The thugs' leader stiffened, the last of his angry bluster collapsing into pale, muttered threats.

"We'll take our leave now," he hissed, but the words had no weight now. The guards' presence was a reminder that there were consequences beyond the alley — and that those consequences would be swift if the Goldheart name required it.

Raiden watched the men being gathered and bound, watched Hilda give the guards short instructions about who would carry whom to the guild, and felt something settle into him that wasn't quite shame and not quite lesson. It was a new measurement of the world's gravity — and of his own smallness in it.

He had wanted freedom; he wanted to test himself. He had won a portion of that test. But in the quiet that followed — in the hollowed-out space left by Hilda's measured violence — he understood how dangerous the world could be when he pushed its edges.

For the first time, the system's rewards and chimes felt less like toys and more like scales.

They soon began their slow walk back through the main street of the city.

The air shimmered with the scent of roasted chestnuts and herbs, laughter spilling from shopfronts where vendors argued and old men played board games. But none of that eased the heavy mood hanging over Raiden.

Miss Hilda walked briskly ahead, her healer's satchel pressed close to her side and her expression sharp enough to cut glass.

The city guards—two of them, wearing the gold-trimmed insignia of House Goldheart—kept a respectful distance behind her, clearly wishing they were anywhere else. Between them, Raiden trudged like a criminal on parade.

Heads turned as they passed. Market women paused mid-sale, apprentices elbowed each other, and whispers followed in their wake.

Everyone recognized that crest. The young Goldheart lordling, out in the city under the watch of the family's healer. Word would spread before sundown.

Raiden could feel the weight of those eyes pressing against his back. Every stare reminded him that hiding—or being mischievous—was practically impossible now.

So much for blending in, he thought sourly, kicking a loose pebble down the cobblestone street. It bounced ahead, rattled into a puddle, and vanished under a cartwheel. I should've just stayed hidden. Or better yet, tied to Hilda's apron so she'd stop yelling.

The afternoon sun filtered through banners strung across the street, casting patches of color on the cobblestones—gold, red, and green flickers that danced across his boots as he walked.

He caught a few snippets of conversation as they passed. "That's the Goldheart boy!"

"Looks like he's been scolded."

"Poor woman, must be hard to keep a noble brat in line."

Raiden kept his head low, his pale hair falling forward like a curtain. The guards at his sides didn't even bother to hide their amusement. One of them coughed into his hand, and Raiden swore he heard the faintest hint of a chuckle.

If it weren't for the heavy attention, Raiden might have enjoyed the outing. The sounds of the city had a rhythm he found oddly exhilarating—hooves clattering against stone, the rhythmic clink of hammers from the blacksmith's row, the sing-song cries of vendors. Everything here pulsed with life. Energy. Freedom.

Freedom he couldn't use. Not with Hilda fuming like a storm cloud just a few steps ahead.

"Do you have any idea how close you came to disaster?" Miss Hilda's voice finally cut through the noise, snapping Raiden out of his thoughts. She didn't even look back at him, her words slicing through the air like whip cracks.

Raiden rubbed his neck. "I said I was sorry."

"You say that every time."

"Well, this time I really mean it."

"Mm-hmm." Her tone made it clear she didn't believe him for a second. "You could have gotten yourself hurt—or worse, you could have exposed your abilities in front of half the city."

Raiden sighed dramatically. "Technically, it was just a few thugs in an alley—"

"Who were still human beings," Hilda interrupted sharply, spinning around so fast her braid whipped over her shoulder. Her pale eyes glared down at him, and for a moment, Raiden felt like a mouse facing down a very unimpressed cat.

"You can't just use spells or skills on whoever irritates you," she continued, voice firm but low enough that the nearby crowd wouldn't overhear. "That's not what your gift is for, Raiden."

He lowered his gaze, muttering, "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone."

Hilda pinched the bridge of her nose. "You never are. That's the problem."

He tried to look as remorseful as possible, though he could tell from her unimpressed stare that his "innocent little boy" act wasn't landing this time.

"I'm sorry," he repeated again, quieter. "It won't happen again."

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Yes, it will. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will."

Raiden glanced away, lips twitching despite himself. She wasn't wrong. Mischief followed him like a shadow. Still, he had the decency not to laugh out loud. Hilda sighed, the sharp edges of her frustration finally softening.

"From now on," she said, "I'm not letting you out of my sight. If you're within arm's reach, maybe you won't cause chaos."

"Sure," Raiden said brightly. "I'll behave."

Her eyes narrowed. "You said that last time."

"I meant it this time," he replied with an angelic smile.

Hilda stared at him for a few seconds longer, then shook her head, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Saints preserve me."

Raiden's smile faded into a faint smirk the moment she turned away. Oh, I'll behave, he thought, but first… one last test.

The system window flickered faintly before his eyes as if reading his thoughts.

[Mission: Beyond the Estate]

[Progress: 80%]

[Reward: ???]

Raiden tilted his head, studying the translucent text that only he could see. The mission was almost done—he could feel it. Just one last push, one clever move, and the mysterious reward would be his.

'I'm too close to stop now,' he thought, heart quickening. 'If that's mischief, then so be it.'

He slowed his steps slightly, letting his fingers brush against the folds of his sleeve where the faint glow of mana pulsed at his command.

[Minor Adhesion].

It wasn't a powerful spell, nor an elegant one. Just an E-class support skill—a magical version of glue. Yet, in Raiden's mind, it was pure versatility.

There were two ways to use it.

First, through Physical Activation. Simple and direct—he'd touch an object, and it would gain a temporary stickiness strong enough to trap, attach, or immobilize whatever touched it next.

Second, through Target Mode. That was where the fun began. By focusing on a target, he could "mark" it for a short period. Anything that brushed against the target would instantly adhere to it. Perfect for setting subtle traps.

Raiden's grin widened as he imagined the possibilities. "You could stop a thief," he murmured to himself. "Or glue Kent's boots to the floor again. Or stick Miss Hilda's herbs to her hands so she can't scold me properly…"

He stifled a laugh at the mental image.

A few passersby gave him strange looks as they went by, but he ignored them, lost in his little pocket of amusement.

His mind was already crafting a scenario—a harmless one, of course.

Something small enough to not get him in real trouble. Something that would nudge that mission bar to completion.

"Just one more," he whispered under his breath.

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