The old man pretended not to notice him.
That was the problem.
People who genuinely didn't notice you acted differently.
This man had noticed.
Then decided not to.
Haruto knew the difference.
So instead of following Lyra—
he stopped.
The book stall sat quietly in the corner of the market square.
Crowds flowed around it like water around a stone.
Most people barely glanced at the shelves.
The old man seemed perfectly content with that.
He turned another page.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Ignoring Haruto with professional skill.
Haruto walked over anyway.
The old man continued reading.
Nothing changed.
Haruto stood there.
Waiting.
The old man kept reading.
More waiting.
More reading.
Eventually—
"...hello."
No response.
Haruto frowned.
"...good morning."
The old man turned a page.
Haruto narrowed his eyes.
"...nice weather."
Nothing.
The old man remained completely focused on the book.
A nearby customer snorted.
Haruto was being defeated by a librarian.
Or bookseller.
Or whatever he was.
It was embarrassing.
Finally—
Belial climbed onto a crate.
"HE'S IGNORING YOU."
"Thank you, Belial."
"I TRY MY BEST."
The old man's hand froze.
Just slightly.
Only for a moment.
But Haruto saw it.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The page turned.
The hand continued moving.
The expression remained calm.
Yet something had changed.
Haruto leaned slightly closer.
"...you heard that."
The old man sighed.
A long, tired sigh.
The sigh of someone realizing a problem wasn't going away.
Then—
without looking up—
he spoke.
"I heard many things."
His voice was rough.
Like old paper.
Or stone.
Haruto smiled slightly.
Progress.
"You know about Belial."
"No."
The old man turned another page.
"I know what happens when a goat starts speaking."
Belial looked offended.
Again.
"I AM MORE THAN A GOAT."
The old man finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Gray.
Sharp.
Ancient.
Not physically.
Mentally.
The eyes of someone who had spent too long watching history happen.
Then his gaze shifted.
Past Haruto.
Toward Arthur's cloak.
And there it was again.
That tiny change.
Recognition.
Gone in an instant.
But real.
The old man closed his book.
Carefully.
Slowly.
As if accepting defeat.
"What do you want?"
Haruto answered honestly.
"I don't know."
The old man blinked.
Apparently that wasn't the answer he expected.
Haruto shrugged.
"I saw your reaction."
"What reaction?"
"The one you had when you saw my cloak."
The old man became very still.
The market noise continued around them.
Merchants shouted.
Children laughed.
Life moved forward.
Yet the space around the stall felt strangely isolated.
Like the world had stepped back for a moment.
The old man studied him.
Not the way normal people studied strangers.
The way a historian examined a document.
Trying to determine whether it was genuine.
Or dangerous.
Finally—
he spoke.
"Where did you get it?"
No denial.
No avoidance.
Straight to the cloak.
Haruto noticed.
"So you recognize it."
The old man looked annoyed.
"So you noticed."
"I did."
"...unfortunate."
Haruto liked him immediately.
The man reminded him of someone.
Not Arthur.
Not Belial.
Someone from Earth.
A teacher, perhaps.
The kind who complained constantly while secretly helping everyone.
The old man leaned back.
His gaze remained fixed on the cloak.
"I haven't seen that symbol in years."
Years.
Not centuries.
Years.
Haruto caught that immediately.
His pulse quickened.
Arthur wasn't ancient history.
At least not to this man.
"Who was Arthur?"
The question left his mouth before he could stop it.
The old man's expression changed.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Pure recognition.
Haruto's heart nearly stopped.
He knew the name.
He absolutely knew the name.
A long silence followed.
Then—
the old man laughed.
Once.
Softly.
Disbelievingly.
"Of course."
Haruto frowned.
"Of course what?"
The old man shook his head.
Then looked toward the sky.
As if searching for patience.
Or mercy.
Perhaps both.
"That idiot."
The words were spoken with a strange mixture of frustration and affection.
Like remembering a troublesome friend.
Or a family member who never listened.
The old man sighed.
Then looked directly at Haruto.
For the first time since meeting him.
Really looked at him.
Not the cloak.
Not Belial.
Him.
"What year do you think it is?"
Haruto blinked.
"...what?"
The question felt completely unrelated.
The old man didn't elaborate.
"What year?"
Haruto slowly realized he had absolutely no idea.
Not even a little.
The old man saw the realization.
And groaned.
Deeply.
Painfully.
As if reality itself had disappointed him.
"Wonderful."
"Is it?"
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Belial started laughing.
The old man pointed at the goat.
"You."
Belial stopped.
"What?"
"You knew."
"...maybe."
"You knew."
"...possibly."
The old man closed his eyes.
The expression on his face suggested this explained many things.
None of them good.
Finally—
he stood.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like someone much older than he appeared.
Then reached beneath the stall.
Pulling out a small wooden box.
Worn by time.
Protected by care.
The old man placed it on the table.
Between them.
Haruto stared.
The box wasn't large.
Yet something about it felt important.
The old man rested a hand on its surface.
Quietly.
Almost respectfully.
Then spoke.
"Arthur left this with me."
Silence.
The market disappeared.
The city disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
Only those words remained.
Arthur left this with me.
Haruto stared at the box.
Then at the old man.
Then back at the box.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
Because for the first time since crossing worlds—
he wasn't chasing Arthur's trail.
He had finally caught up to it.
And whatever waited inside that box...
had been waiting for him.