Published: February 1, 2026
A dull gray shimmered as if wet with morning dew.
It moved serenely, like the tail of a sea dragon roaming countless oceans, embodying the vastness of the great sea itself. Calm and confident, as if nothing could stand in its way due to its overwhelming strength. The tail extending from his waist was composed of multiple overlapping blades, which occasionally emitted faint sounds of metal scraping as they slowly bent and flexed.
From it, fragments of countless defeated enemies scattered down, falling softly to the ground.
Rizel reflected the man standing before her in her eyes.
The blade tail, twice his height, was so beautifully fluid in motion that one might believe that’s how a dragon’s tail would move. Despite its nature as an exposed weapon, it did not evoke the chilling sensation one might expect. This was likely because it was known never to harm its own wielder. The sharp tip tracing the air gave off a quiet stillness, reminiscent of the gentle currents swaying in the deep sea.
The man’s arms hung loosely by his sides, each holding a blade.
With every change in angle, the polished blades reflected his hard dull-gray hair, his exposed brown skin, the unfamiliar ethnic clothing, sometimes even Rizel’s own orderly, symmetrical face. The sharpened edges gleamed with a single streak of light — so sharp that one could be convinced it held the light of every slash it had ever made.
Ah, he had crossed a line.
No, rather, he had regained his rightful form.
When Rizel smiled softly, the dull gray eyes before her wavered. The dull gray tail glided through the air, seemingly encircling Rizel — was this unconscious on the man’s part, or perhaps a manifestation of his will to protect?
Around them lay scattered remnants of destruction — the wreckage of those swept away by the man’s single sweeping strike upon his appearance.
Rizel wondered if the reunion had startled him. A slight twinge of apology mixed with joy at his decisive sweeping figure. He didn’t ask what to do next. There was no searching gaze examining her expression, no silence waiting for her will — only the pure self-awareness that “this is a nuisance,” which led him to swiftly dismiss the chaos.
Therefore, Rizel blessed this moment.
Together with the satisfaction of finally encountering a legend.
Her gaze met the dull gray eyes that reflected herself without wavering for a moment, and with that mixture of great expectation and slight anxiety shimmering in them, she softened her eyes and spoke, her clear voice, not even betraying a breath, reaching the man in the windless, quiet space left behind by the turmoil.
“Thank you very much.”
At Rizel’s blooming smile, the man’s fingers, which had hung loosely, moved again.
Clumsily, as if holding back something about to overflow, as if finally given what he had long hoped for. Though unable to act further, only his fingertips were gently grasped in her palm.
Behind him, the entwined blades unravelled like untwisting threads; the dull gray that adorned his arms faded into his skin like a tattoo. Rizel glanced at it with curiosity but then returned her gaze to the figure who stood frozen, simply rejoicing in their reunion.
Then, praising his firm choice, she called his name.
“Quattro.”
Immediately after, the man — Quattro — was—
Rizel walked alone through the streets of Sars under the warm sunlight.
Jill and Eleven were already gone by the time she woke, either off since morning or still out since last night. If they were enjoying the magical superpower kingdom in their own ways, then that was best. She listened to the sound of water splashing against the canal walls.
People get used to things. When she first came to Sars, every splash caught her attention, but now it was no longer bothersome. It was probably becoming part of everyday life — a feeling both a little happy and a little lonely.
But having lost her fascination with the water’s sparkling surface in sunlight, she noticed new things.
The vivid colors of the wooden window frames facing the streets, the scents of flowers grown there, the fluttering wings of butterflies. The cheerful voices of portly people laughing as they passed in the narrow alleys, the old man smoking a pipe atop a rooftop creating new clouds in the sky. Add the babbling brook, and it felt as if a peaceful, leisurely time was flowing.