"Are you bored?"
"..."
I didn't know what to say.
His question wasn't ordinary. It carried no mockery, no accusation. It was cold—like a doctor asking a patient about their symptoms.
And in that moment, I realized something.
I looked into his eyes. The way he was staring at me… it wasn't the gaze of someone who had just discovered a coward hiding. It was the look of someone who had found something interesting… a gaze laced with caution.
That was when my mind started connecting the dots.
'Are you bored? Not "Why did you run?" but "Are you bored?" Does he think this team battle doesn't interest me? … And that cautious look—like someone facing a venomous snake, trying to strangle it without getting bitten…'
Another thought followed immediately.
'This… is perfect.'
With his reputation, Morgenstern would definitely misunderstand me—and if I wanted to avoid getting beaten up, I had to keep up the act.
I swallowed.
I decided to play the role.
Coldness and mystery were my best shield right now. If he thought I was strong, he wouldn't try to attack me.
I put on an indifferent expression… a near-poker face.
"Bored is a strong word," I said, my voice calmer than I expected.
Sometimes I still surprise myself—how quickly I slip into a role. Maybe I have a talent for acting I never knew about.
"Let's just say… I analyze patterns. And there were some interesting ones today."
It was a vague answer—neither confirming nor denying anything.
At that moment, I felt something strange and fleeting.
As if the air around me rippled for an instant, or as if I heard a distant whisper at the very edge of my hearing. It lasted only a fraction of a second, then vanished.
'Weird,' I thought. 'A sudden headache? … Probably just a side effect of being near all those battle auras.'
I ignored it.
Kai, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Patterns?" he repeated. His voice remained calm, but I sensed a growing interest. "The only pattern I see is that you haven't moved at all. Is your team not worth the effort?"
That was a direct provocation—a test of my reaction.
I gave a faint smile.
If my effort had any value, I wouldn't have run in the first place.
"A team that needs my intervention in a training exercise like this…" I said, glancing toward the distant explosions, "…isn't a team worth being part of in the first place. Don't you think?"
I turned the question back on him cleverly, making it sound like an obvious truth rather than arrogance.
And apparently… it was exactly the kind of answer he expected from someone strong.
That strange sensation hit me again—a slight distortion in reality, then nothing.
'What the hell is that? Am I imagining things?'
I looked at Kai. His face was still expressionless, but I felt like he was doing something.
"An interesting answer," Kai said, stepping closer. He stood atop a pile of rubble now, looking down at me.
"But that means you consider yourself above them… above a prodigy like Ethan Riddle, or a genius like Serena Valerian."
"Comparisons are boring, Morgenstern," I replied, leaning back against a cold slab of concrete, trying to appear completely at ease.
"Strength isn't a straight line you can measure. There are different kinds of strength. Don't you agree? Ethan's strength lies in destruction. Serena's lies in control. And mine…" I paused slightly, "…lies elsewhere."
I was spouting philosophical nonsense—but it worked to maintain my mystery.
Still… I wasn't entirely lying. My ability really was only useful in horror stories.
"Tch!"
The ripple came a third time. Stronger now—like a faint wave of heat passing through me.
'This isn't normal.'
"Elsewhere?" Kai said, slowly pacing along the edge of the rubble, his eyes never leaving me. "You survived the Carnival Incident. An A-rank incident. And now you're sitting here, watching a simple training session like it means nothing to you… Do you really think no one notices the contradiction, Lester?"
"People see what they want to see," I answered calmly. "Some see a coward. Some see arrogance. And some, like you, see a mystery. But none of them see the truth."
"And what is the truth?" he asked, stopping right in front of me.
I looked at him—and smiled genuinely for the first time. It was a tired, mocking smile.
"The truth is… this is really boring."
"Ding—!"
At that exact moment, as if fate itself had stepped in to save me, a sharp, clear sound rang from the Cardinal device on my wrist.
A message from the academy.
Kai stared at me, his eyes narrowing, his expression more serious than ever.
"So you admit it…" he said slowly. "That you consider yourself above all this."
But it was too late. My excuse to leave had arrived.
I glanced at my device, then looked back at him with a faint, artificial smile.
"Looks like analysis time is over," I said, as if closing a file. "They won. That was expected."
I added that last line deliberately—another piece in the puzzle I was building for him. As if I had never doubted the outcome for even a moment.
I didn't wait for his response.
I turned to leave, forcing myself to walk calmly, with artificial confidence—like someone without a care in the world.
"See you later, Morgenstern."
With every step I took away, my spine trembled.
What if he attacks me now… for no reason?
But I didn't look back.
I survived.
Not through strength—but through weakness that had been misunderstood.
[Point of View: Kai Morgenstern]
I stood there, watching his back as he walked away calmly and confidently—like a king leaving his court.
He didn't fall for a single provocation. His answers were always vague, layers of riddles stacked upon each other.
And most importantly…
'My ability… didn't work. Not even once.'
From the moment I asked him, "Are you bored?", I had already begun weaving my threads.
[Probability Weaver – Rank: A]
I was trying to influence the smallest variables.
When he said, "Bored is a strong word," I tried to increase the probability that he would stumble over his words.
Nothing happened. His voice remained calm and clear.
Failure.
When I provoked him about his team, I tried to increase the probability that a small stone would fall from the rubble behind him and distract him.
It should have made him turn—breaking his composed façade.
But the stone stayed perfectly still, defying the very laws of chance I was trying to impose.
Failure.
And when he spoke about different types of strength, I tried to use the environment—there was a nearby battle scattering stray electrical sparks everywhere.
I increased the probability that one of those sparks would lightly graze him.
A tiny jolt of pain would have been enough to expose any false calm.
But the sparks avoided him—as if an invisible field was protecting him.
Total failure.
My ability works on everyone. It's not a direct force that can be blocked—it manipulates probability itself.
Even against someone like Serena or Ethan, I can influence small surrounding events. I can make an opponent's weapon slip, or the ground beneath them become unstable for a moment.
But against him…
'It's like trying to write on water…'
There was no resistance. No barrier. No rejection.
There was… emptiness.
As if the threads of probability I controlled simply passed through him without touching him.
As if… he didn't exist within the fabric.
'How?'
That question echoed through my mind—a mind that always found answers.
I went back over the reports I had read.
The Twisted Carnival.
An A-rank incident. A gate that appeared suddenly… turning an F-class scenario into an A-rank catastrophe.
And Adam Lester—the student with no formal training—survived. Not only survived, but the reports were vague about his role.
And he was the reason his team made it out—despite witness statements that bordered on the unreal.
'He survived that. How can an ordinary student survive an A-rank incident?'
Was he truly the reason they survived?
I considered every possibility that could explain his immunity to my ability.
A defensive skill? No—if that were the case, I would have felt it resisting me.
A magical artifact protecting him? Possible—but the academy thoroughly inspects its students.
Or was it… something simpler—and far more terrifying?
I stood there, staring at the empty space where he had been, as the pieces began to fall into place.
My ability doesn't work on him.
He survived something far beyond his level.
And he acts with a confidence that doesn't match his apparent strength.
There is only one conclusion that explains all these contradictions.
'Unless…'
'Unless it's not that my ability doesn't work… but that he is beyond its range of influence.'
The strength of [Probability Weaver] depends heavily on my level, and the mana consumption changes depending on the target.
What if the target is simply too great for me to manipulate its probability?
'You can't manipulate the probability of something far beyond your power…'
My ability can affect even a C-rank individual—though barely.
So then… is he somewhere between B-rank and A-rank?
A B-rank can fight dozens of monsters.
But an A-rank monster… is a natural disaster. An undeniable reality.
Could my ability increase the probability that a tsunami doesn't strike a city?
…No.
My eyes widened as I reached the only possible conclusion.
The conclusion that explained everything.
'My misunderstanding wasn't just that he's strong… it was the extent of that strength.'
'He isn't hiding his power. He's simply… too powerful for me to even consider using my ability on him.'
'He's not just stronger than me… he exists on an entirely different level.'
'Is he really… an A-rank being?'
A sixteen-year-old… at A-rank?
'That's absurd…'
I shifted my gaze toward where Adam had disappeared.
'Or perhaps… he possesses an exceptionally unique ability…'