So, let me get this straight. The duck represents a floater friend, since ducks literally float from one group to another in a pond.

  “Yep.”

  And that explains why you knew Zachary would end up alone, since he’s not really cemented in a friend group.

  “Uh huh.”

  Sys frowned, folding his arms. What about that last part? The person handing out crumbs. What’s the meaning behind that?

  “Honestly? There isn’t one.”

  What?

  “Whenever I think of ducks, I think of throwing snacks at them. Like crumbs. Not actual bread, since that’s bad for them. I heard it bloats them.”

  Sys nodded. True. It also doesn’t have enough nutrients, which can lead to severe malnutrition over—

  He suddenly slapped himself across the face.

  That’s not important! If there’s no meaning behind it, then why did you add it?

  I shrugged. “To enhance the image. Like I said, feeding ducks crumbs is a familiar sight, right? You picture a pond, a couple kids, someone tossing bits of food. It just fits.”

  Sys narrowed his eyes. ……….I suppose.

  “Even then, just because I couldn’t think of a meaning doesn’t mean one can’t exist.”

  What do you mean?

  “You know those famous writers who get praised for insane foreshadowing and tiny details that later turn out to be crucial? The ones celebrated for crafting deep, heavy moments layered with symbolism?”

  Yeah?

  “Most of them didn’t mean to.”

  Didn’t mean to?

  “I’m willing to bet they just roll with whatever elaborate meaning their fans come up with. They probably didn’t write it with any of that in mind. But when they’re bombarded with questions—‘Was this intentional? Was that symbolic?’—they think, ‘Wow. I should’ve thought of that.’ And then they just nod and pretend they did. A lot of them have fooled people that way.”

  Sys paused to consider the thought.

  Now that you mention it, I’ve always wondered whether those writers really plant those microscopic details on purpose. And when they somehow bring them back hundreds of chapters later, everyone just eats it up.

  “That’s the advantage of writing over a long period of time. You get the opportunity to tie up loose ends, patch plot holes, and connect old details to current arcs. It looks like genius foresight, but sometimes it’s just clever cleanup.”

  Though it’s not like every writer is incapable of that.

  “There are probably some who map out the entire story from the beginning and deliberately leave just enough breadcrumbs for the reader to realize where things are heading.”

  Oh, I got that one. You used ‘breadcrumbs’ as a callback to the duck metaphor.

  “Nope. I just said it because it sounded smooth.”

  Sys frowned again.

  “But, if I like that interpretation—and if you, or any other invisible fan lurking out there, likes it too—I might just take it. And who knows? If I keep that up long enough, I might even become a bestselling author.”

  Sys snorted. Believe me, Beric, you’re going to need a lot more than that.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Because we’re currently walking through the streets with absolutely nothing in mind. If this were a story, this would be a whole lot of filler.

  I glanced down the quiet road stretching ahead of us. “Everything needs filler. It makes the important moments hit harder.”

  No. I hate filler.

  “Most of what you say is filler.”

  And that duck metaphor wasn’t?

  “…….Fair.”

  We continued walking, the pavement stretching on endlessly, the sky dim and indifferent above us.

  After a moment, Sys spoke again.

  So is there really no meaning behind it? The person who threw the crumbs?

  “There could be. Maybe it’s someone trying to lure the duck away, to slowly fatten it up to eat later. Or maybe they’re just bored, amused by watching the ducks scramble and fight each other over a single crumb.”

  There are several different ways to look at something.

  “Whatever the case, there’s not really any point in wondering about that. Or rather, it’s not my place to.”

  What do you mean?

  “Because I’m just a duck.”

  ………Is that another one of those hidden meaning things?

  “Figure it out.”

  Oh, sure, I can figure it out. Loser self projects onto Zachary and monologues all about it. He then refuses to confirm what any of it means and-

  Oh, Zachary.

  I wasn’t expecting much from him in the first place, but really?

  All I got from him was that at some point before all of this, Arthur and Rune were supposedly best friends. They were a pair of troublemaking pranksters, which makes sense with Arthur’s track record, though that does surprise me concerning Rune. He never really struck me as the person to be like Arthur.

  Then there’s that fight. It involved Zin and the two of them, and I’m guessing Tristan was there as well, since Arthur had to escape to call for help.

  But while he was gone, Rune changed.

  But how? What could have possibly happened in the time span that Arthur was gone? What changed him?

  And I still don’t know what made him change now. If Rune could easily become a more chill guy out of nowhere, then why not before?

  What was holding him back?

  Okay, focus on Rune. If the beginning of this break in their relationship happened after the fight, then it had to be Zin.

  But I can’t exactly walk up to Zin and ask, “Hey, what psychological damage did you inflict while no one was looking?”

  I doubt Tristan would be any more kind, and the geniuses……….it’d be too awkward now.

  Who else could I ask?

  I need someone who could have been there, who’s been friends with Rune, who has similar history and hates Zin, who’s-

  Orion…………He could work.

  But I think he’s still passed out. And Rune’s probably near him……..Man.

  That was crazy to see. I know Zin was a dick, but he really did that in front of everyone? How big does your ego have to be for-

  ………….

  Why’d you stop?

  I felt them. It was faint like an echo, but still, it was unmistakable. They were close.

  “Where-”

  Oh, over there.

  Without thinking, I rushed forward.

  “Sorry—excuse me—coming through—”

  I shoved my way through the crowd, muttering apologies as I squeezed past shoulders and elbows and the overwhelming smell of food and alcohol.

  Where were they?

  I nearly stepped on a sleeping cat and froze mid-step, jerking back just in time. “Sorry,” I whispered instinctively.

  I carefully maneuvered around it and pushed forward again.

  Why weren’t they there when I was playing him?

  I forced my way through a particularly rough conglomeration of bodies, someone’s coat catching on my arm.

  Did I really want them there?

  I ducked just in time to avoid the wild, flailing arm of a drunk man who was laughing far too loudly at something no one else found funny.

  Whether or not I wanted them to see me, why didn’t they watch?

  I gave it one final burst, slipping through the last wall of bodies.

  Why do I care so much? About any of this for that matter?

  Sometimes, it feels like someone else is—

  “Hey, Beric!”

  I stopped as my eyes fell on them.

  Arthur wore a ridiculous monkey mask. Elaine had on a sleek leopard’s mask. Mom wore a peacock mask that shimmered under the lantern light, and Dad had somehow found a moose.

  They were here.

  “Woah, where did you get that mask?” Arthur asked in genuine awe as I approached.

  “Did you spend the money we gave you on that?” Elaine asked sharply, her tone edged with disapproval.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Arthur shot back immediately. “It’s a great mask. A wonderful mask. A perfect mask. A—”

  Elaine snapped the rubber band at the back of his head.

  Arthur yelped, clutching it. “Why do you always resort to violence?!”

  “Because you never stop talking,” she replied calmly.

  Mom, meanwhile, was holding up a small bracelet to Dad. “Look at this, Lucian. Isn’t it adorable?”

  Dad stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The craftsmanship is excellent.”

  Mom turned to me suddenly. “Beric! Now that you’re here, I found this adorable shirt I want you to try on.”

  She waited. Like she was expecting resistance.

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  Dad quietly pulled the shirt out of the bag he was carrying.

  It was small. Childish. The kind of thing an overbearing aunt would give you on your birthday while fully expecting you to try it on in front of everyone.

  It was exactly the kind of shirt I would normally refuse to wear. The kind that would lead to ten minutes of bargaining and pleading before I reluctantly gave in.

  But right now? I was too tired for that.

  Mom tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  I removed my mask and reached out to take the shirt.

  But she stopped me.

  She studied my face carefully.

  Dad glanced over and did the same.

  Elaine and Arthur quieted almost immediately.

  It was like they all knew something was off.

  “What happened?” Mom asked gently, brushing her fingers against my cheek.

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  Clearly, it wasn’t nothing. Even they could tell.

  Though, that’s probably because they’re used to it.

  They can usually tell when something’s bothering me. Some people might find that comforting. To have a family that loves you enough to notice even the smallest shift in your expression.

  I don’t. It’s a stupid fear. I know it is.

  But if they can already notice something this small…….how long before they realize I’m not actually—

  No. Let’s not think about that.

  I gently pushed her hand away.

  “I’m just tired,” I said. “I played against a guy named Tao earlier.”

  I didn’t want attention. Just knowing they were here was enough.

  “Tao?” Arthur’s eyes widened. “You played against Tao?! Why would you do that?”

  “You’re one to talk,” Elaine said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

  Mom laughed. “That’s true. Arthur lost quite a bit of his birthday money to him.”

  Arthur grumbled. “I was close.”

  “Losing in the first round is nowhere near ‘close,’” Elaine sighed.

  “The two of us can play right now,” Arthur declared suddenly, holding up a copper coin.

  “What’s the bet?” Elaine asked immediately, raising one of her own.

  “A week of all household chores.”

  “Make it a month if you’re that confident.”

  “Deal!”

  “Pipe down,” Dad said, flicking both of their foreheads in one smooth motion. He then turned to me. “How much did you lose?”

  “I won.”

  “Oh, you won?” Dad repeated casually. Then his face changed. “You—”

  “YOU WON?!” Arthur shrieked, lunging forward and grabbing my shoulders. He shook me violently. “You actually won?!”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look.

  Trying to speak normally while being shaken like a rag doll, I managed, “I needed money to rent weapons from Volk. It was difficult, but I won in the end.”

  Arthur’s eyes lit up. “Then where’s the rest of the—”

  “I gave it all to Volk.”

  Arthur collapsed to the ground instantly, pounding his fists against the street. “This world is so unfair,” he choked out.

  Elaine grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him upright. “You really won?”

  I nodded.

  She gave a small hmph and flicked Arthur’s ear.

  “How did you win?” Mom asked. “He’s been undefeated for years.”

  I shrugged. “He underestimated me.”

  They went quiet.

  Then Mom laughed softly. “He was wrong to do that.”

  Dad chuckled and pulled me into a brief embrace. “Good job.”

  They were used to this. The surprises. The things I could do.

  I wonder how many more it would take before nothing surprised them anymore.

  I looked down. “Thanks.”

  I should ask now.

  “Where were you all? Everyone else was at the tavern.”

  I had sensed them nearby.

  Dad glanced at Arthur. “You can blame him. He must’ve eaten something bad. He was vomiting for nearly an hour.”

  “I told him not to eat everything handed to him,” Elaine said. “Just because it’s free doesn’t mean it’s the key.”

  “What does that even mean?” Arthur demanded.

  His answer came in the form of a sharp chop to the head.

  “Your mother and I stayed nearby,” Dad explained. “Elaine helped him recover.”

  “An old friend was there too,” Mom added with a smile.

  “Who—”

  Before I could finish, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd surrounding us. The noise swelled, rolling over the street like a wave.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Dad smiled. “It’s the Noble Parade.”

  As if moved by instinct, every single person stepped off the road at once. Conversations died mid-sentence, laughter thinned out, and even the drunkest men managed to stagger out of the way.

  My family shifted aside with the rest, and I followed close behind.

  A few seconds later, the lanterns lining the street dimmed, their warm gold light draining away and shifting into a quiet, ceremonial blue. The entire road took on a colder hue.

  Then they came.

  A long, gleaming line of carriages rolled forward in uniform fashion.

  These carriages were nice. You know the usual: grand, royal carriages adored with gold, silver, and the richest and smoothest type of wood that one could get their hands on. Even the windows shined like gems, the doors themselves being worth more than my entire home.

  Hell, I’d have to sell a liver to buy one of the horses.

  White stallions with braided manes tipped in silver thread. Chestnut warhorses with polished chest plates that gleamed under the blue lantern light. Black destriers whose armor was shined to match their coats. Steel barding covered their heads and flanks, engraved with crests of winged snakes.

  It was then that the first carriage slowed just slightly, and its door swung open. A large man then stepped out.

  He was broad in the way only someone who had never known hunger could be. Rings glittered across nearly every finger. His robe was layered in deep crimson and gold, the fabric thick and heavy. A thick chain that held a shiny gem rested comfortably against a double chin. He was balding, with only a few stubborn strands of hair combed carefully over the top of his head.

  He raised his right hand and waved as if blessing the masses.

  That’s Ea-

  “Earl Wills,” Dad said calmly.

  Sys shot him a glare.

  The next carriage’s doors opened to reveal a couple.

  The man wore a fitted coat of deep navy trimmed in silver thread. His shoulders were squared and taut, medals pinned proudly across his chest. His hair was slicked back neatly, a very familiar color. He saluted the crowd before lowering into a courteous wave.

  Beside him, the woman’s gown flowed beautifully, with layers of pale blue silk cascading over one another. Jewels were sewn along the neckline, catching the lantern glow. A delicate tiara rested against dark curls pinned elegantly at the back of her head. She blew exaggerated kisses to the crowd, her gloved hand fluttering like a butterfly.

  Bar-

  “Baron Caedan and Baroness Caedan,” Dad interrupted again.

  Zin's parents.

  Sys’ eyes twitched.

  If eyes could explode from irritation alone, his would have.

  But what I noticed wasn’t Sys.

  It was Dad.

  There was something in his expression. It wasn’t anger or anything like that.

  A wistful look lingered in his eyes as he watched the carriages pass.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  He glanced at me, almost startled that I’d spoken.

  Then he swallowed. “I am.”

  What was that about?

  More carriages rolled by.

  Smaller ones. Less extravagant, though still far beyond anything most people here would ever touch. Minor nobles who governed over a handful of villages. Provincial lords whose domains stretched across modest farmland and forest.

  Until finally, the last carriage approached.

  *sigh*

  I tried to ignore him.

  *siiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

  ……………

  *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

  He definitely felt wronged for not being able to explain who they were.

  Guess I got to fix it.

  “Hey Sys, now that I think about it, aren’t roles like Earl and Marquess actually higher than a Count?”

  Sys’ eyes glowed with excitement as he whizzed over.

  Great question, Beric! I’d love to explain it to you.

  He cleared his throat while summoning a small board and ruler. Like magic, the following words appeared on the board: Duke, Marquess, Earl, Count, and Baron.

  On your world, this was the hierarchy for these positions.

  Then, the order suddenly flipped, with Duke still at the top, but Count going in front of Marquess.

  On Zarvendia, the Count is actually in a higher position. There’s not really any special reason for it, besides it being a different world.

  Or maybe someone just didn’t research right and assumed the order wrong. And now they’re trying to sneakily slide this in, hoping that nobody would notice.

  That……could be it too?

  The final carriage rolled forward slowly.

  It was the grandest of them all, but not in a way that screamed for attention. It wasn’t gilded to the point of arrogance, nor was it dripping in jewels meant to blind the poor.

  It didn’t ooze ego.

  Its body was carved from pale ivory wood polished to a warm sheen, along with occasional gold that traced elegant patterns. The winged snake crest upon its door was not oversized or aggressive, but centered and dignified.

  It looked like rather than being built for proof of its wealth, it had been built to show restrained power.

  As if shaped by admiration itself. As if the love of the public had slowly molded it into something powerful without ever twisting it into vanity.

  And when the door opened, it was clear why.

  “My dear citizens, how are you all?” Roland called out, his voice carrying easily over the crowd as he leaned forward with a grin so bright it could rival the lanterns.

  He wasn’t draped in suffocating layers of gold. Instead, he wore a formal black coat tailored sharply at the shoulders, trimmed in bronze thread that still shined brightly. A ceremonial sash crossed his chest, embroidered with yet another winged snake insignia.

  Cheers thundered through the street, my family shouting along with everyone else. I quietly raised a fist.

  “I love to hear that!” Roland laughed. “I know I may be getting ahead of myself, but I believe this festival may be the best one yet!”

  Another roar of agreement answered him.

  “After those first rounds of the Winged Fang tournament,” he continued, grinning wide, “I can’t help but wonder what else it has in store for us! And now that we know the new matchups, I’m curious, what do you all think?”

  Voices collided in chaos.

  Some cheered. Some laughed. Some shouted predictions. A few bold gamblers yelled out their wagers.

  Roland’s eyes gleamed as he pointed toward someone in the crowd. “Noll for five silver? I’ll take you up on that! I’ve got ten gold on—” He yelped.

  Elara stepped out behind him and pinched his ear sharply.

  “Dear,” she said sweetly through a professional smile, “please do not encourage gambling on the participants.”

  She turned gracefully to the crowd, her gown flowing like soft moonlight around her. It was a refined ivory dress with layered skirts that shimmered faintly blue. Fine embroidery traced the sleeves in delicate floral patterns, and modest earrings let off a dim glow.

  Her presence alone seemed to calm down the crowd’s excitement.

  “Please use your money wisely during this festival,” she continued warmly. “While it is a time to celebrate, you won’t be able to keep on celebrating if you run out of money.”

  The crowd settled down.

  “The Noble Parade is when the nobles walk among the common folk,” Dad said beside me. “We shake hands. We laugh. We listen. For a short while, the lines between us blur.”

  Then, a small shadow appeared in the carriage doorway.

  Is that—

  Selene stepped down last.

  She wore a dress lighter than her mother’s, soft blue with silver accents. Her posture was composed, shoulders back, chin lifted just slightly. Her smile was professional, but her eyes still carried the warmth of her father.

  And something else. Childlike wonder.

  “Thank you all for making this festival so wonderful,” she said clearly.

  Then she bowed.

  Not a shallow nod. A proper bow.

  The crowd froze. Then a ripple of awkward bows and nods followed in return, people scrambling to mirror her respect.

  It really is her.

  Wow. She’s grown up.

  As the nobles began stepping fully from their carriages, children broke formation and rushed forward with tiny, eager hands extended. Elara bent slightly, meeting them halfway, taking their hands gently and smiling with maternal patience.

  Roland laughed with a group of loud drunkards who had pushed a bit too close, clapping one on the back while subtly positioning himself between them and Selene.

  He was relaxed but alert.

  Some of the lesser nobles wore irritation poorly, forcing thin smiles as they endured proximity to the crowd.

  But I didn’t focus on them.

  I looked at the three of them.

  They had changed. Not fully, but still a noticeable change.

  They had actually listened.

  Was it because of me?

  No. I can’t be that egotistical.

  All I did was plant a seed. Whether it bloomed or withered was up to them.

  And looking at them now, I’m glad it bloomed.

  You know that feeling when you say something casually, thinking nothing of it, and years later you remember it and cringe?

  That was me.

  Who did I think I was back then? Some wise old sage dispensing life-changing advice?

  All I did was ramble recycled motivational nonsense that everyone’s heard before.

  They were the ones who chose to change.

  Not me. And that’s fine. It’s been years.

  They probably forgot about me anyway. Just seeing them like this is enough—

  “BERIC!” Roland’s voice cracked across the street like a bell.

  …….What?

  Selene’s head snapped toward me.

  Elara’s eyes widened.

  Uhm—

  They began walking toward me.

  I could see the hesitation in their steps.

  It had been years.

  Was I the same? Were they?

  Was it acceptable to have changed?

  “Beric?” Selene asked softly, stepping closer.

  I took a deep breath.

  Then I turned around.

  The crowd murmured in confusion.

  After a few seconds, I turned back around with my eyelids flipped inside out.

  A collective groan of disgust rippled through everyone watching.

  But Roland burst out laughing. Selene’s hand flew to her mouth as she grinned. Elara’s composed smile cracked into something genuinely warm.

  I took another deep breath.

  “It’s been a while,” I finally said.

  Some things don’t need to change.