Day [X].

“Know the quickest way to lose a dream?”

“The moment someone rips it from you, like a candle snuffed by a cold wind.”

…

“What a strange World.”

“Hm? How so?”

“Look. This World’s got so many professions, like birds in a migrating V. Coachman, Emperor, Mage, Warrior, Thief, Summoner, Great Sage… everyone picks what matches their taste and talent.”

“That’s not bad, is it?”

“It’s great. But why is it that a 【Hero】 and… can’t be chosen?”

“Huh? Isn’t that obvious? A 【Hero】 is never self-made. A 【Hero】 is born from others’ wishes, like a name rung from a bell… my—【Hero King】.”

…

In the rest room.

Her hands trembled like leaves in a late wind.

Aerin could hear the noise beyond a single stone wall, a river of voices pouring in. They were saying her name, her rumors, her weakness, like pebbles thrown at a window. They were guessing how long she would last—fifteen seconds? Thirty-five?

A wall of rock was nothing against that storm of sound. And no one out there bothered to lower their voices, like crows feasting in daylight.

Every feeling wrapped inside those sounds, bare and sharp, sank into her chest like cold rain.

It was expectation sweet as honey, and malice thick as tar. They melded into a sugar mountain that pressed on her, cloying and heavy as wet snow.

She didn’t want to join this match.

Her heart shrank like a shuttered lantern.

But she knew there were things she had to fight for, like a seed pushing at stubborn earth.

Even if she knew she would lose. Maybe lose ugly. She could blame the opponent for being too strong, but she understood the truer reason—she was too weak, like a reed in a flood.

She had tried. Tried, and tried, and tried, like a hammer on a cold anvil.

And still, she wasn’t enough.

Some things don’t bloom just because you pour water on them.

In this World, talent exists, like mountains that won’t move.

Even so—knowing that stepping onto that platform meant boos like hail, meant disappointment like frost over a field, meant she might drop the name her father left her—she would still step up.

Because she was—

“Because I’m…” She tightened her grip on the sword at her waist. She rose like a sapling braving wind. “The daughter of the 【Hero King】.”

…

Vmm.

The silver blade ripped the air, a shriek like winter ice cracking on a river.

She drew her sword.

The motion was beautiful and precise, like a crane unfolding its wings. She must’ve practiced it ten thousand times. Golden bangs swayed in the sword wind, and the gold in her eyes froze like coins in ice, steady and still.

But—

“Your strength and speed are both lacking,” said the wind.

Before steel cleared scabbard, the black-haired, black-eyed girl ten meters away blurred like mist. A breeze touched her and she faded like foam.

Rogue skill—Stealth!

A fine edge of wind sliced the air. Something pierced Aerin in a blink, like a needle sliding through silk.

Her pupils shrank. On the next breath, a black dagger kissed her throat, cold as midnight. Behind her, the dagger’s owner surfaced from the air, face blank as a mask.

Beyond the pale protective magic array of the arena, the judge had watched without a ripple. He sighed, like dust settling, and gave the ruling.

“Match—over.”

Three seconds—the match ended.

Clang.

Her right hand loosened on the hilt. The blade slid back into the scabbard, weak as a falling reed. From start to finish, she never had the chance to bare steel.

The victor had already turned away. Vannie said nothing. As she stepped down, she glanced at Aerin with a flicker of disappointment—deep, still-water disappointment.

That look stiffened Aerin’s body like frost. Her hands curled into fists. Her knuckles went pale as bone.

“Aerin, loss. Vannie, win.”

Noise exploded like thunder, a boom that could lift the dome off the sky.

This was only the prelims of the Exhibition. The stands weren’t large—barely a hundred seats—but every seat had a body, and people stood outside just to listen. Some held magic recording crystals, broadcasting like sparks scattered on the wind. Almost all of them had come to see Aerin—the daughter of the 【Hero King】.

They came with nerves, with hope, and with a thread of malice they didn’t notice, like a thin snake in tall grass. They wanted her first public duel.

They’d expected a loss. Not this clean, not this bloodless—no ring of steel. A swordsman who didn’t even get to draw.

Rumors are one thing. Reality is a cold bucket. Brows furrowed, lines drew tight. Some shouted. Some turned on their heels.

“Pathetic.”

“This generation… can’t do it.”

“Compared to her father…”

“Well, we knew, didn’t we.”

“I thought the reports were fake, and yet…”

On the high platforms reserved for nobles and the powerful, important people frowned and kept their silence, like carved idols in a storm.

They saw more, like owls at dusk.

Silence fell like ash. Their attendants kept their mouths shut too, flat as stones.

At last, someone spoke.

“Well?”

“Far from her father—Ori.”

“A problem.” Another hush. The same voice. He glanced down at something, then jolted, face bleaching with fear and disbelief, like a sailor seeing a black tide.

“What is it, Lord Ofaan?”

Ofaan drew a long breath, as if drinking despair by the cup. His silver hair shone like frost. Wrinkles folded his face like old parchment. He spoke heavy and bitter. “The elves at the Star-Seers’ Observatory reported yesterday—the 【Yinghuo Star】 began to rise from the Dead Sea of Stars.”

Clatter!

A teacup shattered on the floor, sharp as a cry.

No one cared. Even these great figures were stunned by the news, like deer in torchlight.

“The 【Demo…】” someone blurted.

“Mind your tongue!” the neighbor cut in, quick as a knife.

“Forgive me.” He clapped a hand over his mouth, late fear like sweat on his spine.

Some names must not be spoken by mortals. Or 【It】 will listen.

“Is this… true? The rise of the 【Yinghuo Star】 always marks 【Its】 awakening… Why so soon? It’s been only a few years since the last time…”

“Who are you doubting? Lord Ofaan is the sole public voice for the Star-Seers. Would he be wrong?”

“No. I’m just… shocked.” He bowed his head at once.

“In any case…” They were seasoned men, not their first storm. Fear loosened like a bowstring, discipline slipped back on like armor.

Ofaan waved a tired hand, face worn like a traveler’s boots. He sighed. “Before 【It】 truly wakes and sweeps the continent, Aerin must become a 【Champion】—and grow fully.”

“No. Forgive me. I may have to return to the Empire first. This news is too crucial.”

“Me too. We came just to see Ori’s bloodline, and found this. No omen at all.”

“I’m shocked as well. I only learned just now,” Ofaan said with a helpless smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I understand. Those elves are always like that. They don’t care if the World burns. They watch only the movement of stars.”

“With power like theirs…”

“Ah…”

Up on the platform, they fretted over the world’s ending, like men counting storm clouds. They spared no thought for the girl who should’ve been the story’s lead. They never asked what she wanted, and still plotted her road like chess on a cold board. To them, some things were simply how it should be.

Down below, the crowd thought the same.

Without anyone noticing, the power of 【Atmosphere】 began to swell, like mist thickening into rain.

Things slid out of control. The stands grew louder, waves on a windy lake. With every push, with or without intent, curses and slander bled in.

“Is she really the 【Hero King】’s blood?”

“I’ve had doubts for a while…”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Is she truly Lord Ori’s child?”

“Every generation of the Lion Pride line shines. They inherit that title perfectly. Lord Ori was the strongest of them all.”

“Maybe… something got mixed up?”

“I heard Lord Ori…”

“She has an older brother?”

“A bas…?”

“…bastard?”

“Yeah. Bastard.”

A broad sea of faces. Those who knew Aerin and those who didn’t. Those who’d met her and those who hadn’t. Related and unrelated, like flakes in a snow squall.

For this moment, they blurred into one tide.

Sweat shone hot on their faces like oil. Teeth clenched. Necks craned. Tongues licked dry lips. They stared at the golden-haired girl on the open stage. She lifted her pale face like a wan moon. She bit her dry lips. She stood still. Her eyes didn’t blink, but her rims grew red, like dawn on frost.

They had a thousand words ready to spit.

Facing Aerin—a bright, easy 【target】—they found a huge 【empathy】 among themselves, like a bonfire everyone fed. For a heartbeat, they were one happy family.

Ugly malice hatched from their chests, broke shell like a black chick. It swelled and merged, a bruise turning a whole sky purple.

Faces flushed as if drunk. They chattered, eager to share their blame and disappointment for the noble golden-haired girl with strangers at their elbows. Recognition came back like a tossed ball. It felt good. It felt enough.

The daughter of the 【Hero King】—usually a star they could only watch from far away. Even if their hearts had ghosts, they could only imagine in the dark. But in this crowd, they could judge, they could jeer, like dogs under a gate. Because everyone was doing it.

No one punishes a mob. So the wave only grew higher.

Even those who felt pity, who wanted to speak for Aerin, got swallowed by the flood, and dyed the same color.

“Don’t…”

“How can you defend her?”

“She’s still a child…”

“Is that a reason? She’s Lord Ori’s blood.”

“We pinned our hopes on her. Is this our return?”

“If… it comes, do we rely on someone this weak?!”

“I…”

That is the terror of 【Atmosphere】.

It’s forged from human grudges and human wishes, like fog from breath in winter. It’s invisible, yet everywhere. The instant it congeals, it slips free from human hands. It has its own will—made of ours, but not ours.

In that moment, the 【Atmosphere】 no longer obeys. It guides. It shoves. It forces people to act, like a river pushing a boat.

If you refuse, you become—【out of step】.

And in that swollen, monstrous 【Atmosphere】, Ye Weibai opened his eyes from a long darkness, like a lantern flaring in a cave.

Then.

He saw something he had never seen—

【Misfortune】.