The barbecue shop owner became noticeably animated as he spoke about the Verdant Festival. He grabbed a large mug of ale, took a deep swig, and eagerly shared details with Punk.
As Punk ate, he listened indifferently.
The festival, it turned out, was held during the middle of the "Tender Season," when the seeds planted by farmers began to sprout. It was a celebration of new life, a ritual meant to bring blessings for a bountiful harvest.
On this day, people wore emerald-green clothes and adorned themselves with grass rings.
But the highlight of the festival, according to the barbecue uncle, was the Harvest Church's ceremonial dance, performed by the young priestesses of Maisenna, the goddess of abundance.
He spoke with such enthusiasm that it was obvious he was quite taken with the performance himself.
Punk only cared that this explained the changes in the city's atmosphere.
Festivals, traditions—meaningless distractions.
His mind was already on more important matters, particularly how to sell the large bag of resources he had brought from the Mage Guild.
But just as he was deep in thought, something interrupted him.
As he sat upright, methodically cutting his steak, he felt a small tug at the hem of his robe.
Looking down, he saw a little girl with light blonde hair, bright eyes, and a grass ring woven with tiny flowers atop her head.
The golden strands of her hair contrasted against the soft green of the grass, making her face look even more delicate.
Her large, watery eyes gazed up at him in astonishment, her small mouth slightly open, her tiny nose twitching like a curious kitten.
"Big Brother… so pretty..."
Punk remained expressionless, but internally, he twitched.
He had been called many things in his life—powerful, intelligent, dangerous.
But "pretty"?
This was a first.
The barbecue uncle coughed awkwardly, forcing a nervous smile.
"Ahaha… This is my daughter. She's young and doesn't know any better. Please don't take offense, Master Mage..."
Then, turning to the girl, he scolded:
"Hurry up and go inside! Don't disturb the master!"
But the little girl stubbornly clung to Punk's robe, puffing her cheeks in defiance.
"No! I want Master Brother to do magic for me!"
Her big eyes sparkled with expectation, her small hands gripping tightly as if afraid he would vanish.
The barbecue uncle paled, clearly worried about offending a mage.
"I-I'm really sorry, sir… I'll take her away right now."
He moved to pick her up, but she refused to let go, holding onto Punk as if her life depended on it.
Punk, unmoved, waved a hand.
"It's fine. A small wish of a child is nothing."
The uncle hesitated but stepped back, though his face was still full of unease.
Punk ignored him.
He lifted a hand, drawing water from the cup on the table.
A shimmering sphere of liquid floated above his palm.
Under the little girl's fascinated gaze, the water twisted, splitting into three miniature figures—tiny dancers in short skirts, twirling and spinning in a silent, ethereal ballet.
"Wow..."
She was completely mesmerized.
Even after Punk returned the water to the cup, she remained frozen in awe.
Punk reached out and lightly ruffled her head.
She let out a contented murmur, like a kitten purring under a warm touch.
As he finished his meal, Punk muttered softly to himself, his voice barely audible:
"This is the real world."
The barbecue uncle, still holding his daughter at a cautious distance, blinked in confusion.
"What was that, Master Mage?"
"Nothing."
Punk placed a silver coin on the table and turned away.
"The food was good. The girl is cute."
"Ah… haha… T-thank you…" the uncle laughed nervously, though he no longer tried to force conversation.
Punk didn't spare him another glance.
He had no interest in understanding the emotions of commoners.
Without another word, he stepped out into the street.
Outside, the city was alive with festival cheer.
People in green robes laughed and chatted, blending into the celebration.
In contrast, Punk, in his light-blue mage's robe, moved like a shadow, a quiet presence amidst the noise.
And he preferred it that way.
The path of the strong was always lonely, and he had long since learned to embrace solitude.
At the Mage Guild, the old administrator barely reacted to Punk's advancement.
Unlike the astonished guards at the city gate, the elderly mage simply raised an eyebrow before his face settled into a knowing expression.
Clearly, he had seen enough talent in his lifetime to be unsurprised by Punk's rapid growth.
However, his attitude toward Punk had changed.
The air of superiority was gone, replaced with something else—familiarity, even friendliness.
He spoke as if they were old acquaintances, going out of his way to be accommodating.
Punk easily sold his goods for 800 gold coins, more than he had expected.
He had anticipated 600 at best.
But he knew what was happening.
This was not generosity; it was an investment.
The old mage saw potential and was trying to forge a connection while Punk was still rising.
It was a wasted effort.
Punk had no intention of forming alliances based on fleeting goodwill.
He had already decided to discard his Mage Guild affiliation once he found a worthy mentor.
Ignoring the old man's attempts at conversation, Punk turned his attention to acquiring the "Night Vision Potion" recipe.
After purchasing it, along with some essential ingredients, he leaned against the guild's cool stone walls, waiting as the alchemy puppet retrieved his items.
The old mage, realizing his words were falling on deaf ears, eventually sighed and walked away.
Punk exhaled in relief.
"That old man talks too much. My ears are suffering."
With his new formula in hand, Punk made his way through the back alleys of Konola City.
This part of town was dimly lit, with aged buildings and narrow paths.
It was quiet, secluded—the perfect place to set up his first alchemy workshop.
Alchemy was a precise art.
Disruptions could mean failure or, worse, explosions.
Even with his systematic approach and confidence in his abilities, caution was always necessary.
Now, with all the necessary tools, materials, and knowledge in place, Punk was ready.
His first true attempt at alchemy was about to begin.