[Somewhere else... between dream and reality, mind and matter...]
Niero awoke suddenly -
not to the dojo floor.
not to the stench of burnt lightning.
not to the sobs of his mother.
But to darkness.
Total darkness.
To the darkness that blotted out sound and thought.
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know if he was dead.
Then—
he saw a purple haze through the darkness.
The curtain was torn apart.
And reality returned.
He was back.
In the Empyrean Reliquary.
The enormous Greco-Roman chamber was an endless expanse of pearl-like marble. Above, the dome of the room was a sea of stars, in eternal motion as if the night sky were encased in crystal.
There were the twenty-seven statues.
One enormous statue in the center.
Thirteen lined up to its left.
Thirteen to the right.
Silent watchers.
Divine judges.
The reliquary of fallen Stargods before himself...
Their white forms carved from such smooth marble they felt alive.
Purple flames licked high candle stands, flickerless, and shadows that felt. wrong—surely they should be moving a little faster.
And in the middle of the room, the pool of flowing **liquid gold** swirled gently, like liquid sunlight.
Niero's breath hitched.
He felt different, as if he were floating but also sinking.
As if his soul had been forced to come.
Then he saw it.
One statue—among the others—was singing.
Not metaphorically.
It was humming, its low, deep roar echoing off the walls like a growl.
It wasn't completely golden.
But it was dotted with areas that were gold, that were oozing into the carved armor in veins.
The figure was savage.
Wild.
It was dressed in a heavy leathery suit, adorned with small bones, animal teeth, and hunting charms. It didn't stand proud like the rest.
It was predatory.
Its base recitation was dim, as though it were being carved:
[THE BEASTMASTER]
Niero swallowed.
His instincts screamed.
Something was wrong.
The golden water in the pool suddenly rose.
A ripple became a wave.
A wave became a tornado.
Then the gold fountained in the air:
twisting, shaping, and turning into arms, armor, and spikes.
A man-shaped thing appeared.
Broad-shouldered.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
It seemed its flesh to have been forged from liquid gold, but its being felt like a famished animal.
A helmet formed last.
Not metal.
Not polished.
A skull.
A skull, the skull of some alien creature, long and horned and faceless, its sockets aglow with malevolent eyes.
The figure walked out of the pool.
With each pace, the marble floor vibrated, as if it too were reluctant to bear the weight.
The purple candles flickered stronger.
The statues remained silent.
Watching.
Judging.
The golden hunter looked towards Niero.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like a wolf on prey.
Niero felt the chill in his bones.
The being had a natural aura.
Not divine.
Not holy.
Not even humanly intelligent.
It was like pure will.
Pure violence.
Pure hunger.
Then it started to walk.
Not rushing.
Not sprinting.
Just walking—
as a hunter walks when it knows it has its prey cornered.
Niero tried to move.
His body wouldn't obey.
He tried to speak.
His throat felt locked.
On went the Beastmaster, its aura weighing on him like talons.
The closer it got.
the more Niero thought to himself.
As if this... thing... wasn't here to welcome him.
It wasn't here to guide him.
It wasn't here to reward him.
It was here like a beast entering a cage -
ready to pounce.
Niero breathed shallowly.
Sharp.
Restricted by will.
He looked over his shoulder—for the tiniest instant.
There was a way out.
The usual way out of the Reliquary is a passage of white marble and faint starlight.
A way out.
A way to run.
But when his head lurched back—
His blood froze.
The figure was closer.
Too close.
It hadn't sprinted.
It hadn't lunged.
It hadn't even made a sound.
Instead, it had moved into the middle of the chamber, like in this place, distance was no object.
Now it was circling him, licking its tongue on its teeth: click. click. click.
A predator inspecting prey.
It moved with grace, as if a predator that had just learned to walk on two feet.
Niero reflexively clenched his fists.
His Nova-Spark didn't respond.
His psionics didn't kick in.
In this place, he felt reduced to his mortal self.
The skull-helmet tilted.
The golden hunter approached.
So close that Niero could make out patterns carved into the molten metal of its helmet—claw marks, tally marks, and ritual marks.
Then something else occurred to him.
Something unsettling.
The figure wasn't tall.
It wasn't inhumanly large. It was.
It was… slightly shorter than him.
And behind the warrior mask and armor.
The body was wiry.
Compact. Almost athletic. Almost.
Almost… athletic.
Almost…
feminine.
That didn't make him feel better.
Only more bizarre.
More wrong.
The clicking continued.
The Beastmaster moved again, slowly.
Niero's heart beat fast.
This wasn't a test.
This was an assassination.
Then—
The tension shattered.
Suddenly, as if a firecracker had popped, a voice rang out.
"OOOOH! BOSSBOY!!"
So bright and loud, it nearly blinded Niero.
The golden hunter suddenly stood up straight.
The skull-mask was now tilted differently—less. hungry hunter, more. curious brat.
And suddenly the same monster, the same predator stalking him, suddenly spread its arms wide like a giddy child.
"FINALLY! I have been waiting for soooo long!"
Niero blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His mind was having trouble making the connections.
The voice was clearly that of a woman, young, tomboyish, and too energetic for a nightmare.
She jiggled around on her heels, her golden armor clanking, and tore the mood she had set.
"Hahaha! Hahaha, I wish you could see your own face! You looked like you were going to shit your pants!"
Niero's mouth twitched.
"…What?"
The Beastmaster gave another loud cackle, almost shrill.
Then she pointed a thumb at the statues as though they were an audience.
"Relax, Bossboy! I won't eat you! Not yet, anyway!"
Her grin was mischievous, despite the skull helmet.
"I'm just super-duper happy to meet you!"
Niero's eyes narrowed.
"…Meet me?"
She nodded rapidly.
"Yup! Yup! Yup!"
And then she pointed dramatically away from her, as if to a TV screen.
"I saw your battle! That one! The bloody one! The super awesome one!"
She pumped her fist.
"You were getting smoked! Absolutely fried! Smoked! Tenderized like meat!"
Niero's eyebrow twitched.
"...uuuuhhh…Thanks."
She laughed, then punched him like a long lost friend.
"Don't mention it! But seriously—WOW. You kicked the sparky lady's ass!"
Niero stiffened.
"Sparky… lady…?"
The Beastmaster waved dismissively.
"Yeah! Your mom! Purple lightning lady! Scary lady! She was buzzing you like a fly swat and you were standing up!"
She was almost awed.
"That was insane! Like—INSANE insane!"
Niero's face grew dark, reliving the final battle.
"So... you were watching."
The Beastmaster looked innocently to the side.
"Mhm!"
And then she moved in, confiding.
"And I gotta say."
Her voice became slightly more ragged for a second.
Something feral.
Something ancient.
"You have good instincts, Bossboy."
Niero felt a shiver go up his spine.
But before he could say anything—
She was suddenly back to her brash, childlike nature, clapping her hands like a child at a fair.
"ANYWAY! Enough doom-and-gloom!"
Turning, she flung her arms wide.
"WELCOME TO THE NEXT STAGE OF YOUR LIFE!"
Niero stared at her.
Still processing.
Still unsettled.
Because the contrast was terrifying:
One second she was a viper that would devour his soul.
On the next moment, she was a hyperactive girl that just arrived at a slumber party.
And somehow...
somehow…
that made her even scarier.
Before Niero could demand answers—about her identity, about the statues, about this entire cursed Greco-Roman dreamscape—
his body began to break apart.
Not like flesh.
Not like death.
But like his existence was being erased.
Starting from his fingertips, his skin fragmented into tiny motes of glowing dust, glittering gold and white, drifting upward like ash caught in invisible wind.
"What the—?!"
Niero reached out, but his own arm was dissolving.
His chest tightened.
His throat tried to form words—
but his voice came out thin, distorted, like it was being dragged through water.
The Beastmaster's skull-helmet snapped toward him.
"…Ah, damn it."
Her tone wasn't panicked.
It was annoyed.
Like someone who just had their favorite show interrupted.
"Seriously?! Now?!"
Niero's legs began to crumble next.
His torso followed.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears as if his soul was trying to cling to the world by brute force.
"Wait—! Tell me—!"
But his mouth began to fade first.
His lips, teeth, tongue—
vanishing mid-sentence.
The Beastmaster clicked her tongue.
"Tch. Cut short already..."
Then, with a flick of her wrist, she snapped open a holographic window—bright, sharp, and impossibly clear, floating right in front of Niero's fading vision.
A familiar interface.
The same cold, divine UI of the Stargod System.
Only this time…
it was being operated by her.
"Alright, Bossboy!" she barked quickly, voice rushed but still playful. "Since we don't have time for bonding, I'm just gonna shove your prize into your hands!"
The holographic window pulsed.
-
◈ [ EMPYREAN RELIQUARY — BOON GRANTED ]
[Skill (Beastmaster): Hungry Maw]
Type: Summoning / Consumption / Assimilation
Rank: S
Description: Summons a massive disembodied mouth with grasping hands from within the void.
• Captures targets.
• Drags them into the maw.
• Breaks down and recycles consumed matter into usable resources.
• Can consume and gain: objects, materials, weapons, constructs, and even weakened abilities.
Restrictions:
• Higher-ranked targets require more time and energy to digest.
• Rare materials and high-grade entities resist consumption.
-
Niero's fading eyes widened.
A mouth?
Hands?
Consume abilities?
That sounded less like a skill and more like a nightmare weapon.
The Beastmaster laughed, proud as if she'd gifted him a new toy.
"I saw your fight with sparky lady! The way you kept getting smashed and still stood up?"
She jabbed a finger at him.
"That's the kind of hunger I like."
The UI shifted again.
-
◈ [ BONUS REWARD ]
[Empyrean Reliquary Boon Token ×1]
Description: Grants one additional Reliquary roll in the future.
-
"Ohohoho!" she giggled. "A free roll! Don't waste it on something lame, okay?! Get something COOL!"
Niero tried to respond.
But his jaw was already half gone.
His throat dissolved into gold dust.
The world was slipping away.
Then the Beastmaster's tone sharpened.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Almost… serious.
"And since you're my Bossboy now…"
Another window snapped open.
-
◈ [ BEASTMASTER'S TRIAL — QUEST ISSUED ]
Objective:REND. SLAUGHTER. DEVOUR.
Use [Hungry Maw] ×100. Consume and break down objects and/or enemies.
Reward:
• +10 Vestige Relationship Points (points tracked: 000/100)
• Empyrean Reliquary Boon Token ×1
• Random Rank-D Weapon
-
She crossed her arms proudly.
"There. Task assigned."
Niero's vision blurred.
His entire face was dissolving now, drifting into motes of glittering dust that floated upward toward the starlit dome.
His mind screamed questions.
What are you?
What is this place?
Why are you giving me this?
But he couldn't ask.
He couldn't speak.
The Beastmaster waved at him enthusiastically like a kid sending off a friend at a train station.
"Good luck, Bossboy!"
She leaned forward with that stupidly cheerful voice that somehow still carried predator instincts beneath it.
"Do your homework, eat your enemies, and come back soon!"
Her skull-mask tilted.
"And when you finish the quest…"
She giggled.
"…we'll get to know each other better soon."
Niero's entire world collapsed into darkness.
The last thing he saw was her silhouette—
golden and feral—
waving at him in the endless chamber.
Then—
fade to black.
=====
[ March 22th, 2087 (Sunday, Noon) ] Niero's Bedroom > Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
-
In the next moment—
morning light spilled through the curtains of Niero's bedroom, illuminating the mess like a crime scene only a teenage boy could create. Clothes on the floor. Empty snack wrappers. A half-open drawer. A dusty game controller abandoned like a fallen soldier.
And in the middle of it all—
Niero sat upright on his bed.
Wrapped in bandages.
Again.
Like a mummy that had respawned for the third time.
He stared down at his own arms, then sighed through his nose.
Yeah… Aunt Alura definitely has a theme.
Across from him, Mom and Aunt Alura were already in the room.
Mom sat beside him with a porcelain bowl in her hands, carefully spoon-feeding him warm Chinese-style porridge—ginger-heavy, fish sauce sharp, with deep-fried fish placed neatly on the side like a garnish of comfort.
Her movements were gentle.
Too gentle.
Like she was afraid her spoon might break him.
Her eyes looked tired… and a little red.
Meanwhile, Aunt Alura sat at the foot of the bed like she owned the place, casually massaging his feet with the confidence of someone who had seen far worse injuries—and still had the audacity to complain about it later.
"So?" Alura asked, squeezing his heel. "Any pain? Tingling? Numbness? Existential despair?"
Niero grimaced. "That last one's permanent."
Mom gave a shaky laugh that didn't fully land.
She tried to smile, but her lips trembled as she fed him another spoonful.
Niero could tell.
She was holding back tears with sheer willpower.
Alura clicked her tongue at her.
"Emmy, relax," she muttered. "Your son is tougher than nails. Tougher than a cockroach in a nuclear reactor."
Then she smirked and added, "Your precious baby badger isn't going anywhere."
Mom swallowed hard.
Her eyes flicked toward Niero's bruised face—half-hidden under the bandages—and her expression cracked just slightly.
Niero immediately noticed.
And for once, he didn't joke.
Instead, he quietly asked, voice hoarse from sleep and soreness.
"…What happened?"
Mom's spoon froze mid-air.
The room suddenly felt heavier.
Niero's memory was foggy—like someone had taken the last hour of his life and smashed it with a hammer. He remembered flashes of lightning. Heat. Pain. The roar of his own blood.
But the ending?
Blank.
"I remember… fighting," he continued slowly. "Then… nothing."
Mom's eyes lowered.
She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
Then she forced a calm voice—soft, almost motherly to the point of breaking.
"Don't worry about it right now," she said. "You need rest. That's all."
Niero frowned.
Mom avoided his gaze as she scooped another spoonful of porridge.
"I'll explain everything tonight," she promised. "When you're feeling better."
Alura's hands kept massaging his feet, but her expression sharpened slightly—as if she knew exactly what Mom wasn't saying.
Niero stared at the ceiling.
He shifted slightly on the bed, wincing as the bandages pulled against his bruised skin.
Then he glanced between Mom and Aunt Alura, suspicion creeping into his tired eyes.
"…What about Sophie and Daisy?" he asked. "Aren't they going to go turbo-worried the moment they see me like this?"
He paused, then narrowed his eyes.
"And more importantly… what excuse did Aunt Alura cook up this time?"
Alura scoffed like she was offended by the accusation—despite the fact she absolutely deserved it.
Mom, however, exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
"Empress's luck is on our side," she said.
Niero blinked.
Mom continued, "We don't need to make up anything big. We just told them you caught a fever."
"A fever," Alura repeated with a nod, as if that explained the full-body mummy wrap.
Niero stared at them.
"…a fever...that's it?"
Alura grinned. "Sometimes the best lies are the lazy ones."
Mom shot her a look.
Then she added, "Besides… your sisters aren't even home."
Niero frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Sophie and Daisy are away," Mom explained. "They're on a three-day school field trip to Sector 01, the Grand Realm."
Niero's eyes widened slightly.
Mom's tone turned almost matter-of-fact, as if she was describing a grocery run.
"They're visiting the Grand Sororitae Temple for… good luck programs for students who want to pursue Sororitae candidacy."
Alura waved her hand dismissively. "Basically a fancy shrine trip with homework and prayer candles."
He was confused as it is the first time he heard of it.
"When this was a thing? The school trip, that it?" He asked curiously.
Aunt Alura ressponded. "They told us before few days back, during one of our dinner time. Remember?"
He was confused as he don't remember that conversation. This made him reaslise that he was focusing on sparing and recovering for the past few days to slip something like fro his mind.
Niero froze.
Then slowly…
his entire body relaxed.
He sank back into his pillow like a man released from death row.
"…Thank fucking Empress," he muttered.
Mom immediately smacked his shoulder—not hard, but sharp enough to sting.
"Niero Ripley," she snapped. "Mind your language."
He winced. "Ow—okay, okay! Sorry!"
Alura burst out laughing.
"Oh, please," she said, waving her hand. "Let the boy swear. He just got beaten into a human burrito."
Mom glared at her.
Alura leaned forward, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"But yeah," she continued, "you're lucky. Those two would've been unbearable. They'd cry, panic, start praying, and then try to 'protect' you with their Mana Arts like they're some kind of discount magical girl squad."
Niero groaned. "I love them, but… they get overbearing."
Alura smirked. "Of course they do. They love their brother."
Then she tilted her head toward Mom.
"Just like how someone loves her son."
Mom's spoon froze mid-air.
Her eyes slowly shifted toward Alura.
The look she gave her was calm.
Too calm.
"…Are you calling me overbearing?" Mom asked quietly.
Alura shrugged innocently. "I'm calling you a mother."
Mom narrowed her eyes.
Niero immediately swallowed another spoonful of porridge, choosing survival over involvement.
Alura leaned back on the chair beside the bed, arms crossed, eyes scanning Niero up and down like he was some kind of rare specimen.
"You know…" she muttered, clicking her tongue. "I'm still amazed you're alive."
Niero stared at her. "…Well that's comforting."
Alura ignored him.
"No, seriously," she continued. "You're tougher than you look. Most people would've been hospitalized after even a fraction of what Emmy did to you."
Mom stiffened slightly at her name.
Alura pointed a thumb toward her.
"And before you get all defensive—yes, she held back. A lot. But even held back, her strikes are still strong enough to break bones. Strong enough to kill an average person if she slipped for even a second."
Niero's smile faded just a little.
He lowered his gaze toward the bandages wrapped around his arms.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "I kinda noticed."
Alura's expression turned sharper—less teasing, more serious.
"But you?" she said. "You took it. Again and again. You kept getting up like some kind of… freakishly stubborn cockroach."
Niero's brow twitched. "That's not a compliment."
"It is in my book," Alura replied flatly. "Tough as nails doesn't even cover it. Not when you're tanking hits that could've killed you."
The room fell quiet.
Then—
Mom's hands trembled slightly as she held the bowl of porridge.
Her eyes glistened.
"…Maybe…" she whispered.
Both Niero and Alura looked at her.
Mom swallowed hard, her voice cracking.
"Maybe it's better if you do get a sugar mommy," she muttered, barely louder than a breath.
Niero froze.
Alura blinked. "…Excuse me?"
Mom's face crumpled, tears threatening to spill.
"I'd rather you be spoiled by some rich woman than…" she whispered, "…than see you come back in pieces after a Marauder expedition."
Her voice broke on the last word.
The air in the room suddenly felt heavier.
Niero's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Mom stared down at the porridge like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"The outside world isn't a joke," she continued quietly. "It's not like the stories. Not like the videos on ArkNet."
Her fingers tightened around the bowl.
"Not like that time… when we gone beyond the Walls..."
Niero's eyes narrowed.
Mom's gaze darkened, as if something inside her had resurfaced.
"...barely survived...."
The words hit the room like a gunshot.
Niero's head snapped up.
"…Wait." His voice sharpened instantly. "What do you mean barely survived?"
Mom didn't answer.
Niero's heart thudded.
"What do you mean we? You meant your team?" he demanded. "Were they Umbral Maidens too? Did they—"
"Enough."
Mom's tone was firm.
Too firm.
She stood up so suddenly the chair scraped against the floor.
"Sorry...I said too much..."
Her eyes avoided his.
"That information is… confidential," she said, voice tight. "It's better you don't know yet."
Niero clenched his jaw.
"Mom—"
"I said not yet."
Her voice wavered—like she was forcing herself to stay composed.
Alura stood as well, placing a hand on Mom's shoulder.
Mom inhaled shakily, then turned toward the door.
Before leaving, she glanced back at Niero.
Her expression softened.
"…Rest," she said quietly. "Get well soon. We'll talk about the sparring test later."
Then she opened the door.
And just like that—
she left.
Alura followed behind her, throwing Niero one last look—half pity, half warning.
The door closed.
Click.
Silence.
Niero sat there alone in his cozy room, wrapped in bandages, staring at the wall.
But his mind wasn't on the pain anymore.
It was on the words she couldn't say.
Barely survived.
And the team she refused to talk about.
Niero's fists slowly tightened beneath the blanket.
"…What the hell did you see out there, Mom?"
=====
[ March 23th, 2087 (Monday, Afternoon) ] Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
On the next day—Monday—Niero was finally able to peel off the bandages and move around like a normal human being again.
Not fully normal…
But normal enough.
By morning, he was already downstairs at Maison Bella Café, back behind the counter like nothing had happened, helping his mother serve customers pastries, sandwiches, and drinks—just like any other day.
The smell of freshly baked croissants and espresso filled the air.
The clinking of cups.
The chatter of customers.
The illusion of peace.
Of normalcy.
Except the café was never truly quiet when Niero was around.
Because trouble always found him.
-
First came a lovestruck high school girl—still in uniform—possibly senior high—hovering near the counter like she was about to faint.
"H-Hi…" she stammered, cheeks burning red. "Um… excuse me… are you… single?"
Niero blinked once.
Then smirked.
Before he could even answer, Mom's hand slammed a hot chocolate the girl ordered onto the counter with a sharp THUNK, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth.
"He's underaged," she said brightly.
The girl nearly combusted from embarrassment and ran out like her life depended on it.
-
Then came the next customer.
A bratty, overdressed twink boy with dyed hair and a smug face—snapping his fingers repeatedly like Niero was a servant.
"Hello? Hello? I said I wanted my mocha latte extra artisan."
He snapped again.
"Extra foam. Extra drizzle. Extra chocolate dust. And don't mess it up."
Niero stared at him, deadpan.
"…Do you want me to write a love letter to your latte too?"
The boy's eye twitched.
Mom coughed loudly, giving Niero a warning look.
Niero sighed and turned around to prepare it anyway, muttering something about "first-world suffering."
-
And then—
as if the universe itself wanted to make his day worse—
a bloodshot-eyed conspiracy nut with a thick beard barged in, carrying a stack of paper fliers like sacred scripture.
His eyes darted around like the walls were listening.
He slammed the papers onto the counter.
"Son," he rasped, leaning in close. "You look like a young man who can still see through the lies."
Niero immediately regretted being alive.
The man jabbed a finger toward the ceiling.
"The Radiant Empress is a false idol! A puppet! A mask for the real power that lurks beneath the Ark-Cities!"
He shoved the pile of fliers forward.
"Take these. Spread the truth. Wake the sheep."
Niero stared at the papers.
Then stared at the man.
Then slowly pushed them back.
"…Sir, I just sell croissants. If you not gonna order anything, please leave and don't disturb the customer or I have to call the police."
The man gasped like Niero had stabbed him.
"You'll regret your ignorance!"
He stormed out, muttering curses and prophecies like a broken radio.
-
And through it all—
Mom continued serving with a gentle smile.
Polite.
Professional.
Perfect.
But every few minutes…
her eyes flicked toward Niero.
Checking.
Watching.
Like she was afraid he'd collapse again.
Like she was afraid he'd vanish.
Niero pretended not to notice.
And yet…
even as he worked, he could feel the lingering heaviness in his chest.
The memory of her words from last night.
Barely survived.
His mother's silence.
His mother's fear.
Meanwhile, Aunt Alura was nowhere to be seen.
Which could only mean one thing.
She was either gambling, drinking, gossiping—
or out there "hunting" for some hot stud she'd probably fail to woo again.
Niero sighed, wiping down the counter.
Another normal day.
Another smile.
At the next moment, the café bell chimed again—
Ding.
And Aunt Alura finally returned.
She strode in like nothing happened, hair slightly messy, sunglasses still on despite being indoors, and holding a small taped-up polystyrene box like it contained state secrets.
"I may have lost my poker game," she announced casually, tossing the box onto the counter with a proud grin, "but I struck a deal with Aunty Xixi."
Mom's smile froze.
Her eyes narrowed.
Her voice turned dangerously calm.
"…Alura."
Alura raised both hands immediately. "Before you start—this was a good deal. A very good deal."
Mom inhaled sharply, clearly about to unleash an entire lecture about gambling addictions, bad habits, and the concept of not losing money like an idiot—
—but the bell chimed again.
Ding.
A heavy presence entered the café.
The chatter softened.
Even the air felt heavier.
It was Father Creed.
A gruff old priest in his fifties, built like a retired frontline soldier, with rough hands and a face carved from hard years. His priest collar looked almost out of place on him—like the uniform of a job he didn't just preach, but survived.
He didn't look like the kind of holy man who blessed babies.
He looked like the kind who exorcised demons with his bare fists…
and then buried the bodies without complaint.
He walked up to the counter with his usual tired glare and nodded once.
Mom immediately straightened up, switching into professional mode like a reflex.
But before she turned away, she pointed sharply at Alura.
"We'll talk about this later," she hissed.
Alura saluted with two fingers and slipped into the kitchen with the taped box, whistling like she hadn't just dodged a bullet.
Mom turned back to Father Creed.
Her smile returned—polite, warm, practiced.
"Father Creed," she greeted, voice gentle. "Good afternoon."
The old priest grunted, the sound halfway between a greeting and a warning.
Mom tilted her head. "The usual today? Or… something different?"
Father Creed's eyes narrowed slightly, like he was actually considering it.
Then he spoke in that gravelly voice.
"The usual."
Mom nodded.
"Masala chai," she said warmly. "Coming right up."
As she turned toward the kitchen, Niero couldn't help but notice something strange—
Father Creed's gaze lingered on him for just a second too long.
Not the way customers stared.
Not the way girls stared.
Not even the way weird conspiracy men stared.
It was the look of someone measuring danger.
Or recognizing it.
And that made Niero's skin prickle.
While Mom disappeared into the back kitchen to prepare Father Creed's Masala chai—the rich scent of milk, black tea, cardamom, cinnamon, and spice already beginning to bloom through the café—
Niero leaned against the counter and gave the old priest a casual grin.
"So… Father Creed," he said, tapping the pastry display with a knuckle, "you interested in a discounted custard-filled croissant?"
Creed's brow twitched, as if he was offended by the concept of temptation.
Then he grunted.
"…Fine."
Niero's grin widened. "Good choice."
As he grabbed a fresh croissant and slid it onto a plate, he kept his tone light.
"So. How's your day been?"
Creed sat down at the counter like a man lowering himself into a battlefield trench.
"Normal," he said flatly. "Preaching the Word. Handling donations. Helping people with their sins. The usual priest nonsense."
Niero chuckled softly while dusting powdered sugar off his gloves.
"Sounds exciting."
"It isn't."
The priest's voice held no humor.
Just exhaustion.
Niero placed the croissant down in front of him, then leaned slightly closer.
"So… do people even go to church anymore?"
Creed's eyes shifted to the side, staring into the café window like he was watching a past that refused to die.
"Less every year," he admitted. "The number dwindles. People don't pray when they think they've already been saved."
Niero's expression softened.
"…Because of the Empress?"
Creed's mouth tightened.
"The Radiant Empress is a living goddess in their eyes," he said. "A woman who fights monsters. A woman who guards the Ark-Cities. A woman who bleeds, yet doesn't fall."
His gaze sharpened.
"Hard to compete with that when all you have is an old book and faith."
Niero stayed quiet.
Creed continued, voice low but firm.
"But there will always be those who still believe in Jesus Christ. Even now."
He took a slow breath.
"Someone has to uphold the old world religion. Someone has to remember what came before… before humanity started worshipping power like it was divinity."
The café felt colder for a moment.
Then Creed took a bite of the croissant.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"…Not bad," he muttered, almost begrudgingly.
Niero smirked.
"Maison Bella Café," he said proudly. "Saving souls and stomachs."
Father Creed chewed the croissant slowly, then wiped his fingers with a napkin like he was cleaning blood off his hands.
Then he looked at Niero with those tired, heavy eyes.
"Alright," he said gruffly. "Enough about this old man's beliefs."
Niero raised a brow.
Creed pointed the half-eaten pastry at him.
"How've you been, boy? I haven't seen you working for a while after Radiant Day."
His voice remained calm, but there was something sharper underneath it—concern disguised as annoyance.
"I heard you were sick."
He paused.
"Then I heard you got stung by bees. Nasty ones."
Niero's lips twitched, like he was holding back the urge to laugh at the sheer stupidity of the cover story.
"…Yeah," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Bees."
Creed grunted. "City's full of problems. Even the insects are angry now."
Niero shrugged casually.
"I've been fine. Just… doing some studies."
Creed scoffed.
"Hmph. I forgot you're an egghead."
Then he smirked faintly, the expression looking unnatural on his hard face.
"Prodigy kid. Graduated junior high before you even hit fifteen."
Niero's hands tightened around the serving tray for half a second.
He didn't respond.
Didn't correct him.
Didn't explain the pressure, the forced acceleration, the suffocating expectations.
He just smiled like it was nothing.
"Something like that," he muttered.
Creed leaned back in his chair, studying him.
"So what are you planning now? University? Temple route? Becoming one of those fancy ArkNet analysts?"
Niero shook his head.
"…I'm thinking military."
The café's background noise didn't change.
The customers still talked.
The coffee machine still hissed.
But Father Creed went quiet—like the air itself stiffened.
He stared at Niero for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
"…I'm not surprised," he said at last. "Not even a little."
His voice wasn't disappointed.
It wasn't approving either.
Niero tilted his head, studying the priest's face.
"…You don't sound very enthusiastic about it."
Father Creed didn't even deny it.
He took another bite of the croissant, chewed slowly, then spoke like he was giving a sermon—except his words were stripped of comfort.
"In a world covered in blinding Fog," Creed said, "where madness leaks into your skull like poison… and monsters hide behind every street that doesn't have lights…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…military isn't a good career for a young boy."
Niero's expression stiffened slightly.
Creed continued.
"Not unless you're blessed."
He tapped the table with one thick finger.
"Women with Mana Arts, at least they've got a gift. A tool. Something to fight back with."
Niero frowned.
"What about men with Psionic powers?" he shot back. "Or weaponized cybernetic implants?"
Creed's jaw tightened.
"Psionic men are rare," he said flatly. "And most of them end up either dead, insane, or recruited into programs that don't let them live like humans anymore."
Then he leaned forward, voice dropping.
"And cybernetics?"
He scoffed.
"Cybernetics come with a price. Always. Infection, rejection, neural decay, corporate leash contracts… and if your implant gets hacked mid-combat, you won't die like a soldier."
Creed's eyes hardened.
"You'll die like a puppet."
He sat back again, crossing his arms.
"Doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman. Steel in your bones doesn't guarantee you keep your soul."
Father Creed let out a low grunt as he leaned back on the stool, folding his arms.
He didn't look away from Niero when he spoke again.
"In most cases," he said, voice rough but steady, "men join the military because they think it'll make them someone."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Duty, honor… yes. But also pride. Fragile pride."
He tapped the counter once.
"In a matriarchal society like this, under the Radiant Empress' light, men are often pushed into roles that don't satisfy that kind of ego. So they chase the uniform instead."
His tone sharpened—not judgmental, but wary.
"And those ones?" he added. "They don't last long in the Fog."
Niero exhaled a short laugh through his nose.
"So you think I'm one of them?"
Creed finally looked at him properly.
Not harsh.
Not soft.
Just direct.
"I'm hoping you're not."
Niero clicked his tongue, leaning back slightly.
"Ouch. That almost sounded like you think pretty lowly of me."
Creed huffed.
"I'm not insulting you."
He gestured vaguely with his croissant.
"I'm looking out for the children of the Lord. There's a difference."
Before Niero could respond, a voice drifted from the back kitchen.
"Masala chai is almost done," Mom called out, her tone lighter than the conversation in front.
The smell of cardamom and warm milk began to seep through the café again, cutting through the heaviness like a familiar anchor.
Creed's shoulders eased slightly at the scent.
Niero smirked faintly, crossing his arms.
"For the record," he said, "I'm not joining to prove anything like that."
He paused.
Then, quieter but firmer:
"I'm joining because I don't like the idea of staying weak in a world that doesn't care if I live or die."
Creed studied him for a moment.
Then he gave a short, almost approving grunt.
"…Better answer," he said.
Mom returned from the kitchen balancing a tray with practiced ease, setting the steaming cup of Masala Chai in front of Father Creed.
The aroma hit instantly—warm milk, cardamom, ginger, and deep spice layered into something comforting enough to soften even the café's tense air.
Creed closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
"…Good," he murmured, almost reluctantly pleased.
He took a slow sip.
Then nodded once.
"I'm surprised," he admitted gruffly, looking at Mom over the rim of the cup. "Your café has a European style to it. Cakes, pastries, sandwiches… all that."
His gaze drifted around the café as if reassessing it.
"But this?" He lifted the cup slightly. "This tastes like home."
Mom's expression softened.
"That's the idea," she said gently. "I want people to feel like they belong somewhere when they eat here."
She glanced toward the counter briefly.
"Different countries, different flavors… same feeling."
A small pause.
Then her smile dimmed slightly.
"This recipe came from Old Lady Priya."
Creed's expression shifted immediately at the name.
Mom continued quietly.
"She was one of my first patrons when I opened the café. Always sat in the corner. Always ordered the same thing. And always complained that I was 'too stiff' with my spices."
A faint, nostalgic breath escaped her.
"She passed away a year ago."
Creed lowered his cup.
For once, he didn't interrupt.
Instead, he placed two fingers to his chest and gave a slow, solemn cross.
"…May her soul find peace," he said quietly.
Mom nodded once, accepting it with a soft exhale.
Then—
the café door chimed again.
Ding.
A new group of customers entered—loud, energetic, with children already darting ahead like they owned the place.
Mom's posture shifted instantly.
Grief tucked away.
Professional smile back in place.
"Tired already…" she murmured under her breath, though her voice carried affection more than complaint.
She turned slightly toward Niero.
"Man your station," she said, nodding toward the counter.
Niero snapped a casual salute.
"Yes, boss."
Mom walked forward to greet the new customers, voice bright and welcoming as if she hadn't just been remembering the dead.
And just like that—
Maison Bella Café returned to its rhythm.
While Mom busied herself with the new customers, Niero stayed behind the counter, wiping down the surface and quietly restocking ingredients—coffee grounds, tea leaves, sugar packets, and the little jars of spices Mom insisted on keeping organized "like a proper café."
Father Creed took another sip of his chai, then glanced toward Niero.
"So," he said, voice rough as gravel, "did you talk to your mother about joining the military?"
Niero didn't even look up.
"Yeah," he replied, wiping the counter harder than necessary. "She wasn't… thrilled."
Creed grunted, unsurprised.
"She rarely is, when it involves her children walking toward danger."
Niero exhaled through his nose, half amused, half tired.
"That's Mom."
Creed leaned back slightly, studying him.
"Then tell me. Why do you want it?"
Niero paused, hands stilling.
"…It's multi-dimensional," he said at last.
Creed raised an eyebrow.
Niero continued, more carefully now.
"Better pay. Better benefits. Better chance at upgrading citizenship tier. If I play it right… I can climb up faster than staying here washing plates and serving croissants."
He glanced toward the window, where the city streets stretched out like a cage dressed up as civilization.
"And," he added quietly, "I want to see the world. Beyond the walls. I don't want my whole life to be… this."
Creed listened without interrupting.
Then he asked the question like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"And do you have what it takes?"
Niero's mouth opened instantly.
Yes.
That was the answer he always gave.
That was the answer he wanted to give.
But the word caught in his throat.
Something cold and heavy tightened in his chest.
Images flickered in his mind—lightning, blood, pain, the feeling of being crushed into the ground, the sound of bones almost snapping, the terrifying truth that he could lose control of himself.
His confidence hesitated.
Creed noticed immediately.
The old priest's eyes narrowed—not in judgment, but in understanding.
After a moment, Creed spoke again, softer this time.
"Doubt isn't weakness, boy."
Niero blinked.
Creed tapped the side of his cup.
"It's a warning bell. It means you're not stupid enough to believe you're invincible."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But I'll tell you this." His voice lowered, heavy with conviction. "I've watched you grow up in this café. I've watched you talk your way out of trouble, study like your life depends on it, and work like you're trying to carry the world on your shoulders."
Niero swallowed.
Creed continued.
"You're smart. And you're capable. If you truly set your mind to something… you'll reach it."
His gaze sharpened.
"But you must be careful what you reach for. Some doors don't just open."
He paused.
"They swallow you."
For a moment, Niero didn't speak.
Then he nodded, quietly.
"…Thanks, Father."
Creed gave a low grunt, almost like approval.
Then, as if changing the subject, he casually asked:
"You ever consider becoming a priest?"
Niero froze mid-motion, holding a spoon over a jar of sugar.
"…A priest?"
Creed shrugged.
"The Church needs young men. The old world needs caretakers. And you've got a sharp tongue. With discipline, you might even be tolerable."
Niero let out a short laugh.
"That's… uh. Thanks for the offer."
He scratched the back of his head.
"But I'll think about it."
Creed nodded once, satisfied.
"The door stays open," he said simply. "If you ever change your mind."
Niero watched the priest sip his tea again, calm as stone.
=====
[ March 23th, 2087 (Monday, Early Evening) ] Back Kitchen > Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
As the sun dipped low beyond the café windows and the evening crowd began to thin, Maison Bella slowly shifted into its quieter rhythm.
The laughter softened.
The clinking of cups faded.
And the warm orange glow of the streetlights outside replaced the daylight.
Behind the counter, Niero stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, washing plates and scrubbing grease off pans while the last few customers lingered with their drinks.
That was when he saw it.
Aunt Alura slipped into the back kitchen, carrying the small taped polystyrene box she had brought earlier.
Without hesitation, she opened the large freezer and slid it deep inside like she was hiding a corpse.
Niero narrowed his eyes.
"Oi," he called out. "What is that?"
Alura glanced back over her shoulder, lips curling into a smug grin.
"A secret."
And just like that, she shut the freezer door with a thunk and walked out of the kitchen, apron swaying as she went to help Mom at the counter.
Niero stared at the freezer for a moment.
"…Yeah. That's not ominous at all."
He turned back to the sink, trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up his spine.
Then—
Beep… beep… beep…
The sound wasn't real.
It wasn't in the room.
It wasn't coming from any device.
It was coming from inside his skull.
A familiar warning tone, like an alarm installed directly into his nervous system.
A second later, Vuldyr's voice echoed at the back of his mind.
> ["Warning. Health regeneration approaching full restoration."]
Niero stiffened.
"…What?"
> ["You are about to hit 100%. Prepare."]
He barely had time to process it.
Because suddenly—
His entire body seized.
A violent, invisible pressure crushed inward from every direction.
His chest tightened like iron bands had wrapped around his ribs.
His lungs refused to fully expand.
His vision blurred at the edges.
Niero stumbled back, gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles went white.
Plates rattled.
Water splashed everywhere.
A few unwashed dishes slipped from his grasp and clattered loudly into the sink.
"Hh—!"
He sucked in air, but it felt like breathing through broken glass.
Vuldyr's voice sharpened instantly.
> ["Niero! Your vitals are spiking—!"]
"I'm fine," he forced out through clenched teeth, though his body clearly disagreed.
His heart hammered.
His veins burned.
The sensation wasn't pain exactly—
It was like his entire existence was being rewritten from the inside.
But then he recognized it.
That horrible suffocating chest pressure.
That unnatural surge.
His eyes widened.
"…No way."
It was the same feeling he had back when he reached Level 11.
The same sensation that made him feel like his soul was being pulled upward by a hook.
His breath hitched.
"Level up…"
With trembling focus, Niero mentally commanded:
"Status Window. Now."
The air in front of him shimmered.
A translucent holographic interface unfolded in midair, glowing with cold celestial light.
And the moment his eyes locked onto it—
his blood ran cold.
-
[ STARGOD SYSTEM: ASCENSION UPDATE ]
> Due to recovery and Trait (Origin): What Doesn't Kill You…;
> Ascension Realm: Mortal Realm
> Ascension Phase: Phase 2: Convergence Phase → Phase 3: Sovereign Phase
> Ascension Level: 18 → 21
> +3 Ascension Points Available
> +0.10 All Stats Increase
> New Trait Evolution Unlocked:
> [Trinity of Self-Supremacy (Spirit)]
> Skill Upgrade:
> [Electric Resistance Lv.1 → Lv.3]
-
Niero blinked at it, breathing uneven.
"…Three levels in one shot?" he muttered.
Vuldyr sounded almost annoyed now, though relief threaded through it.
> ["Consistent with previous pattern. Your growth accelerates after high-intensity trauma exposure."]
"Yeah," Niero rasped, steadying himself again. "Of course it does."
He let out a shaky breath, then straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders as the sensation faded back into something manageable.
"…Still hate that feeling," he muttered.
Vuldyr paused.
> ["…But you're stable."]
"Yeah," he said quietly. Then, with a tired half-smirk: "Barely."
Vuldyr didn't answer immediately.
There was a short pause—like she was parsing the system output twice to make sure it wasn't misfiring.
Then her voice came through, quieter than usual.
> ["…So that's what it evolved into."]
Niero leaned against the counter, still feeling the aftershocks of the level-up settle into his muscles.
"What's what evolved into?"
The system window flickered in his mind again, stabilizing the new trait description.
Vuldyr finally responded.
> ["Your new [Trinity of Self-Supremacy (Spirit)]."]
A soft hum of data distortion followed, as if she was pulling information directly from the Astra Codex.
> ["It's not just an upgrade to your energy output,"] she continued. ["It's a structural shift in how your body defines 'force'."]
Niero frowned slightly. "That sounds… complicated."
> ["It is,"] Vuldyr said bluntly. ["But I'll simplify it."]
A brief holographic overlay formed in his vision—clean, segmented layers of energy flow mapping through a human silhouette.
-
> [ NEW ASPECT - TRINITY OF SELF-SUPREMACY (SPIRIT) ]
> A spiritual evolution trait derived from repeated convergence-phase breakthroughs.
>
> Effect Type: Spiritual Authority / Internal Energy Manifestation
>
> Core Function:
> Enhances the user's spiritual presence, allowing manipulation of internal force into externalized "will-pressure" phenomena.
>
> Developing Capabilities:
> + Will Pressure Projection (Tier 01 - suppression of weaker wills via willpower projection)
> + Third-Eye Awareness (Tier 01 - enhanced perception of detection of hostility, intent, and presence beyond physical senses)
> + Spirit-Manifestation Constructs (Tier 01 - projection of spiritual force into on self or object to increase durability and damage output)
> + Internal Energy Reinforcement (Tier 01 - passive stabilization of pain, fatigue, and focus disruption)
-
> ["Your system now allows spiritual authority expression. Think of it like this—"]
A pulse radiated from the silhouette's chest.
> ["Not everything needs to be touched to be influenced."]
Niero's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like telekinesis."
> ["No,"] Vuldyr corrected immediately. ["Telekinesis moves objects with your mind."]
She paused.
> ["This moves intent."]
The café around him felt suddenly quieter, even though nothing had changed.
Vuldyr continued.
> ["Tier 01 capabilities are emerging because your system is still stabilizing, but the core functions are already active."]
The hologram shifted.
A faint pressure wave expanded outward.
A second layer showed detection lines reacting to invisible movement.
A third showed an internal energy shell reinforcing the body.
Niero exhaled slowly. "So… what exactly can I do right now?"
Vuldyr listed it without hesitation.
> ["First: Will Pressure Projection."]
A faint pressure rolled through the kitchen simulation in his mind—not physical force, but something heavier. Like being stared down by someone who could decide whether you existed or not.
> ["Against weaker wills,"] she added, ["it can suppress movement, hesitation, even decision-making and fear inducement."]
Niero blinked. "That's kind of insane."
> ["Correct."]
She didn't even hesitate.
> ["Second: Third-Eye Awareness."]
His perception sharpened for a split second—he could suddenly feel where Mom was outside the kitchen, Aunt Alura moving near the freezer, even the faint footsteps of a customer passing the window.
Not sound.
Not sight.
Just presence.
Niero stiffened slightly.
"…That's actually useful."
> ["It is also dangerous if you don't learn to filter it,"] Vuldyr warned.
The overlay shifted again.
> ["Third: Spirit-Manifestation Constructs."]
A faint outline of his arm flickered in the projection, then reinforced itself with a denser, almost armored energy layer.
> ["This allows you to project your internal force outward as reinforcement. Offense, defense, or both."]
Niero flexed his fingers slightly.
"…So I can hit harder."
> ["Yes."]
"…And take hits better."
> ["Yup."]
"…That sounds like cheating."
Vuldyr responded immediately.
> ["It is not cheating. It is survival."]
A brief silence followed.
Then she added, almost reluctantly:
> ["Fourth: Internal Energy Reinforcement."]
The sensation in his body shifted—pain from earlier dulling slightly, focus sharpening like a blade being honed.
> ["It stabilizes your pain response and mental coherence under stress. You will still be injured, but you will not break as easily."]
Niero let out a low breath.
"…So basically I can keep going longer."
> ["Bingo."]
He stared at his hands for a moment.
"…This feels like I'm turning into something else."
Vuldyr's voice softened just slightly.
> ["You already are."]
From outside the kitchen, Mom's voice called out faintly.
"Niero! Don't stand there spacing out, help me bring the trays!"
He blinked, snapping back to reality.
The system window faded, but the sensation didn't.
Something inside him had settled into place.
He pushed off the counter.
"…Yeah," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
"Coming, Mom."
And as he walked out of the kitchen—
he wasn't entirely sure anymore whether he was just a boy working in a café…
or something that was slowly learning how to impose its will on the world itself.
=====
[ March 23th, 2087 (Monday, Late Evening) ] Secret Basement Room (D-Blockade Dojo) > Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ][ March 23th, 2087 (Monday, Late Evening) ]
Late evening settled over Maison Bella Café like a blanket—warm, quiet, and heavy with the tired peace that came after a long day.
Dinner had already been cleared. The lights upstairs dimmed. Pumpkin the tabby had long since claimed his throne on the couch like a lazy orange king.
And yet…
Niero wasn't going to bed.
Instead, he padded down the basement stairs with a plastic bag of leftover salted-caramel pretzel sticks in hand—freshly made by Mom earlier that day. The sweet-salty smell clung to him like a trail.
His phone was pressed to his ear, and Sophie's voice crackled through the speaker loud enough to echo faintly against the stairwell walls.
> "—I'm telling you, Niero, she was right there! A real Sororitae! Like, a proper one, not the cheap mall mascot kind!"
Daisy's voice cut in immediately, faster and brighter.
> "And her Arcana was soooo cool! It was like a giant floating halo-spear thingy and—oh! Oh! And she had these ribbons of light that looked like angel wings!"
Niero rolled his eyes as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Uh-huh," he muttered. "So basically you met another mid-tier magical girl."
> "NIERO!" Sophie snapped.
Daisy gasped like she'd been stabbed.
> "That's so rude! She was Rank-B!"
"Rank-B is literally the magical girl equivalent of 'decent employee'," Niero replied, deadpan.
Sophie's voice rose immediately.
> "You don't get it! They were inspiring! They talked about discipline and faith and sacrifice—"
"And how to smile at the camera while doing it," Niero added.
Daisy huffed.
> "You're just jealous because you weren't invited!"
"I'm not jealous," Niero said, reaching the hidden shelf wall. "I'm just allergic to idol worship."
Sophie groaned.
> "You're impossible."
Daisy giggled.
> "We'll bring you a souvenir! Something holy!"
"Bring me a souvenir that tastes good," Niero said. "Preferably one that doesn't come with divine curses."
> "Okay, okay," Sophie said, amused despite herself. "Goodnight, idiot."
"Goodnight, grumpy lightning gremlin."
Daisy chimed in sweetly.
> "Goodnight, big bro! Don't die while we're gone!"
Niero smirked.
"No promises."
The call ended.
The screen dimmed.
And the moment the cheerful noise of his sisters vanished, the basement felt colder.
Quieter.
He slid the shelf aside, stepping through the hidden entrance into the D-Blockade Dojo.
The air inside carried the faint scent of steel, disinfectant, and something older—like old battles soaked into the walls.
Under the bright sterile lights, Emmy and Aunt Alura were already waiting.
Sitting.
Silent.
Like they'd been there for a while.
Niero paused, then shoved a pretzel stick into his mouth and crunched down loudly, as if the sound could lighten the tension.
He walked forward casually, crumbs dusting his lips.
"So…" he said through a mouthful, voice muffled and smug, "…what's the secret midnight meeting about?"
Emmy's eyes flicked to the pretzels.
Alura's eyes flicked to his mouth.
Neither of them laughed.
The silence stretched.
Alura didn't even look sorry.
She just pointed at him with mild annoyance, like she was correcting a minor misunderstanding in a report.
"Don't talk while you're eating, boy." she said first, casually brushing crumbs off her sleeve.
Niero slowly swallowed.
The silence that followed was immediate—and heavier than the basement dojo itself.
Mom stepped forward quickly, hands slightly raised like she was trying to stabilize a collapsing situation.
"Niero… I need to talk to you about something important," she began gently. "It's about the sparring test, but also—"
He blinked once.
Then immediately straightened.
"Did I win?"
Mom paused.
"…That's not what—"
"Because if I won," he continued, eyes sharpening with sudden focus, "then I'm assuming we can skip the emotional lecture and move straight to post-fight recovery protocol. Preferably food-based."
"Sit down," Mom said firmly, though her voice was softer than her words.
Niero hesitated, then lowered himself onto a training mat anyway, still holding the bag of pretzels like it was part of the discussion.
Mom inhaled.
"I need you to understand something first," she said. "You and your sisters… you are my pride. My joy. I love you both with everything I have."
That alone made Niero stop chewing.
Her hands tightened slightly at her sides.
"And whatever happens—whatever decisions we make—I want you to know that comes from love."
Niero frowned slightly. "Okay… that sounds like a pre-execution speech."
"And just so you know, for the longest time-"
Alura sighed from the side.
"Oh for Pete sake! Stop stalling."
Mom snapped her head toward her. "Alura—!"
Too late.
Alura looked directly at Niero.
"Boy! You're adopted."
The words dropped into the room like a stone into still water.
No dramatic build-up.
No cushioning.
Just impact.
Niero didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Even the pretzel bag in his hand stopped crinkling.
"…Huh?" he said after a long second.
Mom's face went pale.
"ALURA!"
Alura crossed her arms. "He needed to know. You were taking too long."
"That is NOT how you—!"
Niero slowly turned his head toward his mother.
"…Is this a prank?" he asked carefully. "April Fools is still weeks away."
Mom went quiet.
That was worse than any denial.
Her voice softened.
"…It's not a prank."
A pause.
Then, more carefully:
"It's complicated. And you have the right to know."
The room felt different now—less like a dojo, more like something fragile had just been exposed under bright light.
Alura, unbothered by the emotional impact she had just dropped like a grenade, walked over to a mini-fridge in the corner.
"Sit," she said simply, guiding Niero toward a seat.
He did not resist.
That alone said a lot.
A moment later, she placed a drink in front of him.
A thick, creamy durian milkshake.
"Musang King," she added. "From Madam Xixi. Good deal, had to kept it in a taped-up box cuz...ya now...how stinky it is.."
Niero stared at it.
"…You're giving me durian milkshake to break life-altering news?"
"It's called emotional cushioning," Alura said.
Mom rubbed her forehead, still visibly torn between outrage and panic.
Niero slowly picked up the glass.
"…Okay," he said quietly.
Then, more to himself than anyone else:
"I think I need the explanation part now."
Mom's hands trembled slightly as she folded them together, forcing herself to stay calm.
She looked at Niero—not like a warrior, not like an Umbral Maiden…
…but like a mother about to confess something that had been rotting in her chest for years.
"Niero…" she began quietly. "Do you remember what I told you… about my past? About the Umbral Maidens?"
Niero swallowed, his durian milkshake untouched.
"…Yeah," he said. "The bare minimum version."
Mom nodded slowly.
"Before I retired… I was sent on one last mission."
Her gaze drifted downward, like the memory itself was heavy.
"Me… and three other Umbral Maidens."
Alura leaned against the wall with crossed arms, unusually silent.
Mom continued.
"It was an underground Ark-City in Europe. One of the older ones. Built deep under ruined land, fortified like a tomb. We received a distress signal… then nothing. Total blackout."
Niero's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A dead city."
"Yes," Mom whispered.
Then her voice hardened, like she was forcing herself to speak through something sharp.
"When we arrived… it was already too late."
Her fingers clenched.
"It wasn't an Ark-City anymore."
"It was a ghost town."
Niero didn't interrupt.
Mom's eyes looked distant now, as if she was back there.
"The streets were silent. The lights were dead. The air… smelled wrong. Like burnt plastic, blood, and mold."
She exhaled shakily.
"And everywhere…"
"…were bodies."
Niero's throat tightened.
Mom's voice grew quieter.
"Humans. Animals. Even the Andies—android workers—destroyed… warped… twisted into shapes they were never meant to take."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"It was Hollowborn."
That word hit like ice.
Mom continued, more grim now.
"Five of them. At least."
She looked Niero directly in the eyes.
"And not weak ones. All at least Rank-B."
Niero's fingers tightened around the glass.
"…Five Rank-B Hollowborn?"
Mom nodded.
"We were ambushed. Not by one. Not by two."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"By all of them."
She shut her eyes.
"Two of my teammates died in that place."
The room fell colder.
Even Alura's face darkened.
Mom swallowed hard.
"I survived…"
She hesitated.
"…and one other Maiden survived with me."
Her eyes glistened.
"Out of four… only two came back."
Niero didn't even blink.
He just sat there, absorbing it.
Mom continued, her voice shaking now.
"When the fighting ended… we searched the Ark-City."
Her tone lowered.
"We counted the dead."
"192 bodies… out of 500 registered inhabitants."
Niero's face stiffened.
"And the rest?" he asked.
Mom's voice became hollow.
"Gone."
No dramatic explanation.
No comfort.
Just one word that carried the weight of an entire nightmare.
"Only one living survivor was found."
Niero's heartbeat seemed louder than the room.
Mom stared at him.
"…You."
Niero's eyes widened slightly, but his body didn't move.
Mom's voice softened again, almost breaking.
"You weren't in a crib."
"You weren't in a shelter."
"You weren't with anyone."
She shook her head.
"I found you hidden inside an air vent. Wrapped in dirty cloth. Cold. Hungry."
Her hands tightened, as if she could still feel the tiny weight in her arms.
"And when you cried…"
Her lips trembled.
"…the Hollowborn heard it."
Niero's blood ran cold.
Mom leaned forward, eyes shining.
"They came back."
"They followed the sound."
She inhaled sharply.
"And I… I grabbed you and ran."
Her voice became fierce, protective, almost animalistic.
"I killed anything that tried to reach you."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"I fought like a monster… because if I didn't…"
She stopped, unable to finish.
But Niero understood the rest.
If she didn't… he would've been eaten.
Mom's voice fell to a whisper.
"I saved you before they could take you."
She looked down at her own hands.
"And when I held you…"
"…I realized something."
Her voice cracked.
"You weren't just some survivor."
"You were… a miracle."
She looked back up, eyes wet.
"And I couldn't leave you there."
The durian milkshake trembled slightly in Niero's grip.
His voice came out strained, almost disbelieving.
He took a slow sip of the durian milkshake.
The sweetness hit his tongue… but it didn't calm the storm in his head.
His eyes stayed lowered, voice quiet.
"…Did you find anything about my real parents?"
Mom froze.
Just for a second.
A pause too long.
Then she exhaled, as if the words tasted bitter.
"No."
Her fingers tightened on her lap.
"We searched what we could. But there was nothing. No bodies we could identify. No records that survived. No family shelter logs."
She looked away.
"…I can only assume the worst."
Niero's jaw clenched.
Mom's voice lowered even more.
"That Ark-City initiated a self-destruct protocol. Nuclear reactor detonation."
Niero's eyes widened slightly.
Mom nodded grimly.
"It wasn't out of cruelty. It was containment."
She swallowed.
"To make sure the Hollowborn infestation didn't spread beyond that underground sector."
Her eyes softened with pain.
"I… I hoped that if your parents died…"
"…it was quick."
"…and painless."
The room went quiet.
Niero's fingers gripped the cup tighter.
He wasn't crying.
But his breathing felt uneven.
Like his lungs didn't know what rhythm to follow anymore.
His mind kept replaying one thought:
So I really don't belong here.
Like he was a wrong piece jammed into the right picture.
He finally spoke, voice sharper now.
"…How long were you going to hide this from me?"
Mom flinched.
Alura didn't move, but her eyes narrowed slightly—like she expected the question.
Mom lowered her head.
"I… didn't want you to ever know."
Niero stared at her.
Mom's voice cracked.
"I was planning to take it to my grave."
The words landed like a knife.
Then she forced herself to keep going.
"I thought… if you had to know… it should be when you're older."
"…Eighteen."
Niero let out a hollow laugh.
"So what changed?"
Mom met his gaze.
"You."
Niero blinked.
Mom continued, voice firm but trembling underneath.
"You wanting to become a Marauder."
She took a breath.
"You don't understand how strict Bloom Dominion is about genetics, Niero. Fertility programs. bloodline tracking. metahuman mutations…"
Her eyes darkened.
"And especially…"
"…Hollow-related contamination."
Niero's skin prickled.
Mom's tone grew colder, more serious.
"If you ever register officially as a Marauder, your genetic profile will be scanned, indexed, and analyzed."
"And if anything comes up…"
She swallowed.
"…you would've found out you were adopted in the worst way possible."
Niero's throat tightened.
Mom whispered.
"I couldn't let you be blindsided like that."
Alura finally spoke, dry as ever.
"And trust me, kid. The government doesn't do gentle surprises. They do paperwork, detention rooms, and 'mandatory investigations.'"
Niero stared at his milkshake like it wasn't even real anymore.
His voice came out quieter than before.
"…What about Sophie and Daisy?"
Mom hesitated for only a moment this time.
"They don't know," she said honestly. "At least… not fully."
Alura leaned back slightly, arms still crossed, but not interrupting.
Mom continued.
"But they're not naïve. Sophie especially… she's sharp. It's only a matter of time before she pieces it together."
A pause.
Then softer:
"But even if they do… they love you. That doesn't change."
Niero's grip on the cup tightened again.
Mom exhaled and forced herself to continue, as if pulling out truths one layer at a time.
"Sophie… she was born from me."
Niero blinked.
Mom's voice became more clinical, like she was trying to distance herself from the emotion of it.
"Dominion mandate. Standard genetic reproduction protocol for citizens under oversight contracts… and a few Umbral Maidens."
She looked away slightly.
"A donor. Approved. Recorded. Controlled."
Then her eyes returned to him.
"She's my biological daughter."
A beat.
"And Daisy…"
Mom's expression softened.
"…Daisy was adopted."
Niero's head tilted slightly, confused and already overwhelmed.
Mom continued.
"She was the daughter of the Maiden who survived with me during that Ark-City operation."
Alura's expression dimmed just a fraction at that.
Mom's voice lowered.
"She was my closest friend. The only one who made it out with me alive back then."
A pause that felt heavier than the rest.
"She passed away a few years later… complications from pregnancy."
Niero went still.
Mom swallowed.
"Before she died, she named me her next of kin."
Her gaze softened.
"And she gave Daisy to me."
Niero's breathing faltered.
For a moment, it felt like too many lives were stacked inside his head at once—people he knew, people he didn't, connections he had never seen but was somehow standing in the middle of.
His voice came out strained.
"…So I'm just… the only one who doesn't have a 'real' connection here."
Mom's eyes widened immediately.
"Don't say that."
Alura's voice cut in, firmer than usual.
"Kid—"
But Mom moved first.
She set the cup down, walked forward, and pulled Niero into a tight hug.
No hesitation this time.
Just warmth.
"I don't care where you came from," Mom said, voice shaking again. "I don't care what blood you have or don't have."
Alura stepped closer as well, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"You're family," Alura said simply. "End of story."
Mom tightened her hold slightly.
"You're my son."
A pause.
Then, softer—almost breaking:
"…That didn't change the moment I found you."
For a moment, Niero didn't move.
His chest felt tight—not from pain this time, but from something else he didn't have a clean name for.
Then his eyes finally stung.
Just slightly.
A small, reluctant tear slipped out as he exhaled.
"…This is a lot," he muttered.
Mom gave a shaky, almost relieved laugh through tears.
"Yeah," she said. "It is."
Alura, unusually gentle now, added:
"And you're still standing. So… that's your specialty, isn't it?"
Niero let out a small breath that might've been a laugh if it had more strength behind it.
"…Guess so."
He didn't say he was okay.
Not yet.
But for the first time since the conversation began, he didn't feel like the world was collapsing under his feet either.
=====
A few minutes passed.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the suffocating kind anymore—just the kind that came after something heavy finally spilled out.
Niero sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he took another long sip of the durian milkshake.
It was pungent.
Sweet.
Creamy.
And somehow… comforting.
Still, the aftermath of crying made him feel disgusting.
His eyes were red, his throat scratchy, and one nostril was completely blocked like his body decided to punish him for having emotions.
"…Ugh," he muttered, voice nasally. "Crying feels like getting sick."
Alura smirked. "Welcome to being human."
Niero coughed once, then looked up at her with a tired expression.
"…Okay. Since we're apparently doing family lore reveals tonight…"
He pointed at her with his straw.
"What about you, Aunt Alura?"
Alura blinked. "What about me?"
Niero narrowed his eyes. "Don't play dumb. What's your secret origin?"
Mom stiffened slightly, as if already knowing where this was going.
Alura, however, just leaned back on her chair like she was lounging in a bar.
Then she shrugged casually.
"I'm not even related to your mom."
Niero froze.
"…What?"
Even Mom looked irritated.
"Alura—"
But Alura held up a hand. "Relax. He asked."
Niero stared at her like his brain had short-circuited.
"So you're… not actually my aunt?"
Alura rolled her eyes.
"I'm your aunt in the only way that matters. Not by blood."
Then her tone shifted—less playful, more grounded.
"I was one of the Dominion's colonial soldiers."
Niero's brows furrowed. "Colonial soldiers…?"
Alura nodded.
"Back when the Dominion was still expanding, securing sectors, reinforcing Ark-Cities, and doing cleanup missions the public was never supposed to hear about."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Mom.
"We were sometimes assigned to assist Umbral Maiden operations. Support units. Escort squads. Extraction teams."
She gave a humorless chuckle.
"And your mom… she was still in her 'dark emo assassin' phase back then."
Mom groaned. "Don't call it that."
Alura smirked. "It was totally that."
Niero's eyes widened slightly as he processed it.
"So… you knew her before Maison Bella?"
"Way before," Alura said.
Her voice grew quieter.
"That day… the one she mentioned. The Ark-City operation."
Alura's expression hardened.
"When my battalion was ordered to provide backup for the Umbral Maidens, we went in."
She tapped her finger on the table slowly.
"And most of us never came out."
Niero's throat tightened again.
Alura didn't look away.
"They died buying time. Holding the line. Delaying the Hollowborn."
A beat.
"…I was the last one left."
Mom's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around her own hands.
Niero swallowed.
"…So that's why you stayed."
Alura gave a slow nod.
"After your mom retired, both of us had our identities erased. Clean slate."
She looked at Niero directly.
"New names. New papers. New history."
Her grin returned faintly, but it didn't fully reach her eyes.
"A 'thank you for your service' package from the higher-ups."
Mom's voice was quiet.
"It wasn't a gift."
Alura shrugged. "No. It was a leash."
Niero stared at them both.
Then Alura stretched her arms behind her head like she was trying to lighten the mood.
"So yeah. I stuck around."
She smirked again.
"Someone had to help your mom learn how to be a civilian without stabbing rude customers."
Mom glared.
Alura continued anyway.
"And someone had to be the 'cool drunk aunt' who teaches you kids what not to do."
Niero let out a shaky breath—half laugh, half disbelief.
"…This family is insane."
Mom reached out and gently patted his head.
"Welcome home," she whispered.
And for the first time, even through the exhaustion, Niero didn't feel like a puzzle piece that didn't belong.
He just felt like he finally understood why everyone here held on to each other so tightly.
=====
Niero sat there in silence for a long moment, the durian milkshake finally reduced to nothing but melted foam at the bottom of the cup.
His breathing steadied.
His heartbeat stopped hammering.
And the weird heaviness in his chest—though still there—finally loosened.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then exhaled slowly.
"…Okay."
His voice was quiet.
"So… with all this information…"
He looked between Mom and Alura.
"What's next?"
The air shifted.
Mom's expression turned unreadable, and for a second, the dojo felt colder.
"…The sparring test," she said.
Niero's stomach tightened.
Of course.
The third round.
The final round.
The thing that decided whether all of this pain meant something—or meant nothing.
He waited, almost afraid to breathe.
Then Mom reached into her pocket.
And pulled something out.
A jade dragon talisman.
But it wasn't whole anymore.
It was cracked cleanly into two pieces—
repaired with golden lines, like molten sunlight stitched through broken jade.
A kintsugi scar.
A beautiful wound.
The sight alone made Niero's eyes widen.
Mom held it up between her fingers.
Then, with a shaky breath, she spoke.
"…You passed."
For a moment, Niero didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even process the words.
"…What?"
Mom swallowed, her voice soft.
"In the third round… you took the talisman early."
She looked down, guilt flickering behind her eyes.
"Long before I even realized it was gone."
Alura leaned forward, arms crossed.
"And you held onto it like a damn demon possessed you."
Mom nodded slowly.
"You could've stopped the fight. You could've ended it the moment you had it."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"But you didn't."
She held the talisman tighter.
"And during the rest of the spar… it cracked. We don't even know when."
Her gaze flicked to the golden seams.
"It could've been you. It could've been my attacks."
She let out a small, bitter laugh.
"But it doesn't matter."
Alura smirked. "I fixed it with a kintsugi tutorial from ArkNet. Symbolic, right?"
Mom shot her a look.
Alura raised her hands. "What? It is symbolic."
Niero stared at the talisman like it was unreal.
Like it was a hallucination.
Like if he blinked, it would vanish.
"…No."
He shook his head slowly.
"No way."
He looked at Mom.
"…Is this a dream?"
Mom stepped closer, eyes warm but heavy with emotion.
"It's not a dream."
Alura nodded. "Congrats, kid. You won."
Niero's lips parted.
Then his entire body jolted as if lightning struck him.
"…I—"
His hands clenched.
His chest rose.
And suddenly—
"HELL YEAH!!"
He shot up from the chair so fast he almost tripped, his bandages shifting.
"WOOOOOO!!"
He threw his fists into the air like he just won a championship match.
"I DID IT! I BEAT HER! I WON!!"
Mom flinched from the sheer volume.
Alura laughed loudly, leaning back like she was watching a comedy show.
Niero started pacing in circles like a madman, eyes shining, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
"Rank-S Mom! Former assassin! Sororitae monster!"
He pointed dramatically at Emmy.
"AND I STILL WON!"
Mom's lips trembled.
Not from anger.
Not from disappointment.
But from something dangerously close to pride.
And heartbreak.
And relief.
Niero threw his arms up again, almost shaking with adrenaline.
"I'M A MARAUDER, BABY!"
Alura whistled. "Okay, okay—don't get cocky."
Niero whipped his head toward her, still grinning.
"I have earned the right to be cocky!"
Mom finally exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders.
Then she stepped forward—
and gently pressed the repaired talisman into his palm.
"You earned it," she whispered.
Niero stared down at it.
Cracked.
Scarred.
Repaired.
Still whole.
Still his.
And for the first time, the victory didn't feel like arrogance.
It felt like something sacred.
Something he bled for.
Something he refused to die for—
but almost did anyway.
However—
the moment Niero wiped his tears and finally calmed down, still clutching the repaired jade talisman like a holy relic, he looked up at his mother with a hopeful breath.
"So… what's next?"
Mom didn't answer.
She only stepped forward.
Niero blinked.
"Mom?"
WHAM.
Her elbow drove straight into his abdomen.
The impact was so sharp and violent that the air exploded out of Niero's lungs like a punctured balloon.
His eyes bulged.
His body folded.
And before his brain could even process the betrayal—
he was launched backward.
"GAAH—!!"
He crashed onto the dojo floor and skidded across it like a kicked ragdoll.
The world spun.
His stomach felt like it had been punched into his spine.
He coughed violently, choking on spit and air, face turning red.
"W-What the—!?"
He wheezed, barely lifting his head.
"What the hell, Mom!?"
Emmy Ripley walked toward him calmly.
Not angry.
Not panicked.
Not guilty.
Just… terrifyingly composed.
Her heels clicked against the floor like an executioner approaching the block.
Niero clutched his stomach, groaning.
"W-What was that for!?"
Mom stopped in front of him and looked down.
Her eyes softened—just slightly.
Then she spoke in a voice that was almost gentle.
"You passed."
Niero's face twisted in disbelief.
"THEN WHY—!?"
She crouched down slightly, meeting his eyes.
"…Because passing doesn't mean you're ready."
Her voice was calm.
Deadly calm.
"You won the sparring test."
She reached out and tapped his forehead lightly, like she was scolding a child.
"But you are still a long way from being a Marauder."
Niero swallowed hard, still coughing.
Mom stood up again.
"And I've made my decision."
Niero's heart pounded.
She continued.
"I will allow you to join the military academy."
His eyes widened.
A surge of relief shot through his veins—
until she lifted one finger.
"But in return…"
She smiled.
A mother's smile.
A predator's smile.
"I will forge you."
Niero's skin crawled.
"Forge…?"
Mom's voice became absolute.
"Every three days."
"Every week."
"Three hours."
"For 304 days."
Niero froze.
His mouth slowly opened.
"…Huh?"
Mom turned slightly, pacing as if reciting a contract.
"From tonight. March 23rd, 2087…"
Her gaze snapped back to him.
"…until January 21st, 2088."
She stepped closer.
"I will teach you everything."
"Combat."
"Survival."
"Tactics."
"Killing intent."
"Discipline."
"Pain tolerance."
"How to keep moving even when your bones are begging you to stop."
Niero's lips trembled.
His soul left his body.
"Mom… that's—"
Mom placed a hand on her chest, eyes shimmering with sincerity.
"It hurts me more than it hurts you."
Niero stared at her in silence.
Then, with a cracked wheeze, he muttered:
"…That is such bullshit."
Mom's smile widened.
"Language."
Niero tried to sit up.
Still clutching his stomach.
Still dizzy.
Still smiling through the pain.
"…Okay, okay. I get it."
He coughed.
"I'm ready."
Mom raised her fist.
Niero blinked.
"Wait—"
WHAM.
Her punch slammed into his face like a freight train.
The dojo lights blurred.
And the world went black.
=====
<<<[ Ch 23, Part 09 - END >>>