Serika Vahn knew the narrow alley behind the inn "Linden Branch." A thin passage between stone walls. Morning sunlight didn't reach here—the space remained dim. The smell of dry moss hung in the air. A clothesline stretched diagonally overhead, and the remnants of yesterday's rain pooled thinly in the gaps between flagstones. Serika waited at the alley's entrance for the inn's door to open. Stark Blitz woke early. He'd spent the night confined to his room, though whether he'd actually slept remained unclear. His deep crimson eyes were faintly bloodshot. He kept his head low, black hair streaked with red, passing through the corridor without meeting anyone's gaze—and then he saw it. Purple hair at the alley's entrance. One eye gold, one eye silver. A serpent tattoo along her neck. "[gentle]Good morning, Stark," Her voice was calm. Something close to sympathy threaded through it. Stark stopped. He still hadn't made sense of what this woman had said in front of the research tower last night—"I'll help calm Stark down"—the meaning of those words remained unprocessed. "[cold]...What do you want?" "[gentle]Could we talk for a moment?" Serika began walking deeper into the alley. An invitation. Stark stood motionless, watching her. His feet moved only because she might know something about Feln—that reason alone. In the alley's depths, Serika turned back. A thin smile played at her lips. But her eyes held a calculating color. "[gentle]I'd like to tell you something about Feln. I think it will help you," "[cold]What about Feln?" "[serious]The teacher has known for a long time that you admire her as a childhood friend," Stark's jaw clenched. He couldn't bring himself to deny it. "[gentle]And yet—the teacher keeps her distance from you. Intentionally," "[cold]...What do you mean?" "[serious]To the teacher, you are a figure from the past. Nostalgic, but inconvenient. There is no room for you in the teacher's current life—that is what she believes. She hasn't said so explicitly, but I understand," Her voice remained soft. Emotionless, quiet. Like a doctor delivering bad news—that kind of composure. Stark leaned his shoulder against the wall. The image returned to him: Feln's face glimpsed through the window last night—smiling beside Ellen, that expression—a face she had never turned toward him. Not once in ten years. "[serious]And in the teacher's research world, Ellen has already become an integral part. There is no gap left for you anywhere," With only that, Serika slowly left the alley. Stark remained alone. It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness either. The cold of the stone wall transmitted from his shoulder through his back. He looked up at the sky. The morning sky was covered in thin clouds, reflecting nothing. The sensation that his own existence—was unnecessary—that alone sank to the bottom of his chest. --- That same afternoon, near the entrance to the birch forest Weisswald. The small path along the forest's edge was a quiet place where autumn light filtered thinly through the branches. The birch trunks glowed white. Dry leaves accumulated at his feet, making light sounds with each step. Serika hadn't needed much effort to lure Ellen Garde here. "I'd like to speak frankly about your relationship with Feln"—that alone was enough. Ellen came. Ellen was earnest. And honest. That made him easiest for Serika to use. "[serious]You've already become aware of your feelings for the teacher, haven't you?" Ellen's pale golden hair swayed in the wind. His water-blue eyes flickered for a moment. The thin scar on his left cheek turned slightly white—the color of tension. "[serious]...What of it?" "[cold]Feln cannot see her disciples as individuals in any deep way," Ellen didn't move. Serika continued. Her voice was quiet, emotionless. "[serious]To the teacher, a disciple is merely a research assistant. No matter what feelings you hold, the teacher's vision contains only the precision of your magic. And your affection is nothing but an inconvenience that disturbs the balance between the teacher's research and her solitude," "[surprised]Is that...true?" His voice rose slightly. Serika gazed at Ellen's face quietly. "[serious]Do you know that Stark confronted Feln last night? The teacher couldn't explain herself. Because she's someone who cannot receive another person's emotions. That is an unchangeable part of who the teacher is," Ellen fell silent. He didn't believe all of Serika's words. But—part of it struck home. The possibility that he might be troubling Feln burrowed into his mind and wouldn't leave. That night, the teacher had said nothing. The silence after their fingers touched on the birch hill. What did it mean that she hadn't pulled away? He'd been thinking about it constantly. But no answer came. Then Serika's words layered over it. The word "inconvenience" sank slowly through his thoughts. That evening, Ellen didn't return to the research tower's dining table. --- Several days passed. The burnt smell of medicinal herbs no longer lingered in the first floor of the research tower. Instead, there was the smell of nothing. Ellen had returned. But something had changed. During magical instruction, when Feln pointed out an error in his formula, Ellen would say "I'm sorry" and lower his eyes to his notebook. That was all. Before, he would have smiled slightly and said "I see." His gaze no longer met hers. When Feln tried to speak, Ellen would change the subject and retreat to the study. Feln watched that door. For a while, she simply watched it. She didn't understand what was happening. Without understanding, she continued the afternoon experiments. Alone, she measured the roots of medicinal herbs, channeled her magic, wrote numbers into her notebook. The same motions as before. But the room felt larger than it had. Stark had been absent for even longer. She'd heard from Berta, the innkeeper of "Linden Branch," that he might have returned, but he never appeared in public. Jork, the tavern keeper at "Grüne Laterne," had mentioned during her shopping that Stark hadn't been coming to the bar either. She sent a messenger. There was no reply. Feln sat on the first floor of the research tower and opened Frieren's grimoire. She turned pages. Equations lined the paper. Her teacher's thin handwriting scrawled in the margins. The same pages as always. But her hand stopped. A month ago and now—nothing in the room had changed. The bookshelves, the table, the stone floor, the birch forest beyond the window. But something had certainly vanished. Perhaps it was the presence of someone. Feln couldn't organize it as an emotion. She simply continued turning pages. --- As evening fell, the door was knocked upon. When she opened it, a man in a grass-colored cloak stood there. A well-groomed beard. Eyes that seemed to calculate something. A young man who appeared to be a clerk stood one step behind. Heinrich Klaus. An inspector from the Southern Audit Bureau of Ordinea—the Continent Magical Association, a supranational organization of mages established on the Eltriede Continent. He handled the review of research grants. He was the same man who had visited just before the herb festival. "[serious]I'll take some of your time," Klaus offered a sealed letter. Feln accepted it. The official seal of Ordinea was pressed on the front. She opened it. The text was brief. In this review, research results were judged to fall below the practical utility standard. Therefore, research funding is hereby terminated. Additionally, the research tower's usage rights are to be returned to Ordinea by year's end. Feln read it. She read it again. On the third reading, the text remained unchanged. "[cold]The deadline is year's end," Klaus paused. Waiting for some change in Feln's expression. When none came, he paused again. Then he left quietly with his clerk. The door closed. Feln stood alone on the first floor of the research tower. She couldn't move, the letter still in her hand. The edge of the envelope dug into her palm. Ten years since she'd inherited this research tower from her teacher Frieren. One hundred twenty grimoires left by Frieren. Experimental records for refining the "flower-blooming magic." Stacks of notebooks piled on the shelves. The smell of the medicinal herb garden's soil. The spot on the first floor's stone floor that grew cold in winter. Everything was here. By year's end. Feln walked slowly to the bookshelves. She traced her finger along the spines of leather-bound grimoires and pulled out one with Frieren's name written on it. She held it to her chest. The leather was cold. Her shoulders trembled slightly. She stifled her voice. Still, tears came. They wouldn't stop. She sank to her knees. Clutching the grimoire, wordless sounds escaped her. Teacher, am I alone again? The words made no sound. They dissolved into the room's cold air. For ten years, she had endured the solitude. But tonight, she couldn't bear it. --- At the same hour. The bridge at the town's edge was old stonework. It spanned a water channel drawn from the Mühle River tributary—a small bridge. The railing stones were moss-covered, stained orange by the setting sun. Stark leaned his back against the railing, looking up at the hill. The research tower's window was lit. He knew Feln was beyond that window. He'd always known. But his feet wouldn't move. What would change if he went? What would change with his words? What Serika had said in the alley still sat in his chest. A figure from the past. Inconvenient. He didn't know if it was true. But he remembered last night. The moment Feln said "that's not so," when he'd turned on his heel and left. When he'd walked away without hearing her explanation. He felt like the same thing would happen again if he went. Stark turned from the bridge. He walked away from the research tower. One step, then another. The sound of his shoes on the flagstones echoed alone through the quiet town at dusk. --- At the same moment, deep in the birch forest. Ellen knelt on the ground, sitting collapsed. Birch trunks surrounded him. The setting sun penetrated deep into the forest, staining the trunks red. Ellen was chanting the magic Feln had taught him. The flower-blooming magic—the modest, precise magic that Feln researched, building on the technical system of her teacher Frieren. Within the incantation, he gathered magic at the base of the flower bud, prompting it to bloom. But he couldn't concentrate. His hands shook. The word "inconvenience" repeated in his mind. In Serika's voice. In Feln's expression—that quiet face before her gaze stopped meeting his—in the silence of the birch hill at night. Magic spilled from his fingertips. Control broke. The moment it released, the magic dispersed. A soft sound—*pop*. The surrounding birch trunks blackened. The bark shriveled, soot swirling into the wind. Not a single flower bloomed. Ellen reached toward the charred trunk. Soot clung to his palm. Black soot settled into the lines of his hand. He stared at it. He couldn't move. --- In the corner room on the third floor of the inn "Linden Branch." Serika sat by the window. Outside, dusk had deepened. In the distance, on the hill above, the research tower's window light was visible. Serika gazed at that light. A faint satisfaction colored the corner of her lips. But her eyes didn't smile. She'd taken Ellen back—or so she'd thought. She'd driven a wedge between Feln and him. She'd pushed Stark away too. Everything had gone according to plan. And yet. Something cold remained in her chest. A sensation close to fear. She knew the reason. Even if she'd taken Ellen back, what came after? What was built on lies would eventually crumble. When it did, would Ellen look at her? Or— Serika turned her gaze from the window. The room was quiet. Beyond the walls, the distant footsteps of other guests echoed faint