near a bench, brushing his fingers across the tiles.

And then, without warning, he froze.

There was a single strand of hair.

Black. Glossy. Perfect.

It looked as if it had been painted by light itself, faintly shimmering even under the fluorescent lamps.

For a moment he just stared, wide-eyed, the camera zooming in as thousands of people in the chat began to type all at once.

"Is that really his hair?"

"Don't touch it, idiot!"

"Pick it up! Pick it up!"

His hands shook as he reached down and pinched it between his fingers, holding it up to the camera. It didn't look like any hair they had seen before. Every single strand of light bent against it, making it seem alive.

He stared at it. The chat exploded.

And then, in a blur of scrolling text, one comment caught his eye:

"Eat it. If it's from the guy who beat Apollo, you'll gain powers."

He laughed nervously at first. "You guys are insane," he said, but he kept staring at the hair.

The chat egged him on, messages flying faster than he could read.

"Do it!"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't be a coward!"

Curiosity was stronger than common sense. He looked at the camera, grinned shakily, and said, "Alright… let's see what happens."

He placed the strand of hair on his tongue and swallowed.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then the camera jolted as he grabbed the table, his eyes going wide. His breath caught in his throat, his entire body locking up as if a storm had just passed through him.

The chat erupted with question marks and panicked emojis.

He gasped. "I… I feel something," he whispered. His voice shook. "I don't know how to explain it. It's like… like the air is clearer. My body feels light. I can hear—no, I can feel things."

He stood up, trembling. The camera shook as he tried to stay upright.

"I was just a normal guy," he said, staring at his hands as if they weren't his. "But now… I feel… strong."

That single clip spread across the internet like wildfire. Within an hour, millions had seen it. Comment sections overflowed.

"Did he really just get powers from eating one hair?"

"There's no way. It has to be fake."

"Replay at 2:31, look at his eyes! Did they just flash?!"

People slowed the footage, frame by frame. Some swore they saw his veins glow faintly. Others swore they could see the floor bend slightly when he stood.

Theories spread like fire. If a single hair could do that, what else could happen?

A faint light had bloomed around him like a veil, so soft and quick that many thought it was just the camera adjusting. It flickered once, wrapping around his shoulders like a thin layer of dawn, and then vanished, leaving no trace behind.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was still holding his phone. His hand was steady now, almost unnaturally steady. He took a slow breath, then brought the camera up to his face again.

"I… I'm still here," he said quietly. "I don't know what that was. Did you all see that light?"

The chat window was a wall of text. People shouting, begging for him to explain, telling him to do something, anything.

"I feel like I'm buzzing inside," he said, tapping his chest with his free hand. "Like I drank a hundred cups of coffee, but I'm not shaking. It's different."

He turned the camera to show the mall around him. People were staring, whispering, holding up their own phones. He could feel their eyes on him now, the stranger who had just swallowed a single strand of hair.

"I need to test this," he said.

The chat exploded with suggestions—run, jump, punch a wall, anything to prove that it wasn't just in his head. He ignored most of them, walking slowly through the hall, breathing deeply. His steps felt different. The floor under his feet felt lighter somehow.

Halfway down the wide corridor, his eyes stopped on a store he had never noticed before. The polished sign read Safe & Steel—a shop selling heavy safes and metal security boxes. The kind of place where everything inside was designed to be unmovable.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, still holding the camera. The staff looked up in confusion.

"Excuse me," he said, and even his own voice sounded strange to him now, clearer, more solid. "I just… I need to test something. Could I try lifting one of these safes?"

The clerk blinked. "Uh… they're very heavy, sir."

"I know," he said, and he smiled awkwardly. "That's why I want to try."

The other staff members whispered among themselves. Maybe they had already heard about the hair. Maybe they had already seen the chat scrolling on his phone. After a moment of hesitation, one of them nodded and gestured to a model in the corner.

"That one," the clerk said. "It's bolted to the platform. If you can move it even an inch, I'll be impressed."

He walked over, still broadcasting live. Thousands of viewers watched the camera tilt as he set his phone down on a nearby shelf so they could see everything.

He crouched, placed both hands under the base of the safe, and pulled.

At first, there was no sound except for the tightening of his breath. Then there was a low groan of metal. The safe shifted. The platform rattled. Dust shook loose from the bolts that were supposed to keep it in place.

The staff stared in shock as he straightened his back, the massive safe rising with him as though it weighed almost nothing.

The chat exploded in disbelief.

"WHAT?!"

"He's holding it like a cardboard box!!!"

"That safe is at least 500 kilos!"

The clerk stepped back, hands over his mouth, as the man held the safe high, his arms steady. He didn't look like a weightlifter. He looked like an ordinary man, someone who shouldn't be able to even budge it.

He lowered it gently back down. His breathing was heavy, but not ragged. He looked at his hands again, his expression a mix of fear and wonder.

"…This isn't normal," he whispered into the phone as he picked it up again. "I think… I think I'm not normal anymore."

And thousands of people watching, from every corner of the world, realized they had just seen the first proof that a single piece of Alex's existence could change an ordinary human forever.

Chapter 413 – The Hunt for Power

The safe-lifting video spread across the world before the day ended.

Every platform, every screen, every news channel replayed the moment: a normal man holding up something that should have been impossible, his arms steady, his eyes wide with the kind of disbelief that mirrored the crowd watching.

What began as a rumor about a strand of hair had now turned into proof.

Proof that a fragment of the man who had fought gods could change someone.

By the following morning, the world had changed.

People began to search.

They searched the shopping mall first. By dawn, the wide tiled corridors were filled with people crawling over the floor, opening every trash can, combing every corner with flashlights. They took apart benches, scraped dust from the edges of escalators, even searched the drains, hoping for something — anything — that might have been left behind.

They searched the streets of Kyoto next, following maps that tracked everywhere he had been seen on CCTV. Side alleys that had been silent for years became crowded, blocked by hundreds of people with bags, tweezers, and masks, trying to collect strands of hair or anything that could be tied to him.

By the afternoon, it spread beyond Kyoto. Old shops he had visited, convenience stores, and even a riverside park that he had once passed through were swarmed by scavengers, some livestreaming their search with shaky hands.

Most found nothing.

But that didn't stop them.

The sight of the streamer lifting that safe played over and over in their minds, tempting them.

What if it was real?

What if they were the one who found the next piece?

Every place Alex had walked in the past now became a hunting ground.

Rumors spread even faster than truth. One person claimed to have found a shoeprint. Another said they had found a single eyelash stuck to a doorframe. Within minutes, black markets appeared again, auctioning "Alex relics" for millions.

The Magic Association and the Vatican tried to intervene, warning that this kind of behavior would bring disaster, but their warnings were drowned out by the hunger in people's voices.

And all the while, every pair of eyes turned back to the same livestream that had started it — to the man who had swallowed a strand of hair, and the power that had awakened inside him.

The world was beginning to believe that if they found even the smallest piece of Alex Elwood, they could change their destiny.

In the corridor of the mall, the air was thick with tension. People knelt everywhere, combing the floor with their hands, their eyes wide and feverish. Every corner was crowded with those who wanted to try their luck, hoping that they would be the next one to find something.

Among them was a woman in her late twenties. She had come alone, carrying nothing but a small bag. She didn't even speak to anyone, just moved quietly along the wall, looking down at the shiny tiles, sweeping her gaze over every inch.

For an hour she found nothing. Only dust, shoe marks, and disappointment. Around her, others whispered and muttered, some leaving, others arriving with the same restless hope.

And then, as she crouched near a pillar, something caught her eye.

A thin, black strand, faintly shining under the bright lights.

Her hand froze. For a second she couldn't breathe. She reached out with trembling fingers and picked it up. Even in her hand it felt different, smooth and alive. Her lips parted in disbelief.

"I… I found it," she whispered.

The words weren't loud, but the people around her heard them. Heads snapped toward her, eyes wide.

"What?!"

"Did you say you found it?"

"Let us see!"

Dozens of hands reached toward her. She clutched it to her chest, shaking her head.

"Let us just look!" someone shouted, already stepping closer.

The pressure of their voices made her heart pound. She felt if she hesitated even a second, someone would snatch it away.

So, before anyone could grab her, she raised her hand and swallowed it.

Gasps erupted all around. "She ate it!" "She actually ate it!"

In that instant, the world tilted.

A faint glow rose around her, wrapping her body in a thin, pale light. It lasted only a moment, but everyone saw it. Phones came up to record. The light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the corridor silent and full of stares.

She blinked, breathing hard, her hands trembling. And then she clenched her fist.

Something had changed. She felt it in every muscle.

A man nearby pointed to a vending machine against the wall. "Try it! Try to move it!"

She hesitated for a second, then stepped forward, put both hands on the heavy machine, and pulled. It scraped loudly against the tiles, moving easily as if it were a cardboard box. The crowd gasped.

She pushed it back into place with one hand. Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling fast.

"I… I feel strong," she whispered.

Phones captured everything. The witnesses couldn't stop talking.

"She really did it—just like that guy!"

"It's real!"

"If a single strand can do this, then everyone's going to try!"

And as the news spread across the hall and into the world, the fever to search for more only grew more desperate.

The moment she moved the vending machine like it was nothing, the corridor erupted.

People who had been staring in stunned silence suddenly lunged forward, desperate, crawling over the floor with their hands, as if more of those strands might be lying there, invisible until now.

"She found one here! There must be more!"

"Check the corners!"

"Lift the benches!"

The noise swelled into shouting. Bags spilled. Phones were dropped. Grown adults fought over scraps of dust that might have been hair. Someone yanked up a floor mat, while another pulled at a trash bin, tipping it over, scattering paper and plastic across the tiles.

The woman who had eaten the strand backed away, clutching herself, staring at her hands as though they no longer belonged to her. She could hear their voices but none of it felt real; every sound was sharper now, every step lighter, like her whole body had changed.

A man near her screamed, "Where's the next one?!" and grabbed a strand of his own hair, staring at it desperately before swallowing it. Nothing happened. Others began to do the same in a frenzy, plucking their own hair, their friends' hair, swallowing, coughing, waiting for a miracle that didn't come.

The panic fed itself. In the span of minutes, the mall's polished corridor looked like a battlefield of overturned benches and scattered trash.

Then the alarms went off.

Sharp, metallic tones echoed overhead. A voice called for security over the speakers. Red lights flashed at the ends of the hall, signaling that the lockdown gates were being activated.

It wasn't just mall security. Through the nearest glass doors came figures in long coats — Association operatives, their clothes marked with faint glowing sigils that identified them to those who knew. Behind them, uniformed guards from the city moved in formation.

"Step back!" an amplified voice barked through a spell-enhanced speaker. "Step away from the floor!"

The panicked crowd didn't listen. A few people tried to run. Others clutched at the tiles as if another strand might appear under their nails.

A single wave of magic swept across the corridor — invisible, but everyone felt it. The shouting stopped. Every hair on every neck stood on end as the spell rolled over them like thunder.

"On your feet!" the lead operative commanded.

Reluctantly, they obeyed. Association agents began to move in, pushing people back, raising shimmering barriers between the crowd and the corridor. The floor was quickly marked off with wards so sensitive they reacted even to footprints.

The woman who had found the strand was surrounded almost instantly. She was trembling, wide-eyed, as one of the agents stepped forward.

"You're coming with us," he said.

"No! I didn't do anything wrong!" she said, backing away, but there was nowhere left to go.

"You need to be examined. And protected," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "If you've absorbed something… we have to make sure you survive it."

Her eyes flicked to her hands again. The raw strength in them terrified her, but before she could answer, she was escorted away, the crowd screaming her name as if she had just become a legend.

The gates began to close behind her, cutting off the corridor.

And outside, cameras waiting at the doors broadcasted a single truth:

The moment people realized that the power of Alex could be taken, the world had lost control.

The humming glow of the circle dimmed as the test finished. The senior examiner took a step back and folded his arms, watching her expression.

"Well," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, "now that we know there are no dangerous side effects, you have a choice to make."

She looked up, still hugging her arms. "Choice?"

"Yes," another examiner explained. "Since the supernatural world is no longer hidden, it's pointless for us to pretend you can go back to your life as if nothing happened. What happened to you will not go away."

The senior nodded. "We can either help you train as a mage here, in the Association, or you can return to your ordinary life. It's your decision."

She blinked, still trying to wrap her head around it. "So you're… you're not going to lock me up? Or dissect me?"

"We're not that kind of organization," the examiner replied, sighing. "We only needed to be sure there were no contagious effects or dangerous mutations. There aren't. Physically, you're perfectly healthy. Stronger than before, in fact."

Her shoulders eased a little. She hesitated, then asked timidly, "So… what's the pay like?"

The examiners looked at each other.

"The pay?"

"Well… if you want me to work here, I need to know," she said, her voice serious. "Do mages get a good salary?"

One of them coughed, trying not to laugh. "It depends on rank, but beginners are usually paid—"

She cut him off. "I'll do it!"

They blinked. "…Just like that?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes! I was working in a small office for minimum wage. If I can throw magic and get a better salary, then count me in."

One of the younger magi rubbed his forehead, muttering, "She just awakened, and she's already thinking about pay."

The senior examiner let out a small laugh. "Well, at least she's honest. We'll register you as a probationary mage. You'll start training tomorrow."

She grinned, looking at her hands again. "Does this mean I get a uniform?"

Another examiner sighed. "Yes, but don't get ahead of yourself."

She pumped her fist, the new strength in her arm making the gesture look almost dangerous. "Best day of my life!"

The examiners exchanged glances again, some shaking their heads, others smiling faintly.

Somewhere outside the door, the sounds of the still-panicked mall echoed faintly, but here in the circle, the mood had shifted entirely.

What had begun with chaos was now ending with a very ordinary question.

Chapter 414 – The One Who Dared to Sneak In

The footage was never meant to be released.

It was a simple examination record, taken by the Association to confirm that the woman who had eaten a single strand of hair had no side effects.

But within hours, clips began to leak.

The world saw her strength, the way her muscles flexed without effort, the way mana — pure, invisible — now flowed in her body where before there had been nothing. They saw her test results glowing in the air like a fantasy novel.

Every news feed, every social platform, every chat window flooded with a single question:

"Could this happen to anyone?"

And suddenly, the hunt became even more frenzied. It was no longer just curious fans.

Now everyone — commoners, mercenaries, failed mages, outcasts — all of them had one desire: to find a single trace of Alex Elwood.

By nightfall, cities that he had once visited turned into scavenger grounds.

Far away, under a sky where the stars looked pale and tired, an old school building lay silent.

Alex's old high school.

The gates were closed. The windows were dark.

But one shadow moved through the yard, careful, silent, her breath fogging in the cold.

Her name was Miyako.

Once, long ago, she had sat two rows behind him. She remembered his back, his quiet posture, the way he never seemed to notice when girls whispered about him. She had been younger then, just another classmate. Now she was a university student, yet tonight, she had come back here because of a single thought that wouldn't leave her:

If even one hair can change a person… maybe I'll be the one to find it.

The building smelled of dust and floor polish, the same as always. Her flashlight cut thin lines through the dark corridor as she walked, passing empty classrooms with cracked blackboards and forgotten desks.

Her shoes barely made a sound.

She knew exactly where to look. She had followed all the leaked footage of his old life — this hallway, this seat, this locker. Somewhere, there might still be something of him.

And then, under the pale light of the moon streaming through a window, she saw it.

A single, black strand, caught in the corner of a wooden desk.

It was faintly luminous, as if it were holding the moonlight itself.

Her hands began to shake. Slowly, she reached out and pinched it between her fingers.

"…I found it," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her heart hammered. Every story she'd heard, every clip she'd seen about the mall, the safe, the glowing light — all of it came back to her in that instant.

Alone in the dark hallway, she stared at the shining hair in her hand, unsure if she should be terrified or thrilled.

Her breath came fast, clouding in the moonlight. She stared at the hair in her trembling fingers.

There was no time to think.

What if someone else came?

What if someone else grabbed it?

Without hesitation, she placed the strand on her tongue and swallowed.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The old wooden desks around her stood silent. The only sound was the wind pressing against the classroom windows.

Then, light.

It bloomed from her skin like a thin layer of moonlight, coating her in a faint, pale glow. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to make her gasp. She could feel it spreading inside her body — something warm and sharp, rushing through her veins as if her blood had woken up.

Her heart thundered, not from fear but from a strange strength that felt like it had been waiting to be released.

She clenched her fists and almost laughed aloud when she felt how solid her own arms were, how light her own body felt. "This is… real," she whispered.

Voices echoed down the hall. She froze, pressing herself against the wall and peering around the doorframe.

Other students.

Some of them carrying flashlights.

Just like her, they were searching the old school building, crawling on the floor, opening lockers, hoping for the same miracle.

Her chest tightened.

So it's true, she thought. They were right that night… everyone's looking for him now.

She looked down at her hands. The faint glow was gone, but the strength inside her was not. It felt as if she could crush the desk beside her with one hand. Her breath steadied.

She stepped silently out of the classroom, hiding in the shadow of the hallway. She could hear them talking.

"Check the science lab, he used to sit in there."

"Did anyone find anything?"

"No… nothing yet."

None of them had seen her. None of them knew that she had just found what they were looking for.

Miyako pressed the tips of her fingers together, feeling that strange, invisible current now running through her body. For the first time in her life, she wasn't just a background classmate, invisible and ordinary.

For the first time, she felt like she had stepped into something extraordinary.

Miyako stayed perfectly still until the sound of their footsteps faded into another corridor.

Then, as quietly as she could, she moved. Her steps were lighter than they had ever been, each one almost springing off the floor without effort.

She didn't stop to look back. The strand of hair had already dissolved inside her, leaving only a strange, new vitality in its place. She knew staying any longer meant being caught.

The front gate of the school was locked and sealed with a heavy chain, but she didn't even slow down when she saw it. Instead, she veered toward the old concrete wall that surrounded the school grounds, its surface streaked with years of rain.

In the past, even standing close to it had made her feel small. Six meters was impossible to climb without equipment.

Now, standing at the base of it, she crouched down. Her body moved before she even realized it.

She jumped.

The ground vanished beneath her feet. The air rushed past her ears as if she'd been pulled upward by invisible strings. Her hands brushed the top of the wall in less than a second. Her body cleared it easily, landing on the other side with a light thud that barely disturbed the gravel.

She straightened, blinking at her own hands.

"…I really just did that," she whispered.

For a moment she stood there, staring up at the wall she had just leapt over. It had always seemed so high, so unreachable, but now it was nothing.

Behind her, the school was still silent. She glanced over her shoulder once, then pulled the hood of her jacket up and walked away into the night, her steps quiet, her heart steady.

By the time the students inside realized that someone else had been there, she was long gone.

Chapter 415 – The Potion of a Godslayer's Hair

In the heart of the old district, far from the crowds fighting over scraps of legend, stood a mansion that never opened its gates to the public. Behind its thick stone walls lived the Shizugami family — an ancient line of alchemists whose craft was whispered about even in the deepest circles of the supernatural community.

While the rest of the world was scrambling like scavengers, the Shizugami moved with quiet, methodical precision. They did not kneel in shopping malls or dig through trash; they hired others to do that for them.

And after days of searching, their hunters brought back a single prize.

A single, perfect strand of shining black hair.

It was placed on a velvet tray and carried into the alchemy hall as though it were a relic. The family patriarch, an older man with silver hair tied neatly behind his back, looked down at it with eyes that trembled not with greed, but with awe.

"This," he murmured, "is worth more than every rare herb in our vault."

The hall was silent as they began.

Under the dim glow of spirit lamps, runes lit up one after another. Glass tubes and cauldrons of pure silver hissed and bubbled. The hair was suspended in a crystal vial, where the patriarch added liquid one drop at a time — dew from a sacred mountain, powdered dragon bone, the distilled essence of mana stones.

Normally, a potion of this level would take weeks.

Tonight, it took hours.

Because the hair itself was reacting, its essence purifying and binding every ingredient it touched, as though guiding the process.

At last, the liquid settled into a luminous gold, faintly streaked with black threads that curled like ink in water.

The patriarch held the potion up to the light. It was beautiful and terrible all at once.

Without hesitation, he drank it.

The effect was immediate.

His body arched backward, his hand clenching around the empty vial as heat flooded his blood. For a moment, his vision turned white. The entire hall trembled, glass chiming as if caught in a sudden wind.

And then… silence.

He opened his eyes. His breathing steadied. He raised one hand and flexed his fingers. Power surged through him like a second heartbeat.

Mana — thick and pure — coursed through his veins. His circuits, already refined from decades of study, felt as though they had been reforged entirely. Every breath came easy. Even his aging bones felt renewed.

"…This…" His voice was hoarse, trembling. "This is beyond any Philosopher's Elixir. Beyond anything alchemy has ever created."

One of the younger alchemists stepped forward, eyes wide. "Family Head, your aura—!"

Golden light flared briefly around him before fading.

He clenched his fists again. Even at the peak of his craft, he had never felt this strong.

All of it, from a single hair.

"This is more precious," he said softly, "than any legendary material. If a single potion from a single hair can do this… we must find more."

In the hall behind him, his family members bowed their heads, the same thought burning in all of them.

From that night on, the Shizugami alchemists abandoned every other priority.

Their only goal became the same as everyone else's:

To find even the smallest trace of Alex Elwood.

The effects of the potion spread quickly through the mansion.

Even before dawn, the air around the Shizugami patriarch pulsed with a mana so rich and dense that everyone who stood in the same room could feel their own breath slow, as though the world itself had become heavier in his presence.

By the time the morning sun rose, he no longer bothered to hide it.

In the central courtyard of the mansion, he walked to the ancient stone training circle where the family often displayed their art. A crowd of invited guests had gathered — emissaries from old supernatural families, other alchemists, and a handful of mercenary guild leaders who had come out of curiosity after hearing that something extraordinary had happened overnight.

The Shizugami patriarch stood before them and spoke, his voice steady.

"You have all heard the rumors," he said. "You all know what the world has been chasing these past weeks."

Murmurs ran through the crowd like a ripple.

He held out his hand. A faint aura shimmered around his skin, and without chanting, without even drawing a circle, the entire courtyard filled with pressure. The ground beneath their feet cracked. Stone tiles groaned.

Some of the weaker guests dropped to their knees, unable to breathe.

"This power," he continued, "came from a single strand of hair."

The courtyard fell silent.

He raised both hands now, closing them into fists. The shockwave that followed was like thunder, shattering the practice targets and snapping the branches of the old cherry tree at the edge of the courtyard. When he opened his fists again, the air was clean, calm, as if nothing had happened.

"This is not an exaggeration. My strength and mana have surpassed what fifty years of alchemy and training could achieve. And I tell you this—" he turned, eyes like steel, "—it was not through a god's blessing, nor an ancient relic, nor any secret formula."

Every ear strained to hear his next words.

"It came from Alex Elwood."

The courtyard erupted. People shouted, others whispered in disbelief, some ran out to send messages before the meeting was even over.

"This is true power!" one of the mercenaries cried.

"If a single hair can do this, what about ten?" another said, eyes wild.

"Where did you find it?!"

The patriarch raised a hand, silencing them.

"I will not tell you where," he said. "But now you understand. Even a fragment of him… is enough to rewrite the limits of a human. What happens if someone gathers more?"

The crowd no longer whispered. They were already thinking. Plotting.

From that day onward, the supernatural community's hunger became an inferno.

No longer were they looking for a man. They were hunting for fragments of him, every trace, every place he had ever been.

The patriarch turned his back to them, letting their panic spread. Behind him, the cherry tree's petals scattered in the wind, torn apart by the same force that had just demonstrated how the balance of power had changed.

And somewhere far away, the legend of Alex Elwood grew another layer deeper.

Chapter 416 – The Auction of a Single Hair

Weeks passed.

The search, once chaotic, began to slow as desperation turned into frustration.

Every alley, every corridor, every school and park that Alex had ever walked through had been combed clean.

There was nothing left.

People began to realize that the easy finds were over. If another strand existed, someone had already picked it up long before.

That was when the whispers began.

At first, they were only rumors — murmurs in the back rooms of supernatural taverns, quiet messages exchanged between the wealthy and the desperate. But the message was always the same:

One last strand has surfaced. And it will be sold at auction.

The location was secret, but the effect of the rumor was immediate.

In the supernatural community, every influential family made preparations.

The great clans of mages, vampire lords, dragonkin merchants, and even the great temples began moving gold and treasures, ready to buy it at any cost.

And in the normal world, the wealthiest humans — those who had watched the rise of these powers with growing fear — also prepared to bid.

For the first time, the two worlds would meet at the same auction.

The item was simple:

A single strand of black hair.

Perfect. Shining. Encased in a crystal vial so clear it looked like air.

It was rumored to come from the very same man whose hair had turned an ordinary man into a powerhouse and awakened mana in an ordinary woman. A strand that could do the impossible:

Awaken mana where there was none.Restore strength and vitality, returning the body to youth.Refine a mage's circuits beyond their natural limits.

And for those skilled enough in alchemy, the possibilities multiplied. A single potion refined from such a relic could rival an artifact of the gods.

The auction house stood silent, high on a mountain and sealed with every barrier known.

Seats filled with those who would never normally be seen together — nobles from the mundane world dressed in silk and suits, and hidden legends of the supernatural cloaked in runes and masks.

Every eye was fixed on the stage as the auctioneer lifted the crystal vial.

The hair within seemed almost to hum in the light, as if it were alive.

"The final lot," the auctioneer said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall.

"A single relic of Alex Elwood. The only one remaining in the world."

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then the room erupted.

The moment the auctioneer's words faded, the hall came alive.

"Five million!"

"Ten million!"

"Twenty!"

The numbers climbed so fast the assistants couldn't write them down quickly enough. The first bids came from the ordinary rich, but they were quickly drowned out by voices that carried the weight of centuries.

A dragon-blooded merchant raised his hand lazily. "Fifty million."

An elegant woman in a crimson dress, her pupils like a snake's, smiled thinly. "One hundred million."

Gasps echoed. These were not numbers meant for ordinary human ears. These were numbers that could buy nations.

The normal wealthy paled. They had known the supernatural were rich, but this was a scale beyond imagination.

And still, the bids did not stop.

On the upper balcony, a vampire lord leaned forward, his silver ring flashing in the light. "Two hundred."

From the other side, a masked mage from Europe raised a gloved hand. "Two hundred and fifty."

Whispers spread like wildfire. The vampire clan and the mage towers were old rivals, and neither could afford to back down in front of the other.

"Three hundred!" the vampire lord snapped.

"Four," the mage said, smooth as glass.

Below, the dragon merchant chuckled. "Five hundred."

The crowd stirred. Even the mage paused. Five hundred million in a single bid.

And yet, another voice cut through, clear and cold.

"Six hundred," said the crimson-dressed woman. She didn't even glance at the dragon, her attention fixed only on the vial on the stage.

The auctioneer's hammer hovered. The price had already gone beyond anything the normal world could comprehend. Ordinary billionaires sat frozen, unable to move, understanding now that this was no longer their game.

What followed was no longer just bidding. It was war. Every increase was a declaration.

The mage stood, his cloak billowing with mana. "Seven hundred million."

The vampire lord slammed his hand on the railing. "One billion."

The room fell silent for a heartbeat. Even for the supernatural world, this was a dangerous number.

But before the hammer could fall, the crimson woman's smile widened. "One point five."

Whispers turned into shouting. The dragon merchant laughed aloud, folding his arms. "Do you even have that much?"

She tilted her head. "Would you like me to prove it?"

"Two," he said, raising two fingers.

Her smile didn't fade. "Two point five."

At this point, alliances were breaking. Representatives of smaller clans whispered frantically, pooling resources, trying to join forces. Entire fortunes were being gambled on a single relic, because everyone in that hall knew what that hair could do.

For a moment, no one dared to raise again.

And then, from the back of the room, a quiet voice spoke.

"Five billion."

The room froze.

No one had seen the bidder enter. The voice was calm, confident, and utterly certain. All eyes turned toward the shadowed seat in the farthest corner, where a single figure sat, masked, their aura perfectly hidden.

The auctioneer swallowed hard. "Five… billion… offered. Are there any other bids?"

Silence.

No one else could match it. No one dared.

The hammer fell with a heavy, echoing strike.

Gasps rippled through the hall as the masked figure in the back slowly lowered their hood.

It wasn't a vampire lord.

It wasn't a dragon merchant.

It wasn't an ancient mage.

It was a woman in an elegant black suit, her posture calm, her eyes sharp.

"Sharon…?" someone whispered.

The name spread like wildfire across the hall. Everyone had heard of her in the ordinary world: Sharon M. Leighton, one of the richest women alive. A billionaire who owned sprawling technology companies, finance networks, and shipping empires.

She stood, letting them see her clearly, and smiled.

"I may be an outsider to your world," she said, her voice carrying with perfect confidence, "but I have wealth. And I have ambition."

The supernatural families stared, stunned that someone from the "normal" world had dared to sit at the same table as them and win.

"When I learned," Sharon continued, "that the stories were real, that magic and gods were not just fairy tales… I realized I had been living half a life. Why should only you have strength? Why should only you touch power?"

Her gaze turned to the crystal vial as the auction assistants carried it toward her.

"I want magic," she said softly, almost to herself. "I want to stand on equal ground."

The hammer had already fallen, but the room was far from calm. The vampire lord's lips curled in disdain. The dragon merchant leaned back with a thoughtful grin. The crimson-dressed woman narrowed her eyes.

None of them had expected a human, a mere billionaire, to steal the prize right out from under them.

But none dared challenge a five-billion bid in the open hall. To attack here would bring the wrath of the Auction House itself.

The vial was placed into Sharon's gloved hands. She held it like it was a newborn star, her eyes fixed on the strand of hair suspended inside.

"I've built empires from nothing," she whispered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Now I'll build myself into something more."

She turned, ignoring the burning gazes that followed her, and walked out of the hall with a measured, unhurried pace.

Behind her, the entire supernatural community buzzed like a hornet's nest.

A human — a mere human — had just walked out with a relic that even gods would covet.

And no one doubted for a second what she planned to do with it.

The auction ended, but the real storm began after Sharon left.

Her private jet flew her directly to a hidden estate in Switzerland, where she had already prepared a team of alchemists—some of the most expensive and skilled experts money could buy. Mages, potion masters, and supernatural craftsmen from across Europe were already waiting when she arrived, the vial held in both hands like the most precious treasure in the world.

Security around the estate was beyond anything anyone had ever seen.

Magic barriers shimmered in the air.

Armed guards patrolled every corridor.

Even the supernatural guests whispered among themselves that no vault in the world was this tight.

In the center of a silver-walled laboratory, the hair was placed into a cauldron inlaid with runes, surrounded by flasks of rare herbs and crystals.

The lead alchemist adjusted his spectacles nervously. "Madam Sharon… I have seen the result of this once before. I must remind you—the effect is extraordinary. And dangerous."

"That's why I hired you," she replied simply, her voice steady. "Make it."

The refinement began.

The hair dissolved slowly in the concoction, threads of black and faint golden light coiling into the liquid as if alive. A thick, brilliant glow rose from the cauldron as the energy inside compressed, merging with every rare ingredient.

It took nine hours.

When the final drop of condensation fell from the distillation tube into the waiting glass, the room fell silent.

The elixir shone like liquid crystal, faint streams of gold and black swirling within.

The alchemist held it carefully, bowing his head. "It is done."

Sharon took the glass in her hands. Every eye was on her.

She did not hesitate.

She drank.

The effect was immediate.

The liquid seared like lightning down her throat, spreading out into her chest, her arms, her legs. The glass fell from her hand and shattered on the floor as her body arched backward. The air around her trembled, sending ripples through the entire room.

Light burst from her skin, forming a thin aura. The entire laboratory buzzed with energy so thick that the protective runes flared to full brightness just to contain it.

When she opened her eyes, they were brighter. Sharper. Alive.

"I can feel it," she whispered. Her voice shook, not from weakness but from something new, something vast.

The lead alchemist stared, his lips parting in disbelief. "This… this is greater than what I have witnessed before."

"What do you mean?" one of the assistants asked.

He adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. "I personally watched the patriarch of the Shizugami family take such a potion. It transformed him. But her result… this is beyond his."

"How?" Sharon asked, steadying her breath as she clenched her fist, feeling strength coil under her skin like a living thing.

The alchemist exhaled slowly. "Perhaps it is compatibility. Maybe this power responds more strongly to certain people. It is not just the potion. It is who drinks it."

Around the room, the air grew heavier as she stood, flexing her fingers, her shadow stretching out behind her like something that no longer belonged to an ordinary human.

She smiled faintly. "Then it seems," she said, her voice calm but carrying an edge, "that I was born to claim it."

Sharon flexed her fingers again, studying the way the faint glow of mana rippled along her skin.

The room was utterly silent, everyone watching, holding their breath.

"I need to test this," she said softly.

The lead alchemist nodded hesitantly. "Please, but… be careful."

She raised her hand and focused on the glass shards at her feet.

The moment she willed it, the shards rose into the air, spinning like leaves caught in a sudden wind. No incantations, no sigils. Just a thought, and mana obeyed her.

The alchemists froze.

"That's impossible for someone who just awakened," whispered one of the assistants. "She hasn't even learned the basic forms yet!"

Sharon's lips curved slightly. "It feels natural."

She closed her fist, and the glass shards compressed into a perfect sphere that hovered above her palm.

Then she exhaled and let it drop. The ball hit the floor and burst back into harmless dust.

The lead alchemist swallowed hard. "Incredible. But try something else. Try moving."

She nodded.

Her body blurred.

One moment she was standing beside the cauldron. The next, she was standing behind him, silent, her hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, spinning around. "You—how did you—?!"

"I just… thought about being there," she said, surprised at how easy it felt.

The others in the room stared, their mouths open.

The lead alchemist's face went pale as realization dawned on him.

"This is… this is a rare compatibility. One I've only read about in ancient manuscripts."

"What do you mean?" Sharon asked.

"Affinity with space itself," he said, still staring at her. "Normally, to use teleportation magic, a mage must spend decades refining their mana and formulas. Even the most talented take years. But those who possess this compatibility… they learn it faster, they spend far less energy, and the range of what they can do is far beyond others."

He paused, his voice lowering. "It is one of the rarest gifts. Even among gods."

The room fell utterly silent at those words.

Sharon looked down at her hands. She could feel it now — the way the space around her bent slightly whenever she moved, like invisible threads she could pull with just a thought.

"I can go anywhere?" she murmured.

"Not yet," the alchemist corrected. "You will need to learn control. But once you do… yes. With your affinity, the barriers that bind most people will not hold you."

She smiled faintly, a cold, steady expression that made the assistants shiver.

"Then," she said, "I will learn. And the world will never be closed to me again."

Chapter 417 – The Wind-Borne Strand

News traveled fast.

By the end of the week, the supernatural community could no longer deny it.

Sharon had awakened.

Not just awakened — she had become something extraordinary.

Her display during private testing was supposed to be secret, but nothing in the supernatural world stayed secret for long. Whispered accounts spilled from the mouths of alchemists and assistants, carried across continents like wildfire:

"She has an affinity with space."

For those who understood what that meant, it was enough to send shivers down their spine. Teleportation, spatial folding, dimensional storage — powers that most mages could only dream of after decades of grueling training — might soon belong to a human billionaire who had never touched magic until a week ago.

By the time the rumors reached the clans and the old families, the effect was immediate: greed, fear, and desperation.

If a single strand of hair could turn Sharon, an ordinary person, into something like that, then what could another strand do?

Every family, every faction, began to look again, renewing the searches they had abandoned.

And then another rumor surfaced.

This time, the story came from a forest in the northern mountains.

A hiker, walking a lonely trail, had been resting by a stream when he saw something strange drifting in the air.

At first, he thought it was a trick of light — a strand of silk caught in the breeze.

But when it landed on his sleeve, it shimmered faintly, and something deep inside him told him it was special.

He took it home. Days later, when the world exploded with stories about Alex's hair and the powers it gave, he understood what he had found.

He sold it to a magician for 10 million dollars.

And the magician?

He was not a fool.

Rather than consume it himself, he announced that it would be placed in the next auction, under the strictest security in history. He wanted not just gold, but favors and debts from the most powerful beings alive.

The supernatural community erupted once again.

In less than a day, messages flew between the most ancient clans, the richest corporations, and the most ambitious magicians. The next auction, they said, would not just be an event.

It would be a war.

The news of the next auction shook the supernatural world.

And while the wealthy and powerful schemed, far away in a small mountain town, a single hiker sat in a tiny house with the widest grin of his life.

He still couldn't believe it.

"One hair," he muttered for the tenth time that day, holding the freshly printed check in his trembling hands. "Just… one shiny little hair."

It hadn't even been an exciting moment. He had been taking a break by a stream, half-asleep, when the breeze dropped it on his sleeve. He had almost brushed it off.

Now, that little decision not to flick away a piece of "dust" had made him ten million dollars richer.

He leaned back in his creaky chair and started laughing to himself. "I'm set. I'm done. I don't need a job ever again! All because some guy with black hair decided to go hiking."

His phone buzzed. Another message from one of his friends:

"Bro, do you realize you just sold a piece of history?!"

He sent back a photo of himself lying on the floor surrounded by piles of instant noodles and snacks he had panic-bought after getting the money.

"I don't even know who he is," he said out loud, "but I love him."

Meanwhile, in the same town, people were going wild.

They followed the exact trail where he had been hiking, combing through the grass, turning over rocks, even shaking trees as if more hairs would fall out.

At one point, he passed by in his new sports car — paid for with cash — and slowed down just enough to roll down his window.

"You guys looking for hair?" he asked cheerfully.

A dozen heads snapped toward him.

"You find any more?!"

He grinned. "Nope. I only needed one."

Then he rolled the window up and drove away, laughing so hard he had to pull over a kilometer later just to breathe.

In the city, that one transaction had already become legendary:

A single hair.

Ten million dollars.

And now an auction that might change everything.

The hiker, for his part, had no interest in the auction or in supernatural politics.

As far as he was concerned, he had already won the lottery. Twice.

Chapter 418 – The Calm Before the Bidding Storm

While the hiker was enjoying his new life, eating instant noodles in his brand‑new sports car, the rest of the world was preparing for war.

The upcoming auction had already been nicknamed The Auction of the Wind-Borne Strand.

If the first event was a storm, this one promised to be a typhoon.

In one of the highest towers of Dubai, a vampire lord sat at a table with six advisors, all of them surrounded by piles of gold‑edged contracts.

"We will secure three billion in liquid assets," he said coldly, signing papers with a flourish.

"If the mages raise the bid, double it. If the dragons interfere, crush them."

One of his advisors hesitated. "And the billionaires of the normal world? They will surely come."

The vampire lord bared his fangs. "They can come. Let them. Last time they got lucky. This time, we will be ready."

Far across the ocean, in the private vault of a dragon merchant, chests of gold and gemstones were being emptied and replaced with something far more valuable: promissory notes.

"This time," the merchant said, tapping a claw against the table, "I will not lose to a woman in a suit."

His assistants nodded frantically. The memory of Sharon's confident smile still haunted them.

In a floating fortress above the Atlantic, the mage towers prepared their own move.

Seven robed archmages stood around a crystal map of the auction hall.

"We cannot allow another outsider to gain such an advantage," one of them hissed.

"The last hair gave Sharon a spatial affinity. If a second hair ends up in the wrong hands, the balance will collapse."

They all nodded in grim agreement.

"Bring everything," said their leader. "Gold, favors, artifacts, scrolls. Whatever it takes."

And somewhere in an ordinary corporate skyscraper, Sharon herself stood at her window, looking out over the city lights. Her assistant read out the latest report:

"All major factions will attend. Security has been increased tenfold. There will be more barriers, more spellcasters, and stricter rules."

Sharon smiled faintly. "Good."

"Are we… going to bid again?"

"Of course," she said softly. "And this time, I will not just buy it. I will own that auction."

The contrast was stark.

In one small mountain town, a clueless hiker was counting snack packets, celebrating a future of quiet comfort.

Everywhere else, powers that had ruled the supernatural world for centuries were sharpening their claws, preparing to tear each other apart over a single strand of hair.

The night of the second auction arrived.

Unlike the previous event, this one was held in an underground hall so heavily warded that even gods would have struggled to peer inside. Layers of glowing sigils pulsed across the walls, sealing every sound, every trace of aura.

At the center of the stage stood a pedestal, and on it, encased in a crystal tube that looked like it was made from frozen moonlight, floated the prize:

a single strand of black hair.

It seemed to hum faintly, swaying as if moved by an invisible breeze.

Guests began to arrive.

Dragons cloaked in human form, their gold-threaded suits almost vibrating with mana.

Vampire lords, elegant and sharp-eyed, escorted by entourages of pale beauty.

Magicians from every continent, their cloaks heavy with wards and their eyes lit with hunger.

And, walking in at her own pace, Sharon.

The moment she entered, the hall went silent for a heartbeat.

Even those who had lived for centuries glanced at her warily now, remembering what a single strand had done to her.

She didn't acknowledge them. She just walked to her seat, every step confident, as if she already owned the room.

The auctioneer stepped onto the stage, his voice amplified by enchantment.

"Ladies and gentlemen… the second strand. This time, we start at one hundred million."

There was no hesitation.

"One hundred fifty!"

"Two hundred!"

"Five hundred!"

In the first ten seconds, the bid skyrocketed. Everyone had learned from the first auction: hesitation was death.

"Eight hundred million!" shouted one of the mages, slamming his cane on the floor.

"A billion," purred a vampire lady, crossing her legs and smiling faintly at him.

"Two," said a dragon merchant, not even blinking.

"Three," Sharon said simply, not looking at anyone.

The hall erupted.

Every bid was like a strike of lightning. Gold, treasures, entire fortunes changed hands with a word. And yet, none of them looked at the crystal vial. They all looked at each other.

This wasn't just money now. It was pride.

"Four billion," said the head of the Shizugami family, standing for the first time.

Whispers swept the room. He had already tasted the hair's power, but now he wanted more.

The auctioneer's hand hovered over the gavel as the tension grew thick.

Then Sharon raised her hand again, her voice calm and cutting through the chaos:

"Six billion."

The room went silent.

Even the Shizugami patriarch's eyes narrowed.

The vampires scowled. The mages stiffened. The dragons muttered under their breath.

And just like that, the war began again.

The bidding had reached a fever pitch. Voices clashed, glares met in the hall like swords. The auctioneer was raising his gavel, ready to call for six billion—

And then the air rippled.

It was subtle, just for a second — a shimmer like heat haze.

Someone had appeared on the stage.

Before anyone could react, the intruder moved, a hooded figure fast as a phantom, reaching for the crystal case. The wards flared violently, but the hand still brushed the glass. There was a flash of light—

And he was gone.

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Then the hall exploded.

"He teleported!"

"Find him!"

"Trace that signature!"

The auction's security mages rushed forward, casting spell after spell, trying to pinpoint the location. Their faces went pale. Tracking teleportation was not easy, especially when done in panic.

But in the middle of the chaos, Sharon sat perfectly still.

She didn't need their spells.

From the moment the ripple of space appeared, she had felt it — like a thread tugging at her mind, as clear as if someone had drawn her a map.

Her compatibility with space wasn't just talent; it was a sense.

She knew exactly where he went.

While the hall shouted and roared, Sharon stood up quietly and walked out.

She reappeared in an instant, the scenery changing from the glowing auction hall to a dark, rocky valley far away.

The intruder was there, on his knees, gasping, his hood fallen back. He was young, barely in his twenties, but his face was gray with exhaustion. Teleporting into a fortified auction hall and out again had cost him everything.

His hands clutched the vial. He turned his head, startled, as Sharon appeared.

"You—how did you—"

"You burned everything you had just to escape," Sharon said calmly. "You didn't even notice where you landed."

He staggered back, trying to summon a spell, but the light in his hands flickered weakly. His mana was gone.

Sharon extended her hand.

A small stone beside her flickered, vanished, and reappeared inside his chest.

The man's eyes went wide. He gasped, choking, clutching his chest. "No—!"

"I told you," she said quietly, stepping forward, "I was born for this."

His body crumpled. The vial rolled from his fingers, hitting the dirt softly.

Sharon crouched, picking up the crystal tube.

She opened it and held the strand between two fingers, watching it glimmer in the moonlight.

She closed her hand, and the hair vanished into a storage space only she could reach.

Then she teleported back.

The hall was still chaos when she reappeared in her seat, as if she had never left.

By the time the security mages finally locked onto the valley where the intruder had gone, all they found was a body.

And Sharon?

She simply sat with one leg crossed over the other, calm as ever, as if the hair had never left the auction at all.

By the time the security mages finally managed to fix a trace, the hall had already sunk into chaos.

The auctioneer was pale, gripping the podium like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

The crystal case on the stage was empty. The prize everyone had fought for was gone.

The bidders were shouting over each other:

"Who was he?!"

"How did someone slip past the wards?"

"Find him! Track him! I'll pay double!"

Dozens of security mages swarmed the stage, casting detection spells again and again, sweat dripping down their faces. The readings were confusing — the intruder had burned through so much mana that the residual traces of his teleportation were like tangled knots in the air.

A senior mage from one of the towers stepped forward, grim. "He's dead. He collapsed not long after the jump. We found him in a canyon."

"Then where is the hair?!" shouted the vampire lord, slamming a hand on his chair so hard that the armrest cracked.

The mage hesitated. "We… don't know."

That single phrase sent the hall into an uproar.

The dragons roared, the vampires cursed, the magicians whispered furiously among themselves. Everyone had been outbid, outmaneuvered — and now, after all that, the item was gone.

The auctioneer's voice broke as he tried to calm them. "Ladies and gentlemen, the house guarantees—"

"Guarantees what?!" someone shouted from the balcony. "It's gone!"

Through all of this, Sharon sat quietly, her posture perfectly composed.

She crossed her legs, one hand under her chin as if she were only mildly inconvenienced. She didn't need to say a word. Every eye was elsewhere, pointed at the mages and guards, not at her.

Inside, however, her thoughts were cold and sharp.

The second strand was safe.

No one suspected a thing.

By the time the night was over, the auction had been declared a catastrophe. The guests stormed out, furious, vowing to find out who had stolen the strand.

Whispers spread almost instantly: If one thief could sneak in, then anyone could be next.

Trust evaporated like smoke.

Sharon left with the others, her expression calm, her gaze forward.

If anyone noticed that her pace was slightly quicker than before, they said nothing.

Outside, under the starry sky, the world had no idea that the real winner of the second auction had already left, walking quietly with the strand hidden in a fold of space no spell could reach.

By the time Sharon reached her private estate, the second strand was already in her possession.

She wasted no time.

Her first call was to the same alchemist who had made her previous elixir.

The moment he saw her face on the screen, he froze. "...You got it."

"I did," she said calmly. "Prepare your lab."

There were no questions. He knew better than to ask how she'd come to hold it.

Hours later, she stood once again in the silver-walled laboratory. The security was even tighter than before; every window sealed, every corridor guarded by wards, every assistant personally vetted.

Sharon pulled the strand from the invisible fold of space and laid it before him.

"You know what to do," she said.

The alchemist nodded. "As before, but… we will need to use a fresh set of rare reagents. The first potion has already altered your body once. This will push it even further."

"Then do it."

The process was almost identical to before, yet the reaction this time was stronger.

When the strand dissolved, arcs of faint gold sparks danced across the surface of the liquid, as if lightning itself was being drawn in.

After hours of distillation, the potion was ready.

The alchemist held out the glass. "Madam Sharon… be aware, the reaction may be even more intense."

Sharon took the elixir without hesitation and drank.

The room was instantly filled with light.

Her body jerked as if struck by a storm, mana flooding through her like a living river.

For a few moments, there was only light and the sound of crackling air, the walls vibrating from the surge of power.

When it subsided, she opened her eyes.

The alchemist staggered back. "Incredible…!"

Sharon lifted her hand. Lightning danced across her fingertips, forming delicate, glowing threads that crawled over her skin like living veins.

"This power…" she whispered. It was sharper, faster — like a second heartbeat that wanted to burst into motion.

The alchemist, professional as ever, quickly began to take readings. "Your mana… it has become even purer than before. Cleaner than crystal. And—yes… there it is. Another compatibility. Lightning."

He set down his instruments, looking at her with awe.

"I have seen many rare affinities. Space is almost unheard of. But to gain two…!"

"Is it unusual?" Sharon asked, staring at her hand as a thin arc of blue light snapped in her palm.

"More than unusual," the alchemist replied. "It is unheard of. The first hair awakened your space affinity, and now lightning. Madam Sharon, you are no longer merely gifted. You are becoming something beyond human."

Sharon smiled faintly. "Good. Then this is only the beginning."

Outside, a low rumble of thunder rolled across a clear night sky.

For the first time, Sharon felt the air bend when she thought of moving and the lightning hum when she thought of striking.

The world itself seemed to be waiting.

Chapter 419 – The Truth Behind the Affinities

Inside the overlapped house, far away from the chaos of the auctions, Alex sat with his harem gathered around him. Outside, the supernatural world was losing its mind over a few strands of his hair. Inside, the atmosphere was casual, almost lazy.

Hanabi sprawled across the sofa with her phone in hand, tail swaying lazily as she scrolled through the latest headlines. She suddenly burst out laughing so hard she almost dropped it.

"You guys need to see this," she said, showing the screen to everyone. "Apparently someone made a potion from your hair, Alex. And—get this—it gave a human billionaire space affinity. She's running around like she's the queen of teleportation now."

Ciel raised her head from Alex's lap, golden eyes calm but curious. "Space affinity, hm?"

Alex sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "They're really making a big deal out of one hair."

"They don't know better," Hanabi teased, leaning over the back of the sofa to grin at him. "Should I tell them the secret? That drinking your hair is nothing compared to… other things?"

Morgan closed her book with a quiet snap, her silver eyes glinting mischievously. "Alex," she said, her tone as cool as ever, "you do realize, don't you, that every one of us here already has every affinity? Fire, water, wind, earth, space, lightning, light, shadow… all of them."

Alex looked at her. "Thanks to…?"

Morgan's lips curved ever so slightly. "Thanks to your semen. You've fed us more than enough times. We didn't need a potion."

Hanabi laughed so hard she collapsed against the sofa cushions. "Exactly! People are out there paying billions, and all we had to do was—"

"—have sex with him!" Hanabi finished anyway, triumphant. "Over and over again. Drinking it directly is so much better than anything they could make."

Alex sighed again, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips as he muttered, "So that's why you've all been… so persistent."

Morgan tilted her head, expression perfectly calm. "We didn't want just a little power, Alex. We wanted all of it. Permanently."

"And now," Hanabi said, stretching her arms above her head, "we've got it. Gods? Who cares. We can stand beside you. That's all that matters."

Airi, sitting quietly with a cup of tea, nodded softly. "It's true. After so many times, our mana circuits have adapted. It's not just affinities anymore. Our bodies, our magic—everything has been reforged."

Morgan's gaze flicked to Alex. "Thanks to you, all of us can now stand on the same level as gods. And no potion will ever change that."

For a moment, there was a peaceful silence in the room, broken only by Hanabi giggling as she scrolled through another news article about how much people were willing to pay for a single hair.

"Billions," she muttered. "For just a strand. If only they knew."

Alex leaned back against the sofa, exhaling slowly. "At this rate, the world's going to lose its mind completely."

Hanabi's grin widened. "Don't worry, Alex. They can fight over your hair all they want. We already have the whole you."

Hanabi smirked, leaning forward with her chin in her hands.

"And you know," she said, "all this chaos in the outside world really started because of Vira."

Alex blinked. "Vira?"

Morgan glanced up from her book. "She was the first one who insisted on building that ridiculous shower."

Hanabi grinned, clearly enjoying herself. "Don't act like you've forgotten. The holy spring."

The memory made several of the women blush, while others tried to suppress a laugh.

Ciel, sitting with perfect composure, said quietly, "It's true. Thanks to that decision, we discovered just how potent… Alex's essence could be."

Hanabi waved a hand dramatically. "Every time we soak ourselves in it—or, ahem, drink it—we get stronger. It's like bathing in a fragrant holy spring that purifies your body and soul. The smell alone makes you feel like you're in heaven."

Airi, normally the most reserved, whispered softly, "It even feels like mana itself becomes cleaner. Denser. Almost like it forges us anew."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're all making it sound like some kind of cult."

Morgan shut her book and met his eyes calmly. "It isn't a cult. It's a fact. That… spring has reshaped our bodies, strengthened our affinities. And every time we return to it, the effect deepens."

Hanabi laughed. "And let's not forget how you built it. At Vira's request, you know."

The memory of that day was burned into all of them.

The giant bathing chamber, tiled in white crystal, large enough for a dozen people.

Alex, standing in the center, guided by Vira's absurdly serious instructions, had used his power to transform his body for them:

Two penises, and six tails, all releasing that impossibly dense platinum-white essence.

The eight women had taken positions around him, their faces flushed and determined, and the moment they started, the room had been filled with the sound of water… no, of him.

By the time they were done, the entire shower was overflowing with it, like a milky, glowing pool that radiated warmth and a faint, sweet fragrance.

The liquid steamed lightly as if alive, purifying the air.

Hanabi laughed so hard she wiped a tear from her eye. "And then we all just… jumped in! Like a giant onsen!"

Airi's ears burned red. "Hanabi, must you be so detailed?"

"Yes!" Hanabi shot back cheerfully. "It was amazing! And after that day, we started calling it our holy spring. And we've been soaking in it ever since."

Alex buried his face in his hands. "Why do I let you people talk?"

"Because," Morgan said calmly, "you can't deny the results. Thanks to that spring—and thanks to you—we stand at the level of gods."

"And that," Hanabi added with a wicked grin, "is why all those potions, all those auctions, and all that desperate fighting for a single hair is just hilarious to us."

Chapter 420 – Knock, Knock, It's Trouble

The overlapped house was calm that afternoon.

Alex was lying back on the sofa, surrounded by the usual quiet buzz of conversation from the women. For the first time in weeks, no one had mentioned auctions, hair, or supernatural chaos.

And then, there was a knock.

Three soft, deliberate taps — so out of place in their sealed dimension that everyone froze.

Hanabi's ears perked up immediately. "Who the hell…?"

Morgan's silver eyes narrowed. "Very few even know how to find this place."

Alex stood slowly. "I'll check."

When he opened the door, the world on the other side bloomed with a scent like roses and honey. Standing there, framed by the soft glow of sunset, was a woman who could have been carved by a god… because she was one.

Aphrodite.

Her long, flowing pink hair cascaded down her body like silk, golden roses and ornaments woven into the strands so delicately that each seemed to shine on its own. Her eyes, the same shade of pink, shimmered with an allure that seemed to pull the air out of the world.

She wore little more than jewelry — golden and green bracelets, an elaborate choker, and thigh-high golden accessories shaped like hearts. Her form was both divine and dangerous, confident and sensual.

And she stood there smiling as if she had been expected.

"Alex," she said sweetly, leaning against the doorframe like a queen at leisure. "You've been very hard to visit. Do you know how long I've been knocking on dimensions just to find this door?"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "You can't come in."

She pouted, tilting her head so her pink hair slid across one bare shoulder. "What a rude welcome. I only came to ask for one thing."

"Go home," Alex said flatly.

Hanabi leaned against the doorframe behind him, arms crossed and grinning. "Well, well, if it isn't the goddess of love herself. What do you want?"

Aphrodite's lips curled into a teasing smile. "Isn't it obvious? I came to see the man who has the whole world fighting over his hair. And…" — her gaze drifted deliberately toward Alex's face — "…I want a strand for myself."

The living room behind them erupted into groans and exasperation.

"You came here just for a hair?" Morgan asked, unimpressed.

"A single hair," Aphrodite corrected, with perfect composure. "I have seen mortals transform because of it. And I," she said, placing a hand elegantly against her bare chest, "intend to become even more irresistible."

Hanabi burst out laughing. "Oh, so you're jealous of a billionaire now?"

Aphrodite's gaze flicked over her shoulder, eyes glinting. "Jealous? My dear fox, I am the goddess of beauty. I simply want to experience what has caused all this chaos."

Ciel's calm voice drifted over them. "Aphrodite. This is not Olympus. You are not invited. Please leave."

Aphrodite sighed, then smiled again. "Fine. But I won't give up. You cannot imagine how tempting it is to see a mortal cause the gods themselves to panic. Sooner or later, I'll get my chance."

She leaned closer to Alex, her pink eyes locked on his, whispering softly, "And when I do… I want to test for myself whether you really taste better than a potion."

Alex closed the door.

Hanabi fell to the floor laughing. "Did you see her face? She really came here just to flirt and ask for hair!"

Morgan sat back down, calm as ever. "She will be back."

Ciel sighed, golden eyes closing. "She always comes back."

Alex rubbed his temples and muttered, "This is getting out of control."

The knocking came again.

Three sharp taps. Then three more.

Persistent.

Alex let out a long sigh, stood up again, and opened the door.

Aphrodite was still there, her expression calm but her pink eyes shining with something a little more serious now.

"You didn't even let me finish," she said softly. "I have a question."

Alex's brow furrowed. "What?"

She tilted her head, golden roses in her hair catching the light. "Tell me honestly… what do you not like about me? You don't even look at me. Why?"

The hallway behind him went silent. Hanabi, Morgan, Ciel—all of them turned slightly to see what he would say.

Alex stood there for a moment, then answered plainly.

"It's because you're not sincere."

The goddess blinked. "Not sincere?"

"Yes," Alex said, his voice flat. "You have spent centuries sleeping with countless men. Gods. Humans. Kings. Emperors. You only care about excitement, novelty. When you stop having fun, you throw them away."

Her smile faded a little.

"That's your reputation," Alex continued. "To you, love isn't something you protect. It's a game. A hobby. You've never stayed. You've never been loyal. And that's why I don't like you."

The words hit harder than she had expected.

For the first time, Aphrodite was quiet.

Behind Alex, Hanabi whispered under her breath, "Wow. Brutal."

Aphrodite lowered her gaze for a moment. When she looked back up, her eyes weren't playful anymore. They were searching.

"…I see. So that's how you see me," she said softly.

Then she smiled again, though this time it was smaller, less confident.

"Fair enough. I'll just have to show you otherwise."

She stepped back gracefully, as if the very wind carried her movements, and with one last look at Alex, she turned away.

But her voice lingered in the air as she walked off.

"Next time, Alex… I'll make sure my answer isn't with words."

Hanabi let out a low whistle as the door closed again. "You didn't hold back."

Morgan's silver eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. "You know she won't give up."

"She can do whatever she wants," Alex said calmly, heading back to the sofa. "I said what I meant."

The brilliant golden halls of Olympus opened with a shimmer of light as Aphrodite returned.

Her bare feet touched the polished marble, and the air around her still smelled faintly of roses.

Normally, she would have been smiling, floating gracefully, radiating charm in every direction.

But today, she walked in silence.

She made her way past other gods without a word. Even Hermes, who usually teased her, stepped aside when he saw her face.

Inside her private chamber, she dismissed her attendants with a wave of her delicate hand.

The vast room — full of mirrors, silks, and gold — reflected her beauty from every angle, but she didn't look at any of it.

She stood at the center, looking at her own reflection.

"Not sincere…" she whispered, touching her fingers lightly to her lips.

Memories came unbidden.

The kings who had begged for her affection.

The gods who had sworn their hearts to her.

The countless lovers, all fleeting, all discarded the moment she lost interest.

In the beginning, it had been fun. It had been easy.

But what he said — the calm certainty in his voice — had cut through everything.

"…Is that truly how I look to him?" she murmured.

For the first time in a very long time, Aphrodite felt something unfamiliar.

A tightness in her chest.

Not jealousy.

Not wounded pride.

Something else.

She pressed a hand against her heart. "Sincerity…"

A breeze swept through the room, carrying the scent of roses.

Her reflection stared back at her with soft, questioning eyes.

And for the first time in centuries, Aphrodite whispered to herself:

"What would it be like… to fall in love just once? And never leave?"

Her lips curved into a faint smile — one without seduction, without arrogance.

"If that's what it takes, Alex," she said softly, "then I'll learn. I'll show you."

And somewhere deep in Olympus, for the first time in ages, the goddess of love stood alone, truly thinking.

The soft knock at her chamber door came not long after she had settled into thought.

"Come in," Aphrodite said without looking up.

A tall god entered — one of the minor wealth deities, dressed in robes woven with gold thread.

In his hands, he carried a chest so heavy it bent his arms, its lid overflowing with radiant gems and coins that glittered like stars.

He knelt before her with a practiced smile.

"Lady Aphrodite," he said, bowing his head. "I bring you the treasures of three kingdoms. I wish only for a single night with you."

Normally, this sort of request would have been answered with a lazy, amused grin. A tilt of her head, a playful word, a moment of indulgence — and then the night would pass, as so many had before.

But today, she simply looked at him. And the smile didn't come.

"No," she said.

The word was so calm, so simple, that the god froze.

He lifted his head, startled. "My lady?"

"I said no," Aphrodite repeated, her voice quiet but firm. "Take your treasure and leave."

He hesitated, clearly confused. "Is… there something else you desire?"

"There is," she said softly, her pink eyes turning away from him toward the open balcony where Olympus glowed under the stars. "But not from you."

There was no teasing in her tone, no temptation. Only a strange stillness that the god didn't understand.

He bowed again, bewildered, and backed away, the heavy chest of treasure clutched in his arms as he left.

For the first time in his long life, a god who offered her everything had been refused.

Aphrodite stood alone again in her chamber, her hair swaying gently in the breeze.

She touched her lips, remembering Alex's calm, unwavering eyes.

"…No more games," she whispered. "Not this time."

Somewhere deep in Olympus, the goddess who had once treated love as a game had just made her first serious decision in centuries.

The change did not go unnoticed.

In the days that followed, the halls of Olympus whispered with rumors.

Gods who had always seen Aphrodite as unattainable but predictable now found themselves confused.

The offers kept coming, as they always had. Treasure. Lands. Divine artifacts. Even promises of devotion.

Normally, she would at least smile, play along, and take what she wanted.

But every time, her answer was the same.

"No."

One evening in the great hall, a circle of gods gathered, staring in shock as another wealthy god walked away empty‑handed, a priceless chest of ambrosia pearls rejected outright.

"She refused him?" one murmured.

"And last night, she refused a king," said another. "A mortal king who brought a mountain of gold."

"Impossible," Hera said coolly, her eyes narrowing. "Aphrodite never refuses."

Aphrodite walked past them then, head high, long pink hair trailing like a river of roses behind her. She looked as radiant as ever, but her aura was… different. Less playful. More focused.

Apollo stepped forward with a teasing smile. "Aphrodite, what is this I hear? You're turning people away now? Have you grown tired of all your admirers?"

Her pink eyes slid to him. There was no anger, just a strange calmness.

"No," she said softly. "I simply don't want what they offer anymore."

That silenced even Apollo.

Zeus himself, sitting on the golden throne, watched her with an unreadable expression.

"You have changed," he said.

"Perhaps," Aphrodite replied. "Perhaps I am learning what it means to choose. For once, I want to give… not just take."

As she left the hall, the gods whispered more fiercely than ever.

"Something's wrong with her."

"She's acting as though she's serious!"

"Do you think this is about that mortal? The one everyone's talking about?"

Hera's gaze sharpened. "If it is, Olympus may be facing more than we think."

In her private chamber, Aphrodite stood before the balcony again, the city of gods glowing below. She touched the golden rose in her hair and whispered to herself:

"You told me why you don't like me. I'll change that. And when we meet again, Alex, I'll show you what sincerity means."

Her voice was steady. This time, there was no doubt in it.