Late morning in Notting City unfurled like a lazy symphony.
Stalls groaned open beneath baskets of fresh produce, the air rich with the scent of warm bread and still damp with dew. Sunlight spilled across the cobbled streets like golden syrup, pooling between the stones. The usual bustle was softened by the holiday—no shouting vendors or packed carriages, just a warm hum of life in no hurry.
Arthev stood just outside the academy's iron gate, a burlap bag slung over one shoulder. The sun caught the sharp angles of his face and the sleek fall of jet-black hair. He didn't move—barely blinked. Still as stone, like he'd been carved into the ivy-covered wall. Calm and quiet, like a predator with nowhere to be, but a thousand places he could reach if he chose.
The stillness broke.
"You're going out, right?"
Xiao Wu's voice rang out, cheerful and familiar. She bounced up beside him, braid swaying like a tail, breath light, eyes bright.
Arthev glanced her way. "Yes."
"Mind if I tag along?" she asked, grinning like the answer was obvious.
He tilted his head slightly, calculating something unseen—probably weighing the chaos she might bring. Then, without a word, he turned and began walking toward the city. She fell in beside him without hesitation.
After a pause just long enough to make her wonder, he finally said, "You're already walking beside me."
She blinked, then smiled. "So… that's a yes?"
"I didn't say no."
She laughed—light and clear, echoing down the quiet street. But curiosity tugged at her deeper than simple friendliness. The energy she'd felt during his spar with Tang San—it buzzed through her like something primal. Familiar. Like the Star Dou Forest. Like her.
She couldn't ask directly if he was like her—a soul beast in human form. Not yet. But if she stuck close, maybe something would slip. Besides, she'd never seen him outside the academy. She was curious. Very curious.
Despite the holiday, Notting City pulsed with life. The streets moved like a living painting—vivid and noisy. Merchants barked about miracle herbs and unbeatable prices. Children chased chalk dragons on cobbles. Two old ladies argued over fish like it was treasure. The air was thick with spices, sizzling meat, and herbs sharp enough to slap.
Arthev moved through it all with the poise of someone born to it. Calm. Attuned. He didn't gawk or linger, but nothing escaped him. A dropped coin. A twitch in a merchant's grin. Wings flashing above. He walked like the city was familiar music he could follow with his eyes closed.
Xiao Wu tried not to stare. At school, Arthev was distant and unreadable. But here? He was different. Present. Fluid. In tune with the city's rhythm. It was as if the city welcomed him—or maybe he just moved like he belonged.
As they passed a fruit stall, an apple broke free, rolling downhill toward an old woman sweeping her doorstep with soldierly focus. She spotted it, scowled, and raised her broom to strike.
Arthev moved. A slight shift. His heel flicked out—graceful, effortless. The apple rolled neatly back to the vendor's stall, like it had second thoughts.
The woman blinked, lowered her broom, and grunted, "Good legs, boy. Nice control."
Arthev offered a brief, soft smile. "Trained reflexes."
From a step behind, Xiao Wu blinked in surprise. That smile—it was real. Not the quiet mask he wore at the academy or the detached calm of sparring. It had warmth. Life.
Her heart did a curious little flip.
Pretending not to stare, she caught up and matched his pace, bouncing lightly.
"So… where exactly are we going?"
"Market," he replied.
She squinted. "This isn't the market?"
He didn't answer with words. A few turns later, the road widened, and the real market came into view—larger, livelier, and buzzing with color and sound.
It sprawled before them like a painter's fever dream—chaotic, colorful, and wonderfully alive.
The market square was a patchwork of stalls bursting with life. Skewers of meat sizzled on iron grills, sending up mouthwatering steam. The air swirled with invisible clouds of spice—red pepper, crushed cumin, star anise. Silks in indigo, saffron, and jade fluttered from poles like captured sunlight. Goat bleats mixed with the shouts of vendors hawking impossible deals. Children darted through the crowd with sticky fingers and half-eaten buns, while a trio of musicians played a lively tune on mismatched instruments.
Arthev didn't falter. He moved through the chaos like a ghost—calm, precise, untouched. Merchants called to him, but he didn't break stride. The crowd seemed to part naturally around him, like it knew better than to get in his way.
Xiao Wu followed, both fascinated and mildly annoyed. He was effortlessly smooth, while she'd already bumped into two baskets, one old man, and a chicken. He had an aura of "untouchable," and she? A magnet for small disasters.
At the edge of the square, Arthev's gaze settled on a fruit vendor—a wiry man with a patchy beard and nimble fingers, carefully stacking pears into perfect pyramids on a battered wooden stall. His hands moved with obsessive precision, as if the fruit arrangement might tip the balance of his entire day.
Without a word, Arthev stepped forward and set his burlap bag down beside the stall with a soft thud.
Xiao Wu stopped a few paces back, pretending to examine a nearby ribbon stand while watching him closely from the corner of her eye.
The vendor looked up, squinting into the sunlight. Recognition lit up his face like a torch. "Well, well! My favorite apple dealer!"
Arthev nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Without ceremony, he placed a small cloth-wrapped bundle on the counter and carefully unfolded it. Inside lay a neat pile of red apples—deep crimson, with skin so glossy they looked like they'd been polished by moonlight.
The vendor leaned in, reverent. "Still don't know how you get these. They're not local—nothing like 'em grows anywhere near here." He looked up with a conspiratorial grin. "You've got a garden of secrets, kid."
"I only borrow from nature," Arthev said, voice soft but steady. "And I pay attention to timing."
The vendor chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "You're more poet than farmer."
Then, catching sight of Xiao Wu just beyond Arthev's shoulder, his grin widened into something mischievous. "And who's this? Bringing a lady friend to seal the deal? Tell you what—buy one, get her a gift basket. Best pears and apples in Notting City!"
Xiao Wu blinked, startled by the sudden attention. Her mouth opened, but no words came out fast enough.
Arthev, ever unhurried, raised an eyebrow. Not annoyed. Just mildly… surprised. "She's not a customer," he said evenly. "She's… curious."
The vendor roared with laughter, loud enough to send a nearby flock of pigeons flapping into the air. "A dangerous kind!"
Arthev didn't laugh, but something faint flickered in his eyes. "She's survived worse."
Xiao Wu's brows lifted slightly, her ears catching the strange weight behind his words. She turned toward him. "Was that a compliment?"
"I said it neutrally," Arthev replied without missing a beat, his gaze briefly meeting hers. "Whether you take it that way is your own adventure."
The vendor slapped the counter, howling with delight. "Kid, you talk like a wandering monk with too much free time!"
Xiao Wu forced a laugh, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. Arthev's tone had been calm, almost casual—but there had been something beneath the surface. A knowing. A quiet edge.
What did he mean by that? she wondered. 'Survived worse'? What does he know?
The deal was quickly struck, a few silver coins passing hands. The vendor whistled a happy tune as he tucked the apples into a cloth satchel, throwing in an extra pear for good luck.
As they moved away from the stall, Arthev's bag lighter and his pace unchanged, Xiao Wu walked in thoughtful silence. The crowd buzzed around them, but her mind was caught on one thing—his words.
He hadn't said much. But somehow, it felt like he'd peeled back a single layer and shown her something—just for a second—before retreating behind that unreadable calm again.
She glanced at him, hoping to catch some sign on his face, some hint.
Nothing.
Just that same quiet rhythm, eyes forward, feet steady.
She sighed softly and caught up to his side.
-------
They wandered into a quieter square tucked between merchant lanes, where the chaos faded into a gentler rhythm. Children chased each other around old fountains, laughter ringing off the stone. Nearby, street musicians tuned worn violins and flutes, their off-key notes blending with the city's soft hum.
Then, Xiao Wu suddenly stopped.
A sweet scent wafted through the air—flaky, buttery, warm. Her nose twitched, ears perking like a rabbit catching wind of a hidden treat. Without a word, she took off in the direction of the aroma, her steps light but purposeful.
She stopped in front of a small bakery, its windows fogged with warmth. Behind the glass, golden pastries gleamed, fresh from the oven. Xiao Wu's eyes lit up as she leaned in, nose nearly pressed to the pane.
Arthev caught up, expression unreadable—but his gaze softened when it landed on her.
"You must be hungry," he said. "We haven't eaten since morning. After walking through a market full of heavy feet and louder mouths, you're probably tired too."
Xiao Wu turned to him, nodding so fast it was a miracle her head stayed attached. "Yes! Yes, exactly that. I was just being polite about it, but I'm starving."
He gave a faint, amused exhale.
They stepped inside
The bakery was small, cozy, and smelled like heaven. They ate without a word, enjoying hot buns stuffed with honeyed dates and flaky rolls dusted with powdered sugar. Xiao Wu hummed with delight as she ate, occasionally sneaking glances at Arthev, who remained characteristically composed—though she was pretty sure he took the last pastry on purpose.
---
Later, they drifted beyond the merchant district into a quieter stretch of the city. The noise faded to the clang of hammers and the hiss of steam. Smiths and craftsmen worked under wide awnings, their wares on display for the few customers passing by.
Then came the sound—sharp, angry.
The clatter of metal. Raised voices.
Arthev and Xiao Wu turned toward it.
A crowd had formed near one of the smith stalls. At its center, a young man in a dusty apron stood stiffly behind his display of weapons. His hands were calloused, his face tense. In front of him stood another boy—seventeen at most—dressed in the official vest of a junior Spirit Master. Two yellow soul rings hovered faintly at his side, pulsing with self-importance.
The soul master slapped a sword off the display.
"This is junk!" he barked. "You call this a blade? You dare sell this to someone like me?"
The blacksmith tried to explain, his voice strained but civil. "It's ceremonial. I told you that before you paid—"
"Silence!" the youth snapped, voice cracking like a whip. "Weaklings don't get to argue. Only the strong get to define fairness."
With a snarl, he lifted a foot and kicked over the display. Swords and scabbards crashed to the ground in a clattering mess.
The crowd stiffened but didn't move. No one ever did.
Xiao Wu clenched her fists, ready to step in—but Arthev raised a hand, stopping her. His expression remained calm, but the air around him shifted—charged, sharp, expectant.
Then, without warning, he moved.
He lifted his left foot—and in an instant, he vanished.
No wind. No sound. Just gone.
A perfect use of the Body Flicker technique—so fast it felt like teleportation.
Xiao Wu's eyes widened. Sure,she'd seen that move before during the spar with Tang San, but up close like this, it felt different—less like speed and more like true teleportation.
"That's enough," Arthev said, voice quiet, firm, final.
The soul master blinked, clearly not understanding how someone had just materialized in front of him. "Who the hell are you?"
"A pedestrian," Arthev answered evenly. "One that knows trash when he sees it."
The boy's face twisted. "You think you're funny? You want to end up like him?"
He dropped into a ready stance—basic, stiff, straight from the textbook. His soul rings flickered with power.
"You think you can fight me without even showing your spirit?"
A few moments passed.
Then—thud.
The soul master lay flat on the stone, groaning.
The fight had lasted no more than two heartbeats.
Arthev hadn't summoned his martial soul. Hadn't flared a hint of spirit power. Just his presence, his precision, and a single, perfectly-timed movement.
He stood over the fallen soul master like a still flame—quiet, focused, unwavering.
"Power doesn't give you the right to be right," Arthev said. "It just means people are forced to tolerate your wrong a little longer."
The soul master scrambled up, red-faced and stunned, and fled into the crowd without another word.
Soft claps followed, hesitant at first, then growing into a quiet wave of admiration. The blacksmith let out a long breath and ran a hand down his sweaty brow.
"You… you didn't use a shred of soul power," he said, astonishment in his voice. "How did you—?"
Arthev shrugged, casual as ever. "He was loud. Loud people forget to watch where they step."
He turned without ceremony, walking back toward Xiao Wu.
"Let's go."
----
They walked in silence for a while, the city's distant hum fading behind them as they reached the outskirts of Notting. A small ridge overlooked the far hills, where wind rustled through dry leaves and golden light stretched long shadows across the earth.
Xiao Wu sat down first, plucking at a blade of grass, her brows drawn low in thought.
"That guy earlier," she said quietly. "The Soul Master. What he said…"
"Weaklings don't get to argue," Arthev murmured, reciting the words like a bitter line from an old poem.
"Yeah," she nodded. "That stuck with me. You didn't say anything back to that. Not really."
Arthev's eyes drifted toward the horizon, where hills folded into mist and silence waited like an old friend.
"Because it wasn't worth arguing," he said at last. "That mindset… it feeds on reaction.The more you fight it with words, the more it believes it's unshakable."
Xiao Wu tilted her head, her expression clouded with thought. "So instead… you beat it with fists?" Her tone was even, but her eyes searched his face, probing for the truth behind his actions.
Arthev noticed the shadow in her expression and shook his head gently.
"No," he said. "I beat it by refusing to accept its rule."
She blinked, puzzled. "...What do you mean?"
He turned to her then, and for a moment, his voice wasn't the voice of a student. It carried weight. History. Something old.
"There are people who believe strength is truth. That destiny is a script written by power. But not everything is meant to be overcome with greater force. Some things are only defeated when someone chooses not to obey."
His gaze turned skyward.
"Not with fire. Not with lightning. Just refusal. That's what they never see coming. Because most people want the world to make sense through strength. It's easier that way—easier to follow a rule when a fist stands behind it."
He reached up and caught a drifting leaf mid-air, then let it go.
"Even if you're weak. Especially if you're weak. Not every rule deserves to be followed. Not everything must be endured. Some truths…" —he looked back at her— "aren't real until someone refuses to accept them."
He let the wind carry the leaf from his palm.
"Sometimes... the strongest stand you can take is to remain unmoved."
Xiao Wu didn't answer for a long while. She just looked at him. Really looked.
"Sometimes," she said finally, voice quiet, "you don't feel like a student at all."
Arthev chuckled under his breath. "Sometimes," he admitted, "I don't feel like one either."
There was a flicker of something vulnerable in that honesty.
"One day," he continued in his thought, "I'll have to say no to something bigger than a spoiled soul master. Something that shapes the world. And when that moment comes…"
He closed his hand around another falling leaf, then opened it again.
"…I'll be ready."
They watched the leaf tumble upward on a twist of wind, spin once, and vanish.
---
They left the ridge as the sun dipped westward, bathing the city in amber glow. When they re-entered the main road, Xiao Wu's eyes wandered again, drifting toward a stall draped with hanging ribbons.
"You didn't buy anything," Arthev observed.
She shrugged, casual. "Didn't need anything."
"You stared at that ribbon stand for almost two minutes."
She pouted. "I was just admiring the patterns."
Arthev didn't comment. He simply turned, stepped into the next stall, and returned less than half a minute later.
He held something out to her—a folded ribbon, soft lavender in color, embroidered with tiny white rabbits.
Xiao Wu blinked, stunned. "You—?"
"It matches your eyes," he said plainly.
She took it with both hands, her fingers curling around the fabric. The breeze suddenly felt warmer than it had a moment ago.
"…You're not as cold as you pretend to be," she murmured.
"I'm not pretending," he replied calmly.
"Then why—?"
"I just don't see the point of warmth in places it won't last," he said, gaze distant again. Then, softer: "But here, with you… I think it's okay."
Her breath hitched ever so slightly. Her grip on the ribbon tightened. Something fluttered in her chest—quiet, sudden, and very alive.
She smiled, real and wide.
"…Then I'll just have to keep you out here longer, huh?"
Arthev smirked faintly. "Careful. I might start thinking you're plotting something."
She leaned in, mock-serious. "Maybe I am."
------
As they made their way back toward the academy, the wind swept across the cobblestones, playful and cool. Xiao Wu laughed—at something dry and offhanded he'd said. A rare joke. He merely shook his head, but his eyes shone with the faintest glimmer of amusement.
When they reached the academy gates, they paused.
A moment passed.
Then, wordlessly, they parted.
Xiao Wu headed back to Dormitory 7,her step light, her mind still lingering on the ridge, the ribbon, and that rare laugh.
She had come here to observe him. To uncover what he was hiding.
But somewhere along the way… she had forgotten why.
One thing, however, remained perfectly clear:
Arthev was someone you could rely on.
Quietly. Unshakably. Without needing to ask.
Elsewhere........