Aster Vale swallowed the final bite of his beef stew with deep satisfaction. The thick, savory broth filled his stomach, providing the instant energy he needed to face the rest of this tedious day. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his shabby robe, then looked down at the Used Pressure Cooker in his lap.The pot was still hot. A thin, wispy vapor leaked from the jammed safety valve, hissing softly like a small snake losing its breath. Aster felt something was off. The valve should have sealed tight once the pressure dropped, yet the steam kept rising, growing thicker, heavier, and shifting in color from translucent white to a strange blue-green."Hmm," Aster muttered, frowning. "The rubber seal must be completely shot. It's a thermal leak. If I let it go, the heat efficiency will drop drastically, and I'll have to buy a new pot. A three-copper-coin loss."He tried to cover the valve with his index finger, pressing down hard to stop the steam from escaping. But instea

The suffocating gravitational pressure gripping the entire stadium finally subsided abruptly, as if someone had just turned off a giant faucet. Sighs of relief echoed from thousands of spectators, followed by confused, anxious murmurs. However, in the Grand Arena, there was no time for recovery. A heavy iron bell chimed loudly, signaling the start of the tournament's first preliminary round.In the middle of the white sand field, which now looked far larger and more menacing, Darius Vorn stood alone. He wore Aethelgard Academy's deep blue combat uniform, complete with a silver star crest on his chest. His right arm was still bound in a thick silk splint, suspended from his neck by a custom strap so as not to throw off his body's balance. In his left hand, he gripped the Vorn Star Sword—a gleaming steel blade handed down through generations, a symbol of family pride that now felt heavy not because of its physical mass, but because of the crushing weight of expectations resting on his s

In a luxurious study located in the highest tower of the Valdris delegation's lodgings, Ambassador Malacor stood before a large glass window, gazing toward the Grand Arena of Aethelgard Academy, now quiet following the first preliminary round. His sharp, deeply lined face reflected the suspicion that had been gnawing at him since that morning. He was no mere diplomat; he was a former intelligence general who knew there was no such thing as a coincidence in an inter-kingdom cold war."The gravity report," Malacor said without turning around, his voice as cold as cracking ice.Behind him, Lyra sat at a desk cluttered with magic analysis equipment and metallic data tablets. Her thick glasses reflected the blue glow of a holographic screen displaying energy anomaly graphs. She looked exhausted, her red hair slightly disheveled, but her eyes remained sharp and analytical."The data has been verified three times, Ambassador," Lyra replied, her fingers tapping rapidly on the screen. "Mana de

Lyra stood at the doorway of Vale's Junk Shop, her chest heaving rapidly. Her breath was still ragged, not from physical exhaustion, but from the anger burning inside her chest. In her hand, she tightly clutched the broken bamboo fan she had just bought for two silver coins. The item felt light, fragile, and utterly meaningless to a scientist like her. It was a symbol of insult—a sign that Aethelgard Academy deemed her foolish enough to be tricked by a pile of rusted garbage."Trash," Lyra growled softly, her eyes glaring sharply at the cracked bamboo rib. "All of this is just trash."With a harsh motion driven by pure frustration, Lyra decided against bringing the object back with her. She didn't want this fake artifact polluting her sterile laboratory at the Valdris lodgings. She wanted to toss it away—throw it far into the dirty gutter outside so the world could see just how low the standard of miracles offered by this junk merchant really was.However, in her rage, her movements w

Pale morning sunlight filtered through the cracks of the windows in Vale's Junk Shop, highlighting dust particles dancing in the air. Aster Vale woke up from his sleep atop a pile of burlap sacks, stretching his stiff body with a loud crack of his joints. He gave a wide yawn, rubbed his eyes behind his Used Reading Glasses, and instantly recalled today's agenda: sell yesterday's leftover goods and tally profits before the tournament's second round began.However, before he could step down from his improvised bed, a strange noise echoed from the back kitchen.Thump. Thump. Scritch-scratch.The noise was coming from inside the Used Pressure Cooker, which had been left sitting on the cold stove since the night before. The sound of clanking metal was followed by harsh scraping, as though something large and heavy was trying to break out of the narrow container.Aster frowned, his expression twisting into deep disgust. He jumped down from the stack of sacks and jogged toward the kitchen, h