A subtle tension settled over the table as Damon and the two old men stared at each other, the earlier laughter fading into something sharper, something more focused, as the air between them seemed to tighten with unspoken challenge.

For a moment—

No one spoke.

Then one of the old men leaned back slightly, a slow grin spreading across his wrinkled face, his eyes lighting up with a competitiveness that had clearly never faded with age.

"Hehehe... you are on, boy!" he said, slapping the table lightly, "defeat us... and we will answer any one of your questions."

The other old man nodded, his expression equally eager.

"Anything you ask," he added, "as long as you win."

Damon’s lips curved just slightly.

But his eyes changed.

Sharpened.

Widened just enough to resemble that of a predator locking onto its target, his thoughts moving swiftly beneath the calm surface.

The old man outside... he is not ordinary...

First, he seems to know the Dean personally...

And when he shifted his gaze earlier... he wasn’t looking at me... he was looking at the invisible white sphere...I want to know about him...

A quiet certainty formed.

Then Damon placed his cards down lightly.

"So let’s start."

The game began.

The old men moved with practiced ease, one of them pulling out a worn deck of thick, rune-etched cards, their surfaces faintly glowing as they shuffled them with surprising dexterity, the symbols shifting slightly as if alive, before dealing them out in a circular pattern across the table.

"This," one of them said with a grin, "is Runebound Triarch."

Damon glanced at the cards.

Each one carried a different symbol—beasts, elements, sigils, and abstract patterns that seemed to shift depending on the angle, while the center of the table held three larger cards placed face-down.

"The goal is simple," the other old man explained casually, "you build your triad... three linked cards that resonate with each other... but the trick is—"

"—the runes evolve," the first cut in, tapping one of the cards, "what you see now... may not be what it becomes later."

"And you can disrupt others mid-cycle," the second added with a grin, "if you are smart enough."

Damon said nothing.

He observed.

Calculated.

And then—

The first round began.

At first, it seemed manageable.

Patterns.

Probabilities.

Connections.

Damon moved carefully, selecting cards that appeared to align, forming what he assumed to be a stable triad, his thoughts running ahead of each move, predicting outcomes, adjusting strategies in real time.

Then—

One of the old men placed a card.

A faint glow spread.

Damon’s entire setup shifted.

Not physically.

But conceptually.

The runes changed.

The alignment he had built—

Collapsed.

"...What?" Damon muttered under his breath.

"Heh," the old man chuckled, "didn’t see that coming, did you?"

The second round began.

This time, Damon adapted.

He anticipated disruption.

Built redundancies.

Left openings.

But again—

A single move.

And everything unraveled.

"Impossible..." Damon thought, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward slightly, his focus sharpening further.

He adjusted again.

Third round.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Each time, he played seriously.

Each time, he thought ahead.

And each time—

He was dismantled.

Not by brute force.

But by something far more frustrating.

Experience.

The old men laughed as they played, their movements casual, almost careless, yet every decision they made carried layers Damon could not fully grasp in time.

"Ahahaha! You walked right into that one!"

"Too predictable, brat!"

"Thinking too much... you are trapping yourself!"

Damon’s expression remained controlled, but internally—

He was stunned.

That move... that shouldn’t have worked...

No... it works because of the secondary resonance...

Then this means—

Before he could complete the thought—

Another card dropped.

Another collapse.

"...It can happen like that as well?" he muttered, almost to himself.

By the time the final round ended, Damon sat still, his cards resting uselessly in his hand as the two old men leaned back, laughing loudly, their victory complete and unquestionable.

"Hahhahaha! What happened, boy?" one of them said between laughs.

"Not so confident now, are you?" the other added, wiping his eyes.

Damon didn’t respond immediately.

He simply stared at the table.

At the cards.

At the patterns he had failed to fully understand.

For the first time in a while—

He had been completely outplayed.

"Again," Damon said, his voice steady yet carrying a rare edge of insistence as he placed the cards back onto the table, his gaze fixed on the two old men, "I want to play again."

For a brief moment, both of them stared at him.

Then—

They burst out laughing.

"Hahhahaha! That’s the spirit!" one of them exclaimed, slapping the table with clear amusement.

"Of course, boy... come, come... we haven’t had this much fun in a while," the other added, already reaching for the deck as his grin widened.

The cards were gathered again.

Shuffled again.

The game resumed.

—

Elsewhere in the room, away from the noise of the card table and the lingering chatter, Serena stood quietly near the old woman who had been weaving earlier, her presence still and composed, her eyes gently closed as if isolating herself from the surrounding chaos.

The soft humming filled the air.

Low.

Steady.

Carrying a strange, almost calming rhythm.

For a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade.

Until—

The humming stopped.

Serena’s eyes opened slowly, as though she had just been pulled out of a light trance, her gaze shifting toward the old woman, who continued weaving as if nothing had changed.

Serena stepped closer.

"Which melody is this, ma’am?" she asked, her tone calm and respectful.

The old woman flinched.

Her hands froze for a split second before she instinctively pulled the half-woven sweater slightly closer to herself, her eyes widening as she looked at Serena with a guarded expression.

"T-this is for my s-son... I—I won’t give it to you!" she said quickly, her voice trembling with sudden protectiveness.

Serena paused, then spoke gently.

"I—I just wanted to know about the melody you were humming, ma’am."

The tension in the old woman’s posture softened almost immediately, her grip loosening as she looked at Serena again, this time with less fear.

"O-oh..." she murmured, her expression easing, "I—I just hummed whatever came to my mind..."

Serena lowered her gaze slightly.

"I see..."

A brief silence followed.

Then Serena stepped closer, her voice quieter now.

"Are you waiting for something, ma’am?"

The old woman’s face brightened.

She nodded eagerly, a soft, genuine smile forming as she clutched the sweater lightly.

"M-my son...!" she said, her voice filled with simple, unwavering belief, "he is going to come soon..."

Serena gave a small nod.

And remained there.

Standing.

Watching.

Not interrupting.

The old woman glanced at her after a moment, tilting her head slightly before lifting a hand and gesturing her closer.

Serena hesitated only briefly before stepping forward and bowing her head slightly toward her.

Serena, surprised by the gesture, as she felt the old woman’s hand slowly came down to rest on her head, patting it gently with a softness that carried something deeply familiar.

"J-just like my son..." she murmured, her voice trembling faintly, "you will get what you have been waiting for too..."

Serena’s eyes widened slightly at the words, her composed expression faltering for just a fraction of a second.

The old woman continued, her hand still resting lightly on her head.

"J-just don’t lose patience... and hope..."

Time slipped by almost unnoticed, the hours dissolving into one another beneath the noise and warmth of the old age home, until eventually the game at the table reached yet another inevitable conclusion.

Damon lost.

Again.

"...Damn it," he muttered under his breath, placing his cards down with a faint irritation that he didn’t bother hiding this time.

The two old men burst into loud laughter, clearly delighted by his repeated defeat.

"Hahhahaha! Maybe you should practice more, boy!" one of them said, wiping the corner of his eye as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, maybe for another thousand years," the other added smugly, crossing his arms as he looked at Damon with exaggerated superiority, "then you might stand a chance against us."

Their laughter echoed once more, unrestrained and full of pride.

Damon clicked his tongue, standing up from the stool as he looked down at them with a faint glare.

"Just wait, you old bastards," he said, his voice carrying quiet determination, "I’ll defeat you next time."

That only made them laugh harder.

Before anything else could be said, the Dean’s voice echoed in Damon’s mind, calm and timely.

It’s time to leave.

Damon gave a slight nod, his attention shifting away from the table as he looked across the room, his gaze finding Mira and Serena, who seemed to be in the middle of a quiet conversation of their own.

"It’s time for us to leave," he said as he approached them.

Both of them paused, then stood up almost simultaneously, their attention returning to him.

The old auntie, who had been standing close to Mira, let out a small sound of surprise.

"Ohh... is it already that time?" she said, her tone carrying a hint of reluctance.

Mira smiled softly, her expression gentle despite the lingering shyness.

"I—I will make sure to visit you from time to time, grandma," she said, her voice warm.

The old auntie’s face lit up immediately, a genuine, heartfelt smile spreading across her features.

"Ahh... you must!" she said, clearly pleased.

Around them, the others began to notice as well.

"Leaving already, brat?"

"Come again next time!"

"Bring them with you again!"

"Don’t forget us!"

Voices overlapped as the old residents called out to them, their words filled with a rough but unmistakable warmth, even the card-playing old men raising their hands in a half-hearted wave as they shouted after Damon.

"Next time, don’t run away after losing!"

"Hah! And bring better luck with you!"

The weaving woman glanced up briefly, giving a small nod before returning to her work, while the man with shaving foam still lingering on his face waved casually as though nothing about the moment was unusual.

Damon gave a slight nod in response, while Mira and Serena both acknowledged them in their own ways before the three of them turned and made their way out of the building.

The courtyard passed behind them.

Then the gates.

And soon, they were walking once more under the soft glow of the evening sun, the light casting long shadows along the path as the day slowly came to an end.

The Dean’s voice echoed one last time in Damon’s mind.

It seems you have some business to take care of... I will take my leave.

And then—

Silence.

Damon’s gaze shifted slightly as he looked at Mira and Serena, both of whom were now clearly studying him, their expressions filled with unasked questions that had been building since they arrived.

He exhaled lightly.

"It’s part of my punishment for what I did on the first day," he said, his tone casual, offering the explanation before they could ask.

The effect was immediate.

Their expressions changed.

Relaxed.

As if a puzzle had finally been solved.

Serena crossed her arms slightly, her lips curving faintly as she spoke.

"So that’s what this is," she said, her tone carrying a hint of judgment, "I was wondering how a guy like you could even think of doing something like this." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Mira immediately turned toward her, her expression flustered yet firm as she spoke up.

"D-don’t talk like that, young duchess," she said, her voice stumbling but sincere, "h-he could have, l-like other nobles, just pretended to work at their own wellness centers w-without even doing anything... b-but he still came here..."

Damon’s eyes twitched slightly.

...That can be done like that as well?