CHAPTER 44: CHAPTER 44- REWARD

The soft hum of the holographic screens had long since faded, yet the faint blue glow of the chamber lingered in Logan’s mind. Somewhere far above him, the world of power and politics resumed its rhythm. But deep below, in another corner of the city, Kaidren was already on the move.

The underground station greeted him with a rush of cool, recycled air as he descended the wide concrete steps. It wasn’t the kind of subway most would imagine—a place of grime and hurried footsteps. Instead, this underground stretched out like an immaculate corridor carved into the heart of the city itself.

To his right, a long row of shops lined the wall. They weren’t crudely built into the space but engraved, as though each storefront had been meticulously fitted into the station’s white-tiled body. The tiles gleamed with a spotless sheen, their polished surfaces reflecting the long, bright strips of light embedded in the ceiling above. Everything shone too perfectly, like the kind of cleanliness only money and strict regulation could enforce.

On his left, a much broader but shorter set of stairs descended into the station proper. The muted rumble of trains echoed faintly from below, accompanied by the mechanical chime of announcements and the metallic squeal of braking wheels.

Kaidren walked the length of the upper corridor, his black sling bag secured across his shoulder. Within it rested the heavy weight of the card worth one hundred million AUR—a figure that still felt both unreal and dangerously tangible.

The station was alive with people. Elderly men shuffled slowly with canes, their measured steps contrasting the quick strides of uniformed high school students. Groups of teenagers clustered near the storefronts, laughter bouncing through the pristine corridor.

Kaidren’s gaze lingered on the variety of uniforms. Girls in tailored blue skirts and matching blazers, white blouses buttoned neatly beneath with soft red ribbons tied at their collars. Others wore the dark sailor uniforms, their pleated skirts brushing above white stockings, black shoes gleaming like polished stone.

The boys, for their part, moved in packs—some in traditional black gakuran uniforms with stiff collars, others in more modern black blazers over white shirts, red ties hanging loose or perfectly knotted. Their voices rose and fell in bursts of conversation, filling the air with a youthful vibrancy Kaidren could only observe from the edges.

He moved quietly, blending with the flow of the crowd. His expression was calm, almost detached, but his eyes followed everything—the way couples leaned close together as they walked, the laughter of children tugging at their parents’ sleeves, the tired slump of office workers dragging themselves toward another day.

For a moment, his gaze fixed on a particular group of girls exiting a shop. Their laughter rang out as they stepped into the corridor, each holding a cone of vividly colored ice cream. The sound was carefree, unburdened, the kind of joy that didn’t need to ask permission to exist.

Kaidren’s stomach rumbled softly. A low growl, muted by the noise around him, but sharp enough to remind him of the emptiness within. His hand moved almost automatically, pressing lightly against his abdomen. His face betrayed no reaction—just the same calm, unreadable mask—but inwardly, the hunger gnawed.

He thought to himself, I have the money now. More than enough. There’s no harm in indulging a little.

His eyes shifted to the shop the girls had just exited. The storefront glowed with a bold splash of red, impossible to ignore amid the station’s uniform whiteness. Above the entrance hung a large signboard in deep crimson, bold black letters sprawling across it:

BRAIN FREEZE

We’ll Freeze Your Brain But Not Your Smile.

Kaidren stopped in front of it, his gaze lifting to study the words. They lingered in his mind for longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure whether the slogan was clever or foolish, but he read it again and again, as though the repetition itself would yield some hidden meaning.

Finally, he lowered his gaze to the storefront itself. The exterior carried the same bold palette—dark red walls, the windows tinted black with a faint reflective sheen. On the left side of the door, a glowing sign pulsed in shifting hues of blue and red, the word OPEN buzzing faintly in the air.

The entrance stood at the center, a door framed in red wood with a grid of small, square windows. The glass was dark, obscuring the inside, but through the edges Kaidren could see a faint glow of warmer lights within.

He lingered a moment longer, then decided. His feet carried him forward, step by step, until his hand reached for the handle.

The door gave way with a soft chime of a bell, the sound crisp and delicate against the constant murmur of the subway beyond.

The moment Kaidren stepped through the door, he was welcomed by a gust of cold air-conditioning brushing against his skin, sharp and refreshing against the lingering warmth from the subway corridor outside. The air carried the sweet, intoxicating aroma of sugar, cream, and syrupy toppings—a fragrance that clung to the senses like a gentle lure. Beneath it, faint whiffs of baked cones and caramelized nuts teased his hunger further.

The space inside pulsed with a lively rhythm. Soft chatter, the clinking of spoons against glass bowls, and occasional bursts of laughter layered together, creating a cozy background noise. Children squealed near the corner where a glass freezer displayed whimsical creations—tiny animal figurines sculpted from ice cream, complete with chocolate-dotted eyes and candy tails. Their fascinated faces pressed close to the glass, their small breaths fogging the pane.

The shop’s design was simple yet charming. The floor was paved with polished wood-style tiles, the warm brown tones contrasting pleasantly with the cool, sweet scent in the air. Overhead, soft glowing bulbs hung from wires, casting a golden sheen over the space. Dangling from the ceiling were small plush toys shaped like ice cream cones, swaying gently whenever the door opened. The effect was playful, almost childlike, as though the room itself invited you to lower your guard.

At the far end stretched the counter, framed by a massive display case filled with rows upon rows of flavors: pastel mint greens, rich chocolate browns, pale vanillas, vibrant strawberry pinks. Jars of toppings lined the upper shelves—rainbow sprinkles, crushed cookies, chocolate chips, swirls of caramel and fudge—all neatly arranged like treasures waiting to be chosen. Behind the glass counter, an employee in a red apron leaned lazily against the back wall, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone until the next customer approached.

Kaidren moved toward the counter, his steps measured, quiet. He carried no urgency; his calm presence seemed at odds with the buoyant life buzzing around him. His black sling bag hung against his side, its hidden weight—a hundred million AUR card—resting unnoticed by the world.

On his way forward, his ears caught fragments of conversations spilling from the occupied tables. Most of it was trivial, ordinary exchanges of laughter and gossip. Yet his attention snagged briefly on a group of three boys seated near the window.

The three were loud enough to draw glances from nearby tables. One, clearly the focus of their conversation, had a naturally striking appearance: messy black hair that framed his sharp features, glasses perched slightly crooked on his nose, and a fitted black turtleneck paired with jogging pants. He looked like someone who had been dragged here reluctantly by friends, his quiet disposition overshadowed by their noisy encouragement.

The two other boys were dressed casually, one in a loose gray hoodie and jeans, the other in a navy t-shirt and shorts. Both had the easy energy of extroverts, their words spilling fast and unrestrained.

"Come on, man," the one in the hoodie said, leaning forward with a teasing grin. "Dorothea’s literally throwing herself at you, and you’re acting like she’s invisible. Are you out of your mind?"

The boy with glasses adjusted them slightly, his eyes cast downward as though he wanted to disappear into his ice cream. "It’s not like that," he muttered. "She shouldn’t waste her time on me. I don’t have... anything to give her."

His voice was low, threaded with a vulnerability that clashed with his outwardly composed appearance.

"Not this again," the one in the t-shirt groaned, rolling his eyes. "You’ve got the grades, the looks—hell, half the school would line up if you just said the word. You’re acting like you’re some washed-up failure."

"I am, though," the boy with glasses replied, his tone heavy. He set down his spoon and let his gaze drift toward the tabletop, as though it offered a safer place to speak to than his friends. "You don’t understand. Dorothea... she’s from a family with a Tier 5 esper in their bloodline. Her future is solid, guaranteed. Me? I’ve got nothing. No strong family name, no stability. Just a face and grades. That’s not enough for someone like her. If anything, she deserves someone who can match her, not someone who’ll drag her down."

The hoodie-wearer scoffed, a sharp frown cutting through his teasing expression. "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say."

"Yeah," the t-shirt one chimed in, voice edged with irritation. "Do you even hear yourself? You like her. She likes you. End of story. Who cares about her family? You think she’s chasing you because of your surname? Don’t downgrade yourself like this. It’s pathetic."

The boy with glasses pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly torn between rejecting their words and wanting to believe them. His eyes softened faintly, betraying emotions he refused to voice.

"Seriously," the hoodie one continued, his voice firm now, almost protective. "If we were you, we’d have said yes a long time ago. You’re too caught up in what you lack to see what you already have."

Kaidren, walking past, let their words settle at the edge of his awareness. The conversation barely touched him, yet he found himself pausing briefly inside his mind. He thought about the boy’s self-doubt, his endless comparison between himself and what he deemed unreachable.

Noisy, he thought blandly, shaking his head with the faintest exhale. Pointless worries, spoken out loud. What a waste of breath.

And yet, despite dismissing it, some corner of him understood the sentiment. That relentless measuring of oneself against the vastness of the world, the quiet fear of being outmatched before the battle even began. It was familiar. But Kaidren did not dwell. He silenced the thought as easily as he would flick away a speck of dust.

He turned his attention forward once more, approaching the counter that awaited him at the far end.