"Uncle, we're home!"
Maya said joyfully as she entered the apartment. The lights were on, the sound of the TV buzzed through the house, but strangely… Jake didn't answer.
"Uncle?" she called again, her voice softening with confusion.
She walked toward the living room and stopped when she saw him. Jake sat on the sofa, frozen, face pale, mouth hanging half-open as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
"Uncle Jake, are you okay?" Maya asked, worried, rushing closer.
Jake didn't respond. He just lifted one trembling hand and pointed at the TV.
Maya slowly turned her head, her eyes landing on the screen. There it was—the reason for his shock. Pictures of several students filled the news report, and among them… was Isaac.
"These are the heroes who fought to save their fellow students in the attack at the academy. Thanks to their bravery, many lives were spared," the anchor's voice rang out clearly.
The camera shifted, showing Claire Draven's face.
"Among them we can see Claire Draven, daughter of Clark Draven—one of the top awakeners in our country."
Maya's eyes sparkled.
"Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake, that's my friend!" she shouted, grabbing her uncle's arm and shaking him.
The reporter continued. Next came Arnold, then Leo. Maya gasped and clapped excitedly every time one of her friends appeared. Her joy filled the room, contrasting with Jake's stunned silence.
Finally, the camera stopped on Isaac.
"And finally, Isaac Vyre. We've confirmed that thanks to his efforts, he has been sponsored by Glory Guild. These young heroes risked their lives, and for that, we owe them respect and gratitude."
The segment ended.
Maya spun toward her brother, cheeks puffed in mock anger. Isaac was sitting lazily at the dining table, chin resting on his hand, showing no interest in the broadcast.
"Brother! What is this about you being sponsored by Glory Guild?" she demanded.
"Hmm. It just happened," Isaac muttered, too tired to explain.
Maya pouted, ready to argue further—but the sharp sound of a phone ringing cut her off.
Isaac pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear.
"Who is it?" he asked flatly.
"Wow, so cold. Did you forget about me as soon as you became famous?" a playful voice answered.
Isaac sighed, his expression immediately darkening as he listened to the fake sniffles and whiny cries coming from the other end.
"I'm going to hang up. I don't need any more weirdos today," he said, annoyed.
"So cold, dear customer. And here I was, trying to congratulate you…" the voice teased.
"Just tell me what you want."
"Oho, straight to business as always. I like that," the voice chuckled. "I was just wondering if you might be interested in… helping me."
Isaac's eyes narrowed.
"What's in it for me?"
"Oh, dear customer, you know the rules. Let's talk about the details face-to-face. I promise—you won't be disappointed."
The call ended abruptly before Isaac could reply.
"Tsk… never lets me finish talking," Isaac muttered, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
He stood up, stretching his arms, looking drained.
"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
Jake and Maya exchanged glances as Isaac walked toward his room.
But when he opened his door, he froze.
A crow with a purple ribbon tied neatly around its neck sat perched on his bedpost, its glowing red eyes staring at him. Around its leg was a strip of enchanted paper.
Isaac walked closer, ripped the paper off, and before he could even curse, his body was swallowed by purple smoke.
In the next instant, he was standing in a cluttered, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of ink and dust.
The trader sat at his desk, stacking books into a wobbly pyramid as though nothing were amiss.
Isaac's glare was sharp enough to cut stone.
"What do you want?" he said coldly.
The trader lifted his head, his grin stretching unnaturally wide.
"I told you already—I need help."
Isaac sighed.
"And why me?"
Instead of answering, the trader stood and handed him a worn file.
Isaac flipped it open. Inside were pictures—one of a man, the other of a boy. The boy's photo was circled in red ink.
Isaac's gaze hardened. He tossed the file back onto the desk.
"I'm not interested in assassination."
He turned toward the door, but the trader's voice stopped him.
"It's not an assassination request. I want you to save the boy."
Isaac paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"And why should I?"
"His father is offering quite the sum of money… and a rare item."
"…And why should I care about helping him—or you?" Isaac asked, his voice filled with annoyance.
The trader shrugged, still wearing that childlike smile.
"Simple. The money goes to you, the item goes to me. And as a bonus… I'll even throw in a free artifact. Consider it my personal gift, dear customer."
Isaac narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.
"…I'm still not convinced."
The trader's smile faltered.
"You little… It's obvious you're already interested. You're just trying to milk more from me, aren't you?"
Isaac chuckled mockingly.
"Eh? No way I'd do that. Didn't you see the news? I heroically saved my classmates. Do you think someone as nice as me would ever swindle you?"
The trader pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. Fighting with Isaac was like trying to wrestle smoke.
"…What is it you want, then?"
Isaac smirked.
"I don't know yet. Let's just say you owe me. But of course—I'll still be taking the money and the artifact."
Before the trader could respond, Isaac opened the door of purple smoke and stepped through, vanishing back into his room.
The trader sat there, staring at the empty space Isaac left behind.
"…This guy's really salty. Didn't even wait for me to agree."
He sighed, glaring at the collapsed pile of books beside him.