The last straw

A building towered over Ronin like some monument to a world that had moved on without him. Wide marble steps swept up to crystalline doors, flanked by armored statues that might've been ornamental, or might've been actual awakened guards in stasis — it was hard to tell these days. The walls shimmered, not from any lighting trick, but from actual enchantments woven into the stone. Even the damn windows looked expensive.

It made the Evaluation Center look like a public toilet.

The event being held at the facility was a grand celebration for the Reapers Guild, who had just cleared one of the most dangerous S-rank gates in recent memory.

The Reapers were more than just a prestigious guild—they were a legend among awakeners, a name spoken with reverence and envy. Lyra had joined them not long after her awakening, her S-rank status almost guaranteeing her a place among their elite. It made sense they'd be here, at this headquarters—the kind of place meant for giants like them.

Ronin adjusted the collar of his too-tight blazer, the cheap material itching against the fresh scrape on his neck. The bruises and bandages were mostly hidden, tucked under sleeves and concealer. You had to look close to see the wear-and-tear — and nobody here looked close unless you were important.

A staffer at the entrance looked him over, clearly ready to block his path. Ronin flashed his Awakeners license, and after a long pause that screamed you sure you're not a janitor, he was let through.

Inside, the place buzzed. No, thrummed. Hundreds of awakeners, all shining with that effortless confidence. Power practically radiated off them — the air here felt different, like the mana density had doubled just from the crowd. Ronin knew immediately: B to S-ranks, maybe the odd A-minus hanging on by the skin of their teeth. People who could level cities.

He was a fucking E-rank fire mage.

If a fight broke out here, his best chance was dying quick.

But none of that mattered. He wasn't here to impress anyone. He was here to find her.

And… do what, exactly? Beg her to come back? Tell her she ruined him? Tell her sorry? He didn't know. Only that he had to see her.

A flash of green in his peripheral. Some guy — broad-shouldered, sleeveless jacket, dyed neon hair and unnatural purple eyes that might've been contacts… or not. Awakening could do that kind of thing.

The man extended a hand with a relaxed smile. "Levi. A-rank magical."

Ronin gave a nod. "Ronin. E-rank."

Levi's smile cracked for a fraction of a second, something like pity flickering in his eyes. "Ah… well. Cool." He dropped the handshake mid-air and wandered off like he had somewhere to be.

Ronin exhaled through his nose. Whatever. Not like he came here for a damn meet-and-greet.

He scanned the room — and there.

Black hair, shoulder-length, sleek and still annoyingly perfect. A navy-blue dress that shimmered subtly under the chandelier light. She was laughing — or maybe just smiling politely — beside a guy about her age. Sharp features, navy hair just long enough to fall into his eyes.

Odd hair color. Could be dyed. Could be something else.

Ronin's stomach turned. No way. Too soon. Just a friend from her guild. Just another Reaper.

He walked toward her. She saw him before he reached her. Of course she did. She stopped mid-step, her posture shifting. So did the guy. He started scanning the crowd like a bodyguard sniffing out threats. When his eyes landed on Ronin, they stayed there.

They just stared for a moment.

The navy-haired guy was the first to speak. "Who's this guy?" His voice was light, almost amused.

Ronin ignored him.

Lyra tilted her head slightly. "Finally got your head sorted out?"

Her tone was too calm. Too clean. It scraped against his nerves.

Ronin's reply was sharper than he meant. "You finally get over being a fucking hero?"

Her expression didn't change, but the temperature between them dropped like ice water. She looked away.

"Still haven't, I see," she said quietly, already turning to leave.

His hand shot out. He grabbed her forearm.

She stopped.

He tried to turn her back toward him — and failed. It was like trying to move a tree trunk rooted in the earth. No, worse. Like trying to pull a wall that didn't know he existed.

The navy-haired guy, already tense, locked onto Ronin's hand. His gaze shifted, sharp and calculating. Then he stepped closer.

"Let go," Lyra said.

Ronin held on.

She turned slowly. Her face was blank, but the cold in her eyes was brutal.

"You really haven't changed," she said. Then yanked her arm free, twisting out of his grip with a snap that nearly dislocated his wrist.

He went to grab her again — reflex, not thought — but navy hair was faster. A hand clamped around Ronin's arm like a vice. It didn't just hurt. It crushed. The pressure hit his whole body like a goddamn gravity spell.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This guy was S-rank.

Ronin dropped. Knees hit marble. Breath ripped out of his lungs.

People were watching now. Dozens. Maybe more.

"Stop it, Kai," Lyra's voice sliced through the tension. Calm, cold, command.

Kai let go. No apology, no look back. Just followed Lyra's lead as she walked away, eyes forward.

Ronin was still on his knees, gasping like a kicked dog. He pushed himself upright, shaking, only to feel two sets of hands grab him from behind.

Security. Efficient, silent, already briefed. Kai must've given the look.

As they dragged him through the crowd, Lyra looked back once.

Her eyes met his.

And he snapped.

"This is your fault!" he shouted. Voice cracked. Spit flying. "You did this to me!"

He hated the sound of himself. Hated the weight of all those eyes on him. Hated how much of what he said felt true.

She didn't respond. Didn't flinch. Just turned away.

Security hurled him out the doors like trash day.

He hit the street shoulder-first. The world spun, and when it settled, he was alone.

Again.