Two Days.
Léo had been working at Croc du Moa for two days.
And even though he finished each shift with a sore back, burning legs, and hands covered in small blisters… he was starting to adjust.
He had learned to hold two trays without dropping them.
He knew exactly which corner of the counter creaked when you put a mug on it.
And above all, he understood the customers' secret language.
The lonely old drinker now winked at him instead of grumbling.
A group of female travelers greeted him every time he passed by, and one of them—a young lady in a yellow dress, in her twenties—even said a little,
"He's cute, the new waiter, little waiter."
Léo blushed to his ears before pouting.
"Little waiter... I have a name." »
But it didn't help. The nickname had stuck.
Even Eline, her elder in the tavern, didn't mind adding to it.
---
During the afternoon break, as the heat slowly fell, they both sat on a pile of bricks behind the tavern, where the light filtered through the stacked beer barrels.
Eline sipped an infusion of mint leaves, her cat ears slightly lowered in fatigue.
Her feline yellow eyes shone faintly in the shadows. She was half-human, half-kemonomimi.
— "So, little waiter... still keen to become a knight, or do you want to apply to work at the fruit vendors?"
— "Save your ugly nicknames for the drunk customers."
She snickered.
— "You know what? I think you're funny." You seem calm, serious... and you're always complaining."
Leo smiled a little, then looked up at the sky between two beams.
"And you? Have you always worked here? Or was it circumstances?"
A silence. Light. Then she replied:
"Circumstances, yeah."
She twirled her cup in her hands.
"Being half human, half cat... do you know what that means? That for many people, I'm a mistake. A deviation. A living reminder of Echidna's corruption."
Leo turned his head towards her.
"Yet... you never seem to hide."
She shrugged.
"What's the point? I have ears, a tail, claws. You can see it."
She stared at him, a bit curious.
— "But you... you didn't even flinch. Not once. You've never changed your tone with me."
Léo raised an eyebrow.
— "Why would I do that?"
— "I don't know... it's rare, that's all."
He scratched his cheek, looking a little embarrassed.
— "When I saw you, I didn't see a race or a curse. I saw a colleague. A cool girl who makes Sagamite very poorly, but who does a great job sorting beers."
Eline rolled her eyes.
— "Bad Sagamite, seriously? You're ruthless."
— "And besides... I actually think your ears are pretty cute."
She almost choked on her herbal tea.
— "Y-You want to seduce me now?"
— "No. I mean what I say." »
He stood up and extended his hand towards her.
— "Come on, it's time to get back to work. If we drag on too long, Kragg will roar."
She grabbed his hand and stood up.
— "It's rare to meet a weird guy who compliments you while criticizing you."
— "That's my style."
And the two of them returned to the tavern, where the noise, the heat, the sweat... and perhaps, without them realizing it, the beginnings of a sincere friendship awaited them.
Evening was slowly falling on Atokanayah.
Magic lanterns were beginning to light up in the streets, and a cool breeze carried the smells of baked bread, incense... and fatigue.
Aurona, still wearing her healer's smock, walked home in silence.
Her shoulders felt heavy.
Her fingers were numb from the care.
Her feet squeaked in their boots.
She pushed open the door, but before she could close it...
"Forgive this sudden visit."
She turned abruptly.
A man stood there, poised, hands in his pockets, with the air of someone who never truly apologizes.
He wore a light-colored shirt under an open black coat, a belt buckle adorned with a golden symbol—the Cattleya Guild.
"My name is Ruggero. Investigator for the Guild." I won't keep you long."
Aurona pursed her lips.
— "I just finished my shift at the clinic..."
— "And I'm grateful. But I have a few questions about the Alfonso case."
She took a deep breath. Then nodded.
— "I resigned that same day. Before he died. I don't know anything else."
She was about to close the door, polite but firm.
But Ruggero... took a step.
Just one.
And his expression changed.
— "It's strange, though... You resign. The nobleman tries to force you. A few minutes later... tiles fly, windows shatter."
She didn't answer.
— "And above the roof... an abnormal concentration of aura. Fresh traces. Raw. Unstable."
She tightened the handle.
— "The man was angry. Not a murderer. Not a professional. He saw you leave. And only then... did he attack."
A heavy silence.
Then Ruggero continued, more quietly:
— "You understand? He didn't want you to be accused. He waited. Protected. Allayed suspicion."
He crossed his arms.
— "A man like that... doesn't act by chance. He's close to you. A friend? Someone close to you, perhaps?"
Aurona lowered her eyes slowly.
She inhaled calmly.
Then raised her head.
— "No. I don't know who you're talking about."
A discreet smile.
— "Maybe I just got lucky."
Ruggero raised an eyebrow.
He understood the game.
And the strength it took to protect someone by denying it.
He didn't push it any further. Not yet.
"I see. Excuse my insistence."
And he turned on his heel.
"Good evening, Lady Aurona."
"To you too, Mr. Ruggero."
---
Meanwhile, Leo was returning from the Fang of the Moa, his step light despite his fatigue.
With his apron rolled over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets, he was whistling a knowing tune in the tavern.
But in his head... an obsession:
"Why can't I activate my aura anymore?"
He had tried everything.
Concentrating. Meditating. Scaring himself.
Even screaming into a pillow, which had triggered his mother's fit of laughter.
> "Leo, if you want to awaken your aura, don't try to deliver a cow."
He had sulked for an hour.
But now, walking under the stars, he was really wondering...
> Was it a stroke of luck? Or am I not ready yet?
He was far... very far... from imagining that tonight, his mother had just refused to betray him.
Ruggero hadn't come home.
Not yet.
He had moved away from the DioAngelo house, walked a few blocks, then leaned against a stone bench, just far enough away to avoid attracting attention, but close enough to keep the door in his field of vision.
In his hands, a crumpled newspaper.
Or so it seemed.
But it was actually a paper-covered grimoire, adorned with hearts and poorly rhythmic verses dedicated to the goddess Attira.
— "Page 272… 'O Attira, mother of silent echoes, I implore your gaze upon my sheets of solitude.'"
He was muttering with a serious, almost religious expression.
A passerby gave him a worried look. Ruggero didn't move.
But his attention was elsewhere.
Home.
He was waiting. He was watching.
> Who's going to visit her? An accomplice? A protector? A hidden husband?
And then...
The door opened.
A young boy was coming in. Redheaded. Small. Slim. Maybe twelve, thirteen.
He looked tired, but smiling. A sort of rugged innocence in his demeanor. He was whistling.
Ruggero lowered his fake newspaper.
He narrowed his eyes.
> A child?
And suddenly... he remembered.
> "The lord said that if she refused, he would kill her son."
He frowned.
> A son. This boy. It fits.
He watched him disappear behind the door.
> He lives here. With her. They're alone. No sign of a father. What if he...?
He took a deep breath.
> No. Not yet. Too soon to accuse. Too many ifs. Too many maybes.
He carefully put the tome away. Then he stood up.
"Let's go see what the guild archives tell us... about the DioAngelos."
And he turned on his heel, hands in his pockets, melting into the night crowd.
He headed for the northern district, where the residents' registers were carefully preserved by the scribes of the local guild.
He had a hunch.
But he wanted names. Dates. Origins.
Because even for him, accusing a child was no small matter.
To be continued