Izmir was satisfied with the old man's reply. At last, he had found a purpose that was to learn how to wield a sword.
"Let's go," the old man said, his tone calm yet commanding. "Before the five days are over."
Izmir nodded and followed silently. He wanted to grow stronger before meeting his mother again.
The old man led him beyond the city limits to a quiet stretch of open fields. The tall green grass swayed gently in the breeze, whispering like waves under the golden sky. The scent of autumn hung in the air crisp and faintly earthy. From afar, a small house was visible, tucked between the hills.
The house looked like an old cottage resting at the city's edge. When Izmir glanced back, he saw the glowing lights of the distant buildings blending with the stars that shimmered above.
He sighed softly. "My name is Kyle. You haven't introduced yourself yet."
The old man, walking ahead, pushed open the creaking door of the cottage. "You can call me 'old man' or 'grandpa,' that's what they've always called me. I barely remember my own name anymore."
"Barely…" Izmir echoed under his breath, studying the man's weathered face. Despite the wrinkles and the snow-white beard, the old man moved with the firm strength and confidence of someone still in their prime. There was something oddly timeless about him.
"This is your first hour of training," the old man announced, glancing at Izmir, who was now looking around the living room.
The walls were painted in a warm, creamy wood tone. A small coffee table stood between two worn sofas, and a fireplace glowed beside a lush green plant. It was a strange mix — an old-fashioned house with a touch of modern comfort.
"Your first mission," the old man said, handing over a brown handbag, "is to buy groceries for dinner. Here's the list and some money."
Izmir blinked. Is he serious? What am I, an errand boy?
"But I wanted to learn how to fight," Izmir protested, frowning.
"Oh?" The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You mean martial arts and swordsmanship? Why don't you just go home and look them up on YouTube? They have great tutorials that's probably where I learned to fight."
Izmir stared in disbelief. Seriously? He doesn't remember his name but he knows about YouTube and Google? He sighed, silently questioning his life choices.
Still, he took the handbag.
"Before you go," the old man said, settling down on the red couch, "I should warn you about something." His tone shifted calm, but serious. "Turbo Spiders. Beastly creatures that hunt in the dark and move incredibly fast. Sit down, this will be your first lesson."
Izmir obeyed, curiosity replacing annoyance.
"Turbo Spiders," the old man continued, "are creatures with eight legs, like regular spiders except they're as large as humans. They crawl on the ground. Their legs are made of sharpened blades, and they can slice through a tree trunk before you even blink. They once fought a dragon, you know. And won."
Izmir's eyes widened. "What should I do if I encounter one?"
"Run," the old man said without hesitation, chuckling. "You're just an ordinary human, after all."
"But if they're faster than me, how can I even run?" Izmir asked again, half serious, half irritated.
"They're drawn to light and movement," the old man replied with a faint smile. "So be unattractive."
The two stared at each other in silence for a moment Izmir deadpanned, the old man perfectly calm.
Finally, Izmir sighed, took the handbag, and walked out the door.
The cool breeze brushed against his face as he made his way back toward the city. After a few minutes, he reached a tall building — likely a shopping mall.
"Let's see what we have to buy," he murmured, opening the handbag. But the list was blank. Only a wallet filled with money lay inside.
"The old man tricked me," Izmir muttered. "How foolish of me not to check before leaving."
He looked around. The city was alive with chatter and color. What caught his attention most were the people , their hair.
Some had bright yellow or fiery red hair, others soft green, pastel blue, silver, even violet. Each person looked distinct, a living spectrum of individuality.
When he glanced toward a nearby shop, he noticed a long queue outside a hair salon.
Maybe here, people don't fear being different. Maybe that's what free will looks like — color and chaos.
But before he could think any further, a sharp sound echoed in his ears.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Not again," Izmir groaned softly. "Why does it always happen at the worst time? I still haven't gotten used to it…"