Ivaim glanced down at the boy, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"You know, kid, if you keep pulling stunts like this, your dad's just gonna keep piling on the bodyguards. You're making his case pretty easy."
Reves looked up at him, his expression unusually calm, almost resigned.
"Doesn't matter. Even if I didn't cause trouble, Dad would still have bodyguards shadowing me everywhere."
He paused, his voice tinged with frustration as he continued.
"He thinks the world's too dangerous for me. That's why I want to be a Reality Walker—to prove I can handle myself..."
"But he keeps shutting me down, saying I'm not ready or it's too risky. It's like he doesn't trust me to decide my own future."
Ivaim's smile faded slightly as he studied the boy's face.
There was no tantrum, no wild outburst, just a quiet determination tempered by a sense of helplessness.
"Well..." Ivaim said after a moment, crouching slightly to meet Reves's gaze.
"Trust isn't something you wait for. You earn it. Maybe your dad's being overprotective, or maybe he's just scared of losing you..."
"Either way, running off and causing trouble isn't exactly gonna make him see things your way."
Reves blinked, his lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile.
"You sound like you know what you're talking about."
Ivaim straightened, shrugging nonchalantly.
"Let's just say I've seen my fair share of people trying to prove themselves."
"Sometimes, you've gotta find a way to show them what you're capable of without giving them more reasons to worry."
Reves looked thoughtful for a moment, his earlier defiance softening.
"Maybe..." he murmured, though it was clear the wheels in his head were still turning.
Ivaim didn't press the conversation further.
Instead, while Kalisto was distracted, recounting the chaotic events to a group of flustered workers— Ivaim slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small silver coin.
The metal glinted faintly in the overhead lights, worn smooth around the edges.
With a casual flick, he sent the coin spinning through the air toward Reves.
The boy caught it instinctively, his confusion evident as he turned it over in his hand.
"It's a lucky charm," Ivaim said with a faint smirk, his voice low enough to keep Kalisto from overhearing.
"Supposedly grants wishes if you believe in that kind of thing. But keep it a secret from the old man over there. He'll probably chew me out for filling your head with nonsense."
Reves glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"A lucky charm? Really?"
Ivaim leaned closer, his tone quiet and almost playful.
"Trust me, sometimes a little belief is all it takes to shift things in your favor. Just don't think too much about it. Luck works best when you let it flow naturally."
The boy stared at the coin for a moment longer before slipping it into his pocket, his expression still skeptical but tinged with curiosity.
"Alright," he said, almost to himself. "I'll hold onto it."
Ivaim straightened, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Good. But remember, not a word to Kalisto. Let's keep this our little secret."
Reves nodded absently, his mind already turning over the strange gift and the words that came with it.
Whatever doubts he had, he couldn't shake the faint spark of intrigue the coin carried with it.
...
At the same time, in a certain school.
The classroom was heavy with tension as the teacher's words hung in the air.
"It is with great regret that I inform you of the death of one of our students, Justine."
She announced, her voice stern but tinged with sadness.
"Authorities believe this tragedy was caused by an unchecked Threshold Item left by an unknown Reality Master...
"Investigations suggest the Reality Master may have stolen one of our school uniforms."
"If you see anyone suspicious wearing a uniform that doesn't belong to them, report it immediately."
The room fell silent. Some students whispered nervously, while others looked shocked.
Williams and Nolan exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable but their minds racing.
As the bell rang and students began to shuffle out, the two lingered near the back of the classroom, their heads low as they whispered.
Williams's lips curled into a sly smile.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking, right? That white-haired guy we saw."
Nolan frowned, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening.
"You think it's him?"
"Quite obvious isn't it?" Williams said, his voice hushed but urgent as he continued to talk.
"No wonder he had that weird white hair... He didn't dye it, it was because he was a Reality Master! Not to mention, he suddenly vanished when we weren't looking."
"And what are you suggesting we do?" Nolan asked cautiously.
Williams's eyes gleamed with something dark—ambition and greed rolled into one.
"We find him."
"Find him?" Nolan repeated, lowering his voice even further. "And then what? Hand him over to the authorities?"
Williams let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Don't be stupid. You know what happens if we take him down ourselves. A Reality Master's essence... You've heard the stories. Kill him, and his power becomes ours."
Nolan hesitated, his brow furrowing.
"You're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Williams leaned closer, his tone dripping with urgency.
"Do you really want to stay at the bottom forever? You know how hard it is to make it out here. If we let this chance slip away, we'll regret it."
Nolan bit his lip, conflicted. But deep down, he knew Williams had a point.
The power that came from absorbing the essence of a Reality Master was rare, almost like a myth—but the rewards were undeniable.
"Fine..." Nolan said after a moment, his voice firm but quiet.
"But we have to be smart about it. If he's really the one responsible for the Threshold Item, he's dangerous. We can't just rush in and hope for the best."
Williams grinned, his excitement barely contained. "Of course. We'll plan it out. We'll wait for the right moment to catch him off guard. But when we do..."
Nolan nodded, the seed of greed now fully planted.
"No mistakes. If we're going to do this, we have to make sure it works."
As they left the classroom, their steps fell into sync, their minds already plotting.
The memory of the white-haired teenager burned in their thoughts—a potential target, a potential prize.
And as they moved through the crowded halls, their hearts raced—not with fear, but with anticipation.