It had been about a week since the summit ended, and in that short span, the name Snow once again began circulating through the continent—this time, not for his prowess or visions, but for his entanglement with Ruciel. Rumors spread like wildfire, sparking debates and gossip in every corner of the hunter world. Some praised the blossoming relationship between Snow and Ruciel, claiming them a perfect match, their chemistry undeniable. Others pointed toward Kyle, questioning the love triangle unfolding in plain sight and wondering which path Ruciel would ultimately take.
Snow, for his part, found the entire affair somewhat amusing.
Though he said little publicly, deep down, he had invested time and effort into Ruciel—into understanding her, supporting her, and quietly hoping that she would eventually choose him not out of convenience or manipulation... but because she truly wanted to.
Yet, the more time passed, the more things changed. The system that had once been his silent partner now seemed... different. He still received quests—daily tasks often trivial in nature, like delivering potions or meals to Ruciel—but he could no longer access his inventory and his status window. His abilities were locked away, leaving him only with a blinking notification screen and increasingly petty errands.
Despite that, Snow tried his best.
He continued crafting potions, preparing herbal meals—gifts Ruciel once accepted with joy. But now, she dismissed them without a second glance, saying she'd ask her aunt for better alternatives. The potions he made, once uniquely valuable, had been replicated and mass-produced by the Hephaestus family, and the imitations had saturated the market. What was once special had become ordinary, even unnecessary.
Still, he endured.
Today was no different. The system had assigned him a simple quest: Offer Ruciel a D-rank mana potion (+2 MANA).
With the small vial in hand, Snow made his way to the Association, where they had agreed to meet. But as he arrived, he found a dense crowd gathered just outside the front entrance. The tension in the air was unmistakable.
Curious, he gently pushed through the throng of onlookers, only to hear the sharp echo of a slap cut through the murmur of the crowd. His eyes quickly found the source: Lola and Ruciel, locked in a heated confrontation.
"You speak like you know him!" Lola shouted, her hand still raised from the strike. "Snow might be honest to a fault, but he's kind—and he gives himself fully to what he believes is valuable! I respect him for that. And I won't let you demean him like that!"
Ruciel's voice was cold. "You're accusing me of using him, but didn't you do the same?"
Lola stiffened.
"You act innocent, but he was just a tool for you too, wasn't he?" Ruciel sneered. "He's... convenient. Easy to manage. Good enough to be used."
The words struck harder than any slap. Lola, who once had indeed used Snow in her pursuit of strength and recognition, felt the weight of her past collapse around her. She couldn't respond. Her heart ached.
Ruciel pressed further, her voice bitter with pride. "Besides, he's with me now because he wants to be. And I'm just playing along... until I've had enough. Then I'll let him go—just like you did."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Snow stood among the crowd, unseen, frozen in place. He had heard every word. Neither girl had noticed him yet. The words echoed in his chest, cutting deep—but his expression didn't waver.
He stepped forward, pretending not to have heard anything.
"Hey," he said, raising his voice. "What's all this commotion about?"
The crowd parted as he emerged, his presence like a breeze breaking a storm.
Ruciel blinked and quickly rushed to his side, linking her arm through his.
Snow smiled—gentle, unaffected. But behind his eyes was a quiet resolve. He had already decided to end things with her. All he waited for was her willingness to let go.
"...Did something happen?" he asked casually, glancing at the two ladies.
"It was just a misunderstanding," Ruciel said quickly, her tone dismissive.
"I see." Snow nodded thoughtfully. Then he turned to Lola. "In that case... allow me to apologize on her behalf."
"...What?" Lola murmured in disbelief.
"Lola isn't a bad person," Snow said with sincerity. "If she made a mistake, I hope you can forgive her."
Lola was stunned.
"Y-You...!" she called out, unable to comprehend his reaction. His words, his expression—so calm, so honest—it broke her.
"I'm sure whatever happened... had something to do with me," he continued, looking at her directly. "You've always been blunt, and you care more than you let on. I understand that this must've come from a place of concern. So truly—thank you."
That expression...
Lola knew it too well.
It was the same expression Snow wore when she had hurt him in the past. That bittersweet smile. The quiet acceptance of betrayal. The silent kindness he offered even when others didn't deserve it.
"You're clearly not fine, Snow..." she whispered, her voice cracking.
"You—"
But before she could finish, Snow offered her another smile—one filled with finality.
"...It's okay."
His gaze shifted to Ruciel, who was still clinging to him, trying to assert her place at his side. She looked smug, almost triumphant, assuming Lola was simply trying to reclaim what she had lost.
But Snow had already made his choice.
And that choice... was no longer her.
"Yeah, whatever. I shouldn't have tried to speak on your behalf," Lola muttered, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Though disappointed, she understood now—Snow had made his choice.
Snow said nothing. He simply stood there, quiet and composed, his thoughts unreadable.
"...Was she always like that?" Ruciel asked casually, her arms now draped comfortably around his.
"Perhaps," Snow replied with a vague smile as he turned to glance at her, the tension from earlier dissolving now that the crowd had begun to scatter. The noise died down, and the street slowly returned to its usual bustle.
"Say... are you free to go into a dungeon?" Ruciel suddenly asked.
"Haven't we been doing that lately?" he said with a raised brow.
"Well, yes," she replied with a chuckle. "But this time, it'll be with my team. I want to introduce you to them formally and perhaps raid with them"
"I see." Snow gave a noncommittal nod.
But before he could ask for details, Ruciel's expression turned thoughtful. She pulled back slightly and reached into her pouch, quickly bringing out a familiar shimmering object.
The token.
"...You're planning to use that now?" Snow asked, taken aback. He hadn't expected her to use it so soon.
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
Snow stared at the token in silence for a moment, then gave a gentle smile as he accepted it back into his hand.
"Alright. If that's your wish... then tell me. What do you want in exchange?"
Ruciel's voice softened. "My father... he's been in a coma for a long time now. I want to know if you can cure him."
Snow looked down at the token, eyes narrowing in thought. "I'll need to see him first. It depends on the cause—whether it's something I can treat."
But as he spoke, a familiar ding echoed in his mind.
DING!
============================
AN OLD GEM HARBOURS BAD WILL AGAINST YOU
============================
DING!
============================
YOU HAVE FAILED TO MAKE THE GEM YOURS
============================
DING!
============================
PENALTY SHALL BE GIVEN IN TWO FORMS
FORM ONE: The system shall deliver punishment based on the user's subconscious will.
FORM TWO: Strip the Gem of all growth acquired.
============================
(A penalty...?)
Snow's eyes widened. (Why now?)
His gaze slowly lifted toward Ruciel. The Gem... it refers to her?
He stared at her in silence, mind whirling.
If I choose Option Two... does that mean everything she gained—every ounce of strength, progress, and achievement—would be stripped away? he thought. Even if it came from me... would the system reclaim it all?
DING!
============================
WHAT OPTION WOULD YOU LIKE TO CHOOSE?
FORM ONE / FORM TWO
============================
Snow stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. He didn't know what punishment the system would deliver if he chose Option One, but Option Two felt... cruel.
So, without selecting either, he simply closed the window.
"Will you come with me to check on him?" Ruciel asked gently.
"...Alright," Snow said quietly.
And so they walked.
Hours passed before they finally arrived at their destination—a towering estate nestled between cultivated hills and whitewashed fences. It was far grander than Snow expected. The moment they stepped inside the gates, a stream of well-dressed maids and butlers came forward to greet them, bowing with practiced precision.
The wealth surrounding her... it was staggering.
They were escorted up the front staircase of the mansion. Alongside them walked a greying man with sharp features and a long white coat, clearly someone of experience and pride.
"Lady Ruciel, are you sure this boy can heal your father?" the man asked skeptically.
"I want to believe he can, Philip," she replied without hesitation.
Philip Fairchild. A name Snow recognized.
Once the head of the prestigious Fairchild Clinic, Philip had been one of the most respected doctors of his era. But when the Association created a specialized division for hunter medicine, independent clinics like his were pushed into the shadows.
The Fairchild family boasted two daughters and two sons. The eldest daughter and the third child—a son—had both followed in their father's footsteps, earning reputations as brilliant doctors in separate continents. Yet despite their fame, they were barred from establishing their own clinic... all due to the ancient ban placed on the Fairchild name.
The hallway was silent as they climbed the stairs, the air heavy with unspoken expectation.
Snow remained quiet, his thoughts still lingering on the system message.
Why now?
The Fairchild family was nothing short of remarkable. Their second child had risen to prominence as a renowned hunter across the eastern continents, while the youngest—a bright daughter—was currently studying medicine in the United States, a country famed for producing some of the world's finest healers and elite hunters.
And yet, despite their family's prestige, their patriarch remained here—silently working under the employ of the Faithhood family, a position far beneath his former glory.
"Even so," said Philip, his tone flat yet strained, "your father's condition remains unchanged."
He glanced at Snow, then back at Ruciel. "He has been diagnosed with Mana Depletive Cell Syndrome."
"A rare virus," Philip continued grimly, "that feeds on the host's mana and bodily life force. It drives them into a coma-like state, and over time, deteriorates their physical body from within."
"We've administered every top-tier potion, every rare elixir said to work miracles... but nothing has changed."
Snow was silent for a moment. Then, calmly, he turned to Ruciel. "Are you certain you want to use the token for this?"
"C'mon," she said, frowning. "Don't make me repeat myself. He means more to me than anything."
Snow gave a nod. "Very well."
He turned toward the butler. "May I use your kitchen?"
There was a pause. The butler blinked, confused. "...The kitchen?" But at a gentle nod from Ruciel, he stepped aside and gestured for Snow to follow.
The kitchen staff stood at attention as the strange request passed through the room. Snow, unfazed, moved through them with quiet confidence. He retrieved a pot, placed it on the stove, and lit the flame.
"Water, please," he said simply.
Someone rushed to hand it over. He poured the liquid in, not measuring—just watching, sensing, gauging. Then, from his space ring, he retrieved a series of herbs, powders, and even toxins, carefully selecting them before dropping them into the pot one by one.
As steam began to rise, the room filled with a bitter aroma that made some of the staff unconsciously step back.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Only once the color reached a deep, medicinal green did he cover the pot, letting it sit for several minutes before removing the lid again.
Then, with steady hands, he pulled out a shimmering blue gem-like bead and dropped it in.
The pot's contents turned from green... to a pure white glow as he stirred slowly, deliberately, for several more minutes.
"May I have a syringe?" Snow asked, turning to the doctor.
Philip looked uncertain, but Ruciel gestured toward him firmly. With a reluctant sigh, he complied, placing the syringe into Snow's outstretched hand.
Snow drew the glowing liquid into the syringe, then carefully poured the remainder into two small vials.
"Here." He pushed the items gently toward Ruciel.
"One syringe. Two vials. The cure is ready. You can inject your father with this... and sell the rest if you'd like."
"...Are you sure this will work?" Ruciel asked, voice hesitant.
Snow raised a brow. "Are you doubting me?"
"...Yes."
"I see."
But Philip, who had instinctively activated his Appraisal Skill, froze.
His eyes were locked on the vials, unmoving.
"This... this can't be right," he murmured. "A potion like this... brewed in a common kitchen pot?"
Ruciel blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Philip swallowed. "This potion... it's Legendary Grade."
Her eyes widened.
"And not just that. It was—" he paused, eyes narrowing as if still in disbelief, "—it was crafted specifically for your father, down to the unique mana signature of the virus. Anyone else with a similar condition could benefit from it too."
"...Wonderful," Ruciel said, nodding as if she had expected nothing less.
Without another word, she turned and left, syringe in hand. Snow followed quietly, not eager to draw attention to himself. The others trailed behind in silent awe.
By the time Snow entered the sickroom, Philip had already administered the cure.
The old man, once ashen and still, was slowly regaining color in his cheeks. His breathing steadied.
Then... his fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered.
"...R—Ruciel?" the old man rasped, his eyes barely open, struggling to focus.
Tears rolled down her cheeks before she could stop them. "Father," she whispered, falling into his arms, embracing the man who had been lost in sleep for far too long.
Snow stood at the door, watching quietly as father and daughter reunited.
And then, without a word, he turned and left.
Only the butler at the foot of the staircase noticed him slipping away.
"Mr. Snow," the butler called.
Snow paused mid-step, turning to glance over his shoulder.
"Yes?"
"...Thank you," the man said with a deep bow.
"You don't have to thank me," Snow replied with a soft smile. "I only did what I was paid to do."
The butler straightened, noticing something hollow in the young man's expression—something unspoken.
And yet, despite it, he bowed again.
"Still... it was you who brought the Master back to us. For that, I am deeply grateful."
"I'm glad," Snow said simply, and turned away once more.
His footsteps echoed gently as he descended the stairs, leaving behind both the mansion... and the warmth of a reunion he knew didn't belong to him.
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To be continued...