“Boss, you left me out here for a long time. I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Wallace said with a wry smile.

  “Forgive me, Captain.” Adam returned an apologetic smile as he closed the distance. “I wasn’t expecting the discussion to take that long.”

  Wallace smiled dryly but said nothing.

  “Captain,” Adam murmured, admiring the tranquil scenery, “aren’t you tired of this place?”

  “Um… Boss, I’m not sure I follow.”

  Adam’s wandering gaze settled back on the stout man. He smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you like to be free?”

  The corners of Wallace’s eyes twitched, matching the tremor in his lips. His mouth opened several times, but no words came—like he was weighing the cost of the wrong answer.

  Adam sighed and shook his head. “Relax. This isn’t a test.” He paused. “Would you like to live your life away from all this—from me, especially?”

  Silence stretched between them once more.

  Adam stepped forward and placed a hand on Wallace’s shoulder. “Captain, don’t overthink it. I don’t have any ulterior motives.” His voice was calm, steady. “This will be the last time I ask. Do you want to remain my underling… or do you want to roam free and live as you please?”

  A flicker passed through Wallace’s eyes.

  “Boss… if this truly isn’t a test, and you really mean it—then I want my freedom.”

  He immediately lowered his head, staring anywhere but at Adam.

  “You’ve worked hard, Captain,” Adam said quietly, patting his shoulder. “From this moment on, you’re free. Tell Igor to give you thirty percent before returning the bag—he’ll understand.” He smiled. “It’s been a pleasure. Farewell.”

  Wallace snapped his head up, but Adam was already gone.

  “I’m… free?” Wallace muttered, dazed.

  His fists clenched. His knees buckled. He raised both arms toward the tranquil sky.

  “Finally!” he roared. “I’m free!”

  Laughter followed—loud, unrestrained—tears streaming down his face.

  “Shut the hell up, Wallace! Nobody wants to hear your nonsense!”

  He kept laughing anyway, sprawled on the ground, uncaring.

  [Potential Sources of Danger Detected]

  Adam glanced at the system notification as he walked down the lonely street.

  Varidan’s people… or someone else’s?

  His expression didn’t change as he continued forward.

  There’s also a chance this is related to the Armstrongs. News of my status might have reached them.

  His gaze darkened—then a fragrant aroma suddenly filled his lungs.

  Adam instinctively turned to the right.

  Only a few feet away stood a small roadside stall.

  He read the bright signboard.

  Dave’s Fish and Chips

  Two Bronze Coins Only!

  Grand Opening!

  Behind the grill stood a young man with a radiant smile, enthusiastically flipping smoking fish.

  Why open a stall in such a remote area?

  The streets were empty, closer to residential homes than the lively inns and taverns.

  Adam inhaled deeply. Condiments and sizzling fish filled his senses.

  It smells way too good…

  It wouldn’t hurt to support a small business owner, right?

  His feet moved before his thoughts caught up.

  Within seconds, Adam sat at one of the four vacant stools.

  “Welcome, sir!” the young man said brightly. “The fish isn’t ready yet—would you mind waiting a minute?”

  “That’s fine. I’m not in a hurry.” Adam smiled faintly.

  He reached into his pocket and produced three bronze coins.

  “Could I get a drink while I wait?” he asked, sliding them across.

  The young man’s smile widened. He grabbed a glass and a pale purple bottle, popping the cork with practiced ease and pouring a fiery crimson liquid.

  “It’s on the house,” he said, pushing the cup forward. “The food too.”

  “Oh?” Adam’s brows rose slightly. He retrieved the coins without comment.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “The pleasure’s mine—you’re my first customer.”

  Adam smiled but said nothing, lifting the cup as his gaze drifted across the deserted street.

  Is it possible the alert was from Erik Gilmore’s people… or maybe a thief? No.

  The system wouldn’t flag a random criminal out here in the rustic south.

  He took a sip. The drink fizzed pleasantly.

  The grill crackled, fat and seasoning saturating the air.

  There’s no way this doesn’t taste good…

  A dull thud snapped his attention back.

  “Sir, your food’s ready. Enjoy.”

  Adam turned—and paused.

  The grilled fish before him was massive, easily twenty inches long, glazed in sauce, flanked by curling chips. Far more than two bronze coins’ worth.

  “Isn’t this a little—”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” the vendor said cheerfully. “Just tell me if it tastes good.”

  Adam swallowed his protest. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

  He unwrapped the fork and cut into the fish, scooping chips along with it.

  Please be good…

  He took a bite.

  Flavor exploded across his tongue.

  Fuck yes.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  He didn’t hesitate after that.

  Ten minutes passed in a blur.

  When Adam finally leaned back, only clean bones and sauce-smeared plates remained.

  Adam patted his stomach gently, suppressing the urge to burp aloud.

  I’ve never eaten street food this good in my life. This guy’s far too talented to be wasting away out here…

  “Um—sir? What do you think?”

  Adam met the vendor’s expectant gaze. For some reason, he felt like a food critic.

  He raised his right hand and gave a firm thumbs-up. “Best food I’ve ever eaten.”

  He didn’t hold back. The man’s smile practically lit up.

  “It’s so good that I genuinely hope you consider moving to a busier area,” Adam continued. “No matter how good something is, no one will know about it if it isn’t advertised.”

  The vendor laughed nervously. “Thank you, sir. It’s not a lack of ambition—it’s just that the permit process in Dratol is… unforgiving.”

  Adam smiled but didn’t comment.

  “Um… sir, could I ask you a favor?”

  “If it’s within my power, I’ll help.”

  After a meal like that—and for free—it felt like the least he could do.

  The vendor crouched suddenly. Before Adam could process it, the man stood again holding a neatly stacked bundle of flyers.

  “Sir… you attend Varidan Academy, right?”

  Adam nodded.

  The vendor hesitated, then pressed on. “I’d really appreciate it if you could tell your friends about my stall.”

  Adam glanced at the handbills. A wry smile crossed his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he stood, “but I can’t do that.”

  He didn’t bother explaining the complications that came with his name.

  Reaching into his breast pocket, Adam withdrew a gold coin and set it down. “This is for you.”

  The vendor’s disappointment flickered—then turned to shock. Fear followed swiftly after.

  “S-sir, I can’t accept this,” he stammered. “It’s too much.”

  He didn’t even reach for the coin, as though it were sacred.

  Adam chuckled. “Whenever I’m in the area, I’ll stop by again. Have a good night.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Sir! If it isn’t too much trouble—”

  Adam paused.

  “I have some posters you could help put up at the academy. Please ignore me if it’ll bring you trouble.”

  Adam folded his arms. “You don’t miss opportunities, do you?”

  The vendor smiled sheepishly.

  “…Alright. Hand them over.”

  “They’re inside my house,” the man said, pointing to the building behind the stall. “Would you rather wait here, or—”

  “Lead the way.”

  The vendor beamed, loosening his oil-stained apron as he headed for the house.

  This guy has no sense of self-preservation, Adam thought. What if I had bad intentions?

  The door creaked open.

  A dimly lit living room greeted him. Furniture lay buried beneath dust-covered cloths, but Adam’s attention snagged on the mannequins—dozens of them—scattered throughout the room in various poses.

  His brow furrowed.

  Why would a food vendor need mannequins?

  The vendor noticed his stare and laughed awkwardly. “Ah—sorry about that. I wanted to be a fashion designer when I was younger.” He scratched the back of his head. “Guess my talents went elsewhere.”

  Adam nodded.

  “The posters are over there,” the vendor said, pointing to a thick stack buried in dust and cobwebs. “I’ll grab them.”

  He moved quickly, returning with five prints.

  “They’re a bit dusty,” he said apologetically.

  Adam examined them.

  They were the same as the signboard outside. Smoked fish. Chips. The stall.

  Then his eyes narrowed.

  Elliot’s Fish and Chips.

  That wasn’t the name outside.

  [Potential Sources of Danger Detected!]

  Adam froze—just for an instant.

  It’s him.

  His gaze snapped to the vendor.

  “I truly appreciate your help, sir,” the man said warmly. “I’ll never forget this—”

  Adam’s hand closed around his throat.

  He lifted the man off the floor with one arm.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The vendor clawed at Adam’s wrist, legs kicking uselessly.

  “P-please,” he gasped. “I don’t have money—please spare me—”

  Adam tightened his grip.

  “Enough. Who sent you?”

  Before the words fully left his mouth, a surge of dread crawled up his spine.

  Adam hurled the vendor aside and dodged left.

  Muffled impacts echoed and dust rain erupted.

  Two mannequins stood where Adam had been—fists embedded in the shattered floorboards. They straightened unnaturally, joints creaking.

  More followed.

  Mannequins rose one by one, eyes opening with hollow clicks.

  Adam’s gaze snapped back to the vendor, and his breath hitched.

  Skin cracked and peeled like flaking paint. Beneath it lay porcelain smoothness. His face hardened, features stiffening.

  He’s a mannequin too.

  Adam exhaled slowly, summoning Cataclysm from his inventory.

  He assessed the exits, but they were all blocked.

  Then laughter filled the room.

  Cheerful and unified.

  Every mannequin laughed in perfect synchronization.

  “Didn’t anyone ever warn you,” the vendor’s voice chimed, “not to follow strangers into their homes?”

  The voice came from everywhere, the mouths of the mannequin clattering in tandem.

  “Who are you?” Adam demanded, tightening his grip on the axes.

  “Boring,” the voice replied lightly. “Let’s chat again soon, alright?”

  A mannequin snapped its fingers.

  A barrier slammed into existence, swallowing the room whole—color draining away until the world became black, white, and wrong.

  A negative world.

  What sort of ability is this?

  Adam’s senses vanished.

  Taste. Touch. Smell. Sound—gone.

  The world collapsed into stark monochrome, stripped of color and depth, as if reality itself had been reduced to a crude sketch. The mannequins froze mid-motion, their twisted forms locked in place, docile and lifeless.

  The barrier lasted no more than five seconds.

  Then it shattered.

  A tidal wave of sensation crashed into Adam all at once—sound roaring back, pain flaring across his nerves, breath tearing into his lungs. He staggered, vision blurring as he fought to stay upright.

  “What the hell was that supposed to be…?” he muttered, dazed.

  Creeeak.

  Adam snapped his head toward the sound.

  One of the mannequins convulsed.

  Its body twisted violently, joints grinding as its frame shrank inward. Rusted stone peeled away like flaking paint. Silver hair spilled down its scalp as pale skin replaced hardened rock.

  Adam took an involuntary step back.

  “No fucking way…”

  Blue irises opened.

  A familiar black uniform flowed over the newly formed body, seamless and exact.

  It cloned me.

  The implication hit instantly. The negative world hadn’t restrained him. It had desynchronized him.

  The clone smirked. “See you later, Adam.”

  It winked, and dove through a window.

  Adam lunged to give chase, and the negative world returned.

  Reality inverted again, snapping him in place.

  The barrier lasted barely a second, but when it vanished, Adam remained frozen.

  He tried to move his right foot. His nose twitched.

  He tried his left. His right eye blinked.

  He opened his mouth to speak—his pinky toe wiggled.

  “System—send my Familiar after it,” Adam commanded internally.

  Nothing.

  No response. No confirmation.

  It can interfere with my connection to the Omen, too?

  His gaze lingered on the broken window, unease tightening his chest.

  If it wanted me dead… I’d already be a corpse.

  But Adam wasn’t done yet.

  Manipulator granted absolute control over his body, and while he didn’t understand how the negative world had bypassed it, he did understand systems.

  He forced himself inward.

  Rewriting pathways. Reassigning signals. Reasserting dominance over misaligned nerves.

  Pain exploded behind his eyes.

  Seconds stretched.

  Then Adam collapsed to his knees, gasping, sweat soaking his clothes.

  “…That was harder than I thought,” he muttered. “I don’t even have the strength to stand—let alone chase that bastard.”

  His legs trembled as he tried to rise. They refused.

  Footsteps echoed behind him.

  System—summon my Familiar—

  “And I thought you had grown a little,” a familiar voice said. “I suppose that was my mistake.”

  Adam’s head snapped up.

  “Vicar?”

  He forced himself to turn, muscles screaming as he faced the figure cloaked in darkness.

  “Be quiet,” Vicar replied calmly. “Don’t waste Elliot’s efforts.”

  Adam’s eyes widened.

  It really is him… When did he even arrive in Dratol?

  “It should start around now,” Vicar added.

  “What should—”

  The explosion nearly ruptured Adam’s eardrums.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Shockwaves tore through the building, flinging Adam across the room. He slammed into rigid mannequins as the floor buckled beneath him.

  The quakes drove him closer to Vicar’s position—until Adam finally saw what stood in the shadows.

  Not a man.

  A mannequin.

  A young girl’s form, lifeless and hollow, standing where Vicar should have been.

  Adam’s mouth opened—but no words came.

  “You handled your interrogation spectacularly,” Vicar said. “So you’re being rewarded.”

  “What kind of reward—”

  The figurine dropped onto him, pinning him to the floor with crushing weight.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Adam roared. “Get off me!”

  The pressure increased.

  “The doppelg?nger Elliot created is your reward,” Vicar continued, unfazed. “It will take your place at Varidan while you complete your first mission.”

  Adam clenched his teeth. “You think something like that can fool the Academy?”

  “It’s enough,” Vicar said flatly. “Their spies won’t know the difference.”

  Understanding settled in Adam’s chest.

  “But how did you know I’d run into Elliot, or that—”

  “That’s a stupid question,” Vicar interrupted, standing. “The chaos outside will attract officials. We don’t have time.”

  A crystal landed before Adam.

  Blue-black. Apple-shaped. Rotating gently, humming with restrained power.

  “It contains your mission details,” Vicar said. “And a mask capable of altering your facial structure.”

  Adam stared at it.

  “I’ll need your amulet,” Vicar added. “Without it, the substitute will raise suspicion.”

  Adam summoned the amulet.

  A violet barrier enveloped it—and it vanished.

  “The crystal holds your rendezvous coordinates. Someone will contact you when you meet the others.”

  Adam opened his mouth, but the mannequin collapsed into a lifeless heap.

  “…Figures,” Adam muttered. “That selfish bastard could’ve healed me first.”

  As if offended, the figurine shuddered.

  A turquoise mist erupted outward, washing over Adam, and the mannequin exploded into fine dust.

  Adam sprang to his feet, flexing his arms.

  “…I wonder if he heard me.”

  He laughed nervously and reached for the crystal.

  It melted in his palm, releasing a brilliant flash.

  Two items emerged.

  An amulet—identical to Varidan’s, except stained blood-red.

  And a plain white mask.

  “System, store them.”

  They vanished.

  Even Vicar doesn’t know how far Manipulator has progressed.

  Adam smirked.

  Good. Trump cards are meant to stay hidden.

  His body shifted—face, hair, frame subtly morphing as he stripped off his Varidan uniform. Donning worn clothes scavenged from the mannequins, he stepped through the ruined window and vanished into the night.