He didn't remember much after drinking the elixir. There was the burning-starlight-down-the-throat thing. The world tilting sideways. His body deciding it was done with consciousness for the foreseeable future. And then… nothing. Until—
BOOM.
His eyes snapped open.
'What a peaceful way to wake up,' he thought dryly. 'Nothing says "good morning" like explosions and—'
He sniffed. The smell was… well, it was…
'—rotten garbage.'
He remembered pressing his head against it, but somehow he ended up inside the metal dumpster, surrounded by garbage bags that smelled like they'd given up on life weeks ago. The stench was aggressive, the kind that made your nose want to file a formal complaint.
And yet.
It was kind of… comfy?
Like the world's worst blanket fort, but still. Cozy, in a deeply questionable way that he couldn't explain.
So he lay there for a moment, debating whether getting up was really necessary, or if he could just live here. Embrace the trash life. Become one with the garbage.
'Nah. I can do better than this.'
'Probably.'
He dragged himself out of the bin, limbs protesting every movement like they'd forgotten how to work.
Sunlight hit his face, warm, gentle, way too cheerful for someone who'd just woken up in a dumpster.
His body felt stiff. Tight. Like someone had shrink-wrapped him overnight.
He stretched. Arms overhead. As high as he could reach.
And for one very alarming second, it felt like his skin was going to rip clean off.
'Okay, what—'
His eyes drifted to his arm.
His skin was peeling, flaking away in thin, papery strips. Dead layers curled off to reveal fresh, unblemished skin underneath.
"Oh, nice. I'm shedding," he said flatly.
He sat there, back pressed against the metal garbage bin, and began peeling away the layer on his arm while humming a random tune he heard Rei murmur.
He set one of the peeled pieces down next to him.
Stared at peeled skin.
'Huh.'
Then back at his arm.
Then at the small pile again.
It took his brain a second to process. Way longer than it should have, which was embarrassing.
"Wait," he said slowly. "Why am I shedding?"
He checked his other arm. Peeling. His legs? Also peeling. His chest? Yep, same deal.
His entire body was molting like he'd suddenly decided to become a very confused reptile.
"Is this—" He blinked a few times, trying to process this whole situation. "Is this a puberty thing?"
He looked around, half-expecting someone to pop out and explain that yes, this was totally normal, everyone went through a molting phase around his age.
It did not.
But he got something even better.
Ari launched herself out of his shadow and landed on his hand, tiny, adorable, and apparently also going through the whole molting situation.
"Oh, look at you," he muttered, poking her tiny nose gently. "We're both molting."
And somehow, that made him feel slightly better about the whole situation. Less "weird medical emergency I should probably be panicking about," and more "bonding experience with my tiny snake companion."
Which was… nice, actually.
He cupped his palm gently and helped her shed, carefully peeling away the dead skin.
Her new scales caught the light beautifully, shimmering with each tiny movement.
He brought her close to his face. "You're going to grow massive in no time," he said softly.
Ari did… whatever snakes do when they're happy. A little tongue flick. A pleased wiggle. Her head pressed against his cheek.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "You rest up while I try to look as pretty as you."
She coiled around his wrist, settling in like the world's fanciest bracelet, the kind people would pay a lifetime's worth of money for. Not that he was planning to sell her. Obviously.
He let her bask in the sunlight while he went back to dealing with his own molting situation.
Which was significantly less adorable and way more weird.
'Come on,' he thought, tugging gently at a strip on his forearm. 'Don't tear. Don't tear—'
It tore.
"Damn it."
He started over on his other arm, this time going even slower, fingers working at the edges until he found a good starting point.
'Okay. Take two. Nice and easy.'
This time it came away smoothly. One continuous sheet, curling back like old wallpaper.
It was kind of gross, honestly. But also… weirdly satisfying? Like peeling a sunburn, except it was his entire body.
He kept going. Arms, chest, working methodically like he was unwrapping the world's least pleasant gift to himself.
By the time he finished, there was a small pile of discarded skin sitting next to him.
He stared at it.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm not explaining this to anyone. Ever."
The pile looked like the world's worst laundry, and he was suddenly very grateful he was alone in this alley.
After checking for any spots he'd missed, 'Nope. All the old skin was gone.'
He was officially done going through puberty.
Which meant he only needed to do two more things: find a shower, and get off this damn island.
The shower part was probably easy enough. Find some water, wash off the garbage smell and general weirdness. Simple.
Leaving, though? That was the difficult part.
He couldn't just walk down to the docks and hop on a boat without someone asking questions. Or worse, recognizing him.
The clan wasn't exactly known for letting intruders casually sail away after causing the kind of chaos he'd caused last night.
And there was a pretty high chance they were still searching for the crazy armor and its owner, the crazy white-haired kid who'd crashed their party and killed two lieutenants.
So walking out the front door, or dock, in this case, was probably not his best option.
'Great,' he thought.
First things first, he needed to change his appearance.
His white hair and red eyes weren't exactly subtle.
It was like walking around with a giant sign that said, "Hey, look at me. I am definitely not from around here."
He pulled out his dagger and gave himself a quick haircut. It was ugly, really ugly, but it worked. Shorter hair, less recognizable. Good enough.
Then came the tricky part.
He focused his mana inward, pushing it toward his hair and eyes. Not to grow a new face—that was impossible, or at least he was pretty sure it was—but changing pigments? That was simple. Easy, even.
That's how the handsome fool had been able to change his hair color all the time. No one was truly born with colored hair. It was all mana manipulation. Basic stuff, really.
But not everyone did it.
Colored hair meant you were higher in rank. Higher class. It was a status thing—a way to look different from those who lived in the slums.
A way to say "I'm better than you" without opening your mouth.
So most people down here had black hair. Brown eyes. The perfect color to blend into a crowd.
Once he was done, he checked his reflection in the dagger's blade.
Different. Definitely different.
He looked… older, somehow. Less like a kid. His face had lost some of that childlike softness, like his body had finally realized it was supposed to be aging and decided to catch up all at once.
He felt slightly taller too.
Barely noticeable.
Like, maybe half an inch. If he was being generous.
Sadly.
Next problem: clothes.
He needed something that screamed "I'm nobody important" instead of "I just crawled out of a dumpster."
He looked around.
Spotted a clothesline nearby. Clothes hanging out to dry in the sun.
'Jackpot.'
'Sorry, random person,' he thought, grabbing a shirt and pants. 'This is technically stealing. But also technically survival. I'll pay you back if I don't die.'
The clothes were faded white, or maybe they used to be white before years of wear turned them into "vaguely grayish." Classic.
He pulled them on.
Took a sniff.
"Mmm. Smells like soap and sadness. Perfect."