CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45- TRAIN STATION

The moment Kaidren approached the counter, a soft and professional voice rose to meet him.

"Good afternoon, sir! Welcome—how may I help you today?"

Behind the counter stood a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. Her brown hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, strands slipping free to frame her face as they escaped from the simple white hat dotted with little ice cream imprints. The ponytail swayed lightly when she moved, a detail that matched the lively energy she carried. Her wide brown eyes reflected both kindness and practiced professionalism, the sort that came from greeting customers every day without losing sincerity. She wore a plain white shirt beneath a neat brown apron, simple but clean, the kind of uniform that fit this quaint yet cheerful ice cream shop.

Kaidren gave a faint nod in acknowledgment, though he didn’t answer her immediately. His eyes lowered instead, focusing on the wide glass display case in front of him.

Inside gleamed twenty different frozen temptations, each color a lure under the cool fluorescent lighting:

— Classic Vanilla, pale and pure, smooth as snow.

— Rich Chocolate, dark as night with a soft sheen.

— Strawberry, a gentle pink dotted with fruit specks.

— Cookies and Cream, creamy white marbled with crumbles.

— Mint Chocolate Chip, green like fresh leaves, flecked with chocolate shards.

— Raspberry, vibrant and sharp in hue.

— Peach, soft orange with a faint sweetness in its tone.

— Mango, bright gold, almost glowing.

— Pineapple, pale yellow, glistening like chilled sunlight.

— Lemon, sharper still, icy and citrus-scented.

— Peanut Butter Cup, creamy swirls mixed with chunks.

— Rocky Road, textured with marshmallow and nut pieces.

— Butter Pecan, nutty richness folded into cream.

— Chocolate Chip Cookie, familiar and warm even in its coldness.

— Salted Caramel, a golden swirl with glistening streaks.

— Cinnamon, dusted faintly with spice.

— Coffee, deep brown, smooth and mature.

— S’mores, with marshmallow ribbons and bits of graham cracker.

— Pumpkin, autumn orange, spiced and inviting.

— Lavender Honey, soft purple with a delicate sweetness.

And beside them were trays of toppings—sprinkles in every shade, crushed nuts, chocolate chips, broken cookie chunks, even small candied fruits. Behind that, bottles of sauces sat ready: rich chocolate syrup, golden honey, and warm caramel, each waiting to be drizzled.

Kaidren stood there for a while, staring at the spread. The employee, despite being ignored for the moment, maintained her smile. Her hands folded politely before her apron as she waited, patient and undisturbed, though her eyes flickered curiously at the boy’s stillness.

Finally, Kaidren’s low voice broke the silence.

"Three scoops of vanilla and 2 scoops of cookies and cream. Toppings, crushed cookies. Sauce, caramel."

His tone was plain, his face unreadable.

The employee blinked once at the size of the order—five scoops was no small thing—but quickly typed it down into the register without faltering. The faint clacking of keys was followed by a cheerful confirmation.

"That’ll be 3 AUR, sir."

Kaidren nodded faintly, eyes steady. "You take card?"

"Of course," the woman replied warmly. "We accept all major forms of payment."

Without another word, Kaidren reached into the black sling bag that hung diagonally across his shoulder. From its interior, he retrieved the sleek card—jet black in color, the kind that caught light only to reveal faint gold lettering. Across the top gleamed the insignia of Aegis Bank, the name etched in metallic finish. What drew the eye most, however, was the lower portion of the card: a gradient of blue that seemed to shimmer faintly as if liquid light ran through it.

The employee froze for the briefest second, her practiced smile faltering into a subtle expression of awe. It was the kind of card not everyone would ever see up close. She caught herself quickly, however, and composed her demeanor again.

"That’s... quite the card you have there," she said lightly, still smiling, though a trace of admiration lingered in her tone.

Kaidren merely handed it over without reaction.

She swiped the card along the side of the machine, dragging the blue-fading part across the sensor. A soft electronic beep followed by the faint print of the receipt confirmed the payment.

"Approved," the machine chimed.

"Perfect," she said, handing the card back carefully with both hands as if it were something delicate. "Here you go, sir. And your receipt as well."

Kaidren tucked both items back into his sling bag with unhurried precision. He then shifted his gaze back to the employee as she began preparing his order.

The process was simple yet oddly mesmerizing. She pulled open the glass lid of the display freezer, her wrist twisting as she dipped the metal scoop into Vanilla first. The round silver tool cut cleanly into the pale cream, rolling out a perfect sphere with a practiced flick. She dropped it into the paper bowl, where it landed with a soft weight.

Another scoop, this time of Cookies and Cream, the black crumbs swirled into the white base making the ball appear marbled under the light. She worked with steady rhythm, the scoops forming a small tower that rose higher with each addition. Vanilla, then cookies and cream again, finishing with vanilla—the fifth scoop stacked neatly on top.

The crushed cookies followed, sprinkled with careful hands until they formed a crisp layer atop the creamy tower. And finally, the caramel: golden and glossy, dripping in smooth streams from the squeeze bottle, winding down the slopes of the scoops like molten amber.

Satisfied, she tucked a small wooden spoon—sturdy, polished, and wide enough to hold generous bites—into the side of the bowl. She placed it gently onto the counter before him.

"All ready," she said brightly, voice carrying the tone of someone who genuinely took pride in the little things.

Kaidren reached out and took the bowl with one hand. It was large enough to look almost heavy, yet he lifted it effortlessly. His face remained unreadable, though his gaze lingered on the ice cream for a moment longer, as if evaluating its craftsmanship.

"Thank you," he said simply, his voice low and steady.

The employee smiled wider at that small acknowledgment, leaning forward just slightly. "You’re very welcome, sir. Please come back anytime."

As Kaidren turned away, her hand lifted in a small wave, her ponytail swaying as she added a soft, "Enjoy your ice cream!"

He didn’t look back, but the sound of her cheerful tone followed him as he walked away, his bowl of five scoops steady in his grasp.

_____________________________

The ice cream dripped, faintly cold against Kaidren’s fingers as he stepped out from the corner store. He kept the same plain expression as always, though the creamy sweetness still lingered on his tongue. Each scoop disappeared into his mouth with the same indifference, but if one looked closely, the small wooden spoon bobbing from his lips betrayed a quiet rhythm—subtle, unconscious movements, swaying slightly as he chewed. It was the only sign that he was enjoying the dessert, though his face never revealed it.

He walked slowly, heading straight toward the train station ahead.

The short but wide stairs descended like a shallow cascade of stone, filled with a tide of footsteps. People brushed past him on both sides, their chatter blending with the muted hum of the city night. Kaidren’s gaze remained detached, sweeping across his surroundings without much thought.

The station stretched before him—modern, efficient, yet undeniably futuristic.

On either side, two sleek trains were parked, their polished hulls gleaming beneath rows of suspended lights. Above the parallel platforms, a tall bridge arched, designed for passengers to cross swiftly to their designated trains. Safety was everywhere—transparent barriers lined the edge of each platform, with automatic gates to prevent accidents or falls into the railway below.

The trains themselves were massive—double-decker titans of steel and light. Their streamlined frames evoked the bullet trains of Earth, yet sharper, more elegant, as though sculpted by some artist obsessed with speed. They radiated quiet power, humming faintly with an energy that felt far ahead of anything Kaidren had once known.

Considering this world allows people to manipulate concepts, tear through steel, and bend the laws of nature, Kaidren mused blankly, the spoon still resting between his lips, it’s not surprising their trains would surpass Earth’s. These probably travel faster, smoother... more relentless than even the Shinkansen.

The air smelled faintly metallic, mixed with ozone, and punctuated by the murmur of machinery. Uniformed officers patrolled the station perimeter in steady rhythm.

PSERD—the Psychospiritual Enforcement and Regulation Division.

Their presence was impossible to ignore.

They moved in pairs, clad in full black uniforms reinforced with heavy vests. On each sleeve, three sharp stripes marked authority. Their faces were stern, scanning the crowds with hawk-like precision. Some assisted lost travelers with curt professionalism; others lingered near shady-looking individuals, their hands never far from the weapons at their belts. Cameras gleamed from nearly every corner, lenses shifting silently as they followed the flow of passengers.

Kaidren bit down slowly on another spoonful, the crunch of cookie topping echoing softly in his ears. The sound felt strangely loud against the subdued station ambiance, like brittle glass breaking in his mouth.

Ahead, a small crowd had formed. People clustered near two long columns of machines—large, sleek terminals that looked eerily familiar. They resembled the touch-screen kiosks of fast-food chains on Earth, but larger, sharper, glowing faintly blue with moving panels of light.

There were twenty in total, ten aligned in each column. The left machines faced left, the right ones angled right, mirroring each other like soldiers at attention. Each person pressed the screens, selected their destinations, then received a small receipt-like slip from a slot below. PSERD officers hovered nearby, ensuring order.

Kaidren chewed idly as he studied them. Ticket machines... functional. Cold. Exactly what I need.

He shifted toward the right column, picking a line with fewer people. His walk remained unhurried, each step measured, his ice cream still an afterthought he ate as though it were a routine task rather than a small pleasure.

A child tugged at his mother’s sleeve nearby, whispering something while staring at him. Kaidren ignored it, focusing on the taste of chilled cream and cookie. The spoon tapped softly against his teeth.

Minutes passed. Finally, he reached the machine.

Kaidren stood there for a moment, his gaze blank yet steady, as if silently testing the machine with his eyes before his hand moved.

City B, District 1. That’s where the Kessen match will take place.

The underground betting hotspots would inevitably form there. That much he knew.

His finger glided across the glowing screen with casual ease, selecting City B. Immediately, new options unfolded.

"District 1. District 3."

Only two.

Kaidren stared, silent. No District 2 or 4... He chewed thoughtfully on his spoon. So either this train company doesn’t serve those districts, or the stations there were never built. Hm. Doesn’t matter.

Without hesitation, he tapped District 1.

The machine beeped softly, a chime both sterile and reassuring. A credit slot pulsed faintly with blue light.

He tucked the ice cream into the crook of his left arm and reached into his sling bag. The black card gleamed faintly as he drew it out. One quick swipe.

Beep.

Approved.

The machine whirred mechanically, then printed out a receipt that slid smoothly into the tray. Kaidren picked it up, glancing at the details.

"PT1, 2F, R87."

Platform Train 1. Second Floor. Room 87.

Efficient and precise.

He slipped the receipt into the pocket of his green jogging pants, tucked his card back into his bag, and turned without a word.

The entrance to Platform Train 1 stood directly ahead.

PSERD officers awaited, stationed firmly before the gates. Their visors reflected the glow of passing lights as they scanned each approaching passenger.

Kaidren stepped forward. One officer raised a hand, gesturing for him to halt.

"Routine check," the officer said in a steady tone. "Bag and body scan."

Kaidren didn’t bother replying. He simply took another bite of his ice cream, standing still as they moved a handheld scanner across his arms, chest, and legs. The machine emitted faint beeps. Another officer opened his bag, sifting briefly through its contents.

"Clear."

They stepped aside. Kaidren walked forward without acknowledgment.

At the train’s door, an older man stood waiting. His tuxedo was deep blue, tailored to perfection, adorned with a golden badge on the breast. His white mustache curved neatly above his wrinkled yet kind mouth. His black eyes sparkled with warmth, an odd contrast to the cold discipline of the PSERD.

He inclined his head politely as Kaidren approached. His voice, though aged, carried a deep resonance.

"Good afternoon, young man," he said with a smile. "May I see your receipt, please?"

Kaidren paused. His spoon dangled loosely from his lips, his face unchanged. Without a word, he pulled the slip from his pocket and handed it over.

The old man accepted it with both hands, his posture dignified, as though this task were a ritual of respect. His eyes scanned the numbers carefully.

"Platform Train 1, Second Floor, Room Eighty-Seven," he murmured. A nod followed. "Everything appears in order."

He returned the slip to Kaidren, his expression softening further.

"Welcome aboard, sir. Please enjoy your journey."

Kaidren accepted the paper, slipped it back into his pocket, and stepped inside without reply. The man’s warm tone lingered in the air behind him, but Kaidren’s expression never changed. His only response was another quiet crunch of cookie topping between his teeth.