Before Daylan could make a move, a flurry of shurikens tore through the air, slicing into his skin. He glanced down at the wounds—calmly, almost detached—watching as blood soaked through his shirt, spreading fast.
The man smirked, wasting no time before launching another strike. As the shurikens sliced through the air, aiming for his head, Daylan turned toward him—his eyes burning with pure rage.
Loop sync… two seconds—He snapped.
In the blink of an eye, the shurikens turned pitch black in the Phantom's hands as he swung them forward. But the moment they left his grip—Daylan was gone. One by one, the lanterns in the tavern began to flicker out, gradually plunging the room into deepening shadows.
All the Phantoms shot to their feet, eyes darting and heads snapping in every direction, desperately searching for Daylan. But the only thing their eyes could track were the lanterns—flickering and dying, one after the other.
"You coward… Come fight me head-on like a man!"
Daylan stood on the wooden railing of the upper floor, shrouded in shadow, staring down at them with a mix of fear and fury.
Fractal Echo
He could hear them cursing him within, fear seeping through their forced bravado. He saw them clearly—so clearly—it was as if it were broad daylight. While they continued to search for him.
Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped from the rails—and before they could react, three of them lay lifeless on the ground. The screams came too fast, too sudden, leaving only the one who'd slain the captives still standing.
"You moron… fight me like a man," he growled, his voice cracking. He flung shurikens blindly across the room, retreating step by step as his eyes darted around, desperate for an escape.
The moment he reached the entrance, his eyes lit up and he threw the door open—but before he could flee, Daylan stepped from the shadows and coldly severed his arm.
He screamed, clutching the stump, yet didn't stop; he bolted into the shop, leaving a trail of blood behind. Daylan remained still in the darkness, his breathing steady as he watched him vanish.
The moment he vanished, Daylan dragged the lifeless bodies of the captives into the coffee shop. The old man stared at him in fear but remained still.
Daylan's ability had been deactivated, but he felt nothing. He had expected guilt—maybe even a sense of justice—but all he found was emptiness. Innocent people had died because of his arrogance… and a grave misunderstanding.
At the entrance stood Medora and Astara, masked and silent, watching as Daylan paid his respects to the fallen. Without a word, Astara gave a subtle gesture—it was time to go. Daylan cast one last glance at the dead before turning away and following them into a carriage.
Silence filled the carriage as it rolled onward, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Daylan sat hollow-eyed, mind adrift, stifling yawns carrying more of boredom than exhaustion.
Daylan knew his arrogance could get them all killed if he kept assuming guilt would weigh on everyone who committed a crime.
Even back on Earth, senseless killings weren't unheard of—rare, maybe, but very real. He had to accept the world for what it was and rise to meet it. After all, he had killed too—something he never imagined he was capable of.
Dwelling on the inevitable, he realized, was pointless.
Before long, they reached a safe distance and quietly removed their masks. Daylan let out a breath and stretched, his muscles stiff from the ride.
"I want us to meet my family tomorrow… I have something to give Zira."
"You did pretty well by taking them on your own… I wasn't expecting that."
Daylan smirked. "I know, right… but it would have been different if it was doing the day because I would have lost if I fought them head-on."
"I never knew my Day was a coward…" Medora teased.
Daylan turned to her, clearly irritated. "Come on, Dora… that's called being strategic. Cowardice is running away—not using the strongest weapon I've got."
Astara and Medora burst into laughter, teasing him. "You seriously think hiding in the shadows counts as a strategy?"
Daylan sneered before his expression shifted to a smile. "All that matters is that I won… I doubt any of you could have pulled that off."
"At least we won't run away," Medora teased, their laughter growing louder. Daylan quickened his pace, scowling as he tried to escape their mockery.
Before long, they arrived home. As soon as they stepped inside, Daylan yanked off his torn, bloodstained shirt and tossed it at them. Medora caught it effortlessly before it hit the ground.
"Be a lady and wash it for me…" he smirked at Medora. Her mouth slightly parted as she gazed at Daylan. Before she could utter a word, Daylan rushed to his room, locking the door behind him.
He threw himself onto the bed, his mood darkening. Fists clenched, he hit the mattress over and over, muttering for himself to get it together. It was like trying to force a theory into practice—simple in thought, brutal in reality.
He understood it all perfectly—but living by it was the real struggle. He'd always known the world was brutal, and yet, somehow, he kept forgetting to account for that truth.
Tomorrow is a new day—and I have to start it by accepting the truth: in this world, what truly matters are the people who love and support me. Even my closest companions might turn against me to protect those they care about. Accept it, Daylan… accept it.
As he lay there, his mind drifting from one thought to the next, sleep slowly overtook him. His muscles loosened, and at last, he sank fully into rest.
Morning crept in before they knew it. Daylan woke to find the others already training, just like always. His stomach growled as he stood there lazily, watching them glide and swing through the air.
Rubbing his stomach, he turned and headed into the kitchen. Just as he stepped inside, Astara rushed in behind him, a towel draped around her neck.
"I want you to teach me how to cook."
Daylan turned to her, perplexed. "Huh?!!"
"You heard me."
"Despite your unwavering courage, you can't cook…" he burst into laughter.
Astara casually stood still staring at him. "Can we start?"
Daylan's expression darkened. "Most girls would get offended and walk out… what are you?"
"I am not most girls… Can we begin?"
"Not until we've struck a deal."
"Go on…"
"You'll clean my room and say 'Sire' every time you mention my name—for a whole week."
Astara nodded, "okay, deal."
"Like seriously? No argument?"
"Let's begin."
Without another word, Daylan began guiding her through the steps of making frumenty.
They started by gathering all the ingredients: wheat, milk, cream, salt, honey, cinnamon, saffron, and water.
He walked her through the process step by step. Though his stomach growled in protest, the effort felt worth it. Astara's motivation was unwavering—she paid close attention to every teaspoon, tablespoon, and cup, eager to get everything just right.
Daylan was genuinely surprised by how quickly she picked things up. It had taken him ages—and a few bouts of diarrhea—before he got it right. But he reminded himself, his journey had been self-taught.
He stared at her with his eyes squinting. You are never better than me!!.. I am the best chef in the world.
Before long, Medora walked in, rubbing her stomach and cheering Astara on. She had no intention of learning to cook anytime soon—there were already two in the house, and as far as she was concerned, a third wasn't necessary.
Not long after, the porridge was ready.
Despite Daylan's repeated assurances that it tasted great, both Medora and Astara hesitated, eyeing it with suspicion. It wasn't until they watched him devour an entire bowl without flinching that they finally decided to give it a try.
The moment the porridge touched Medora's lips, her eyes lit up. She turned to Astara.
"This is great!" Astara glanced back, blushing.
As soon as the porridge hit her tongue, the pink in her cheeks deepened. She looked over at Daylan and gave him a shy thumbs-up. Daylan lay back, rubbing his full stomach with a satisfied grin.
"I'm a genius, huh? I could turn a rusty old coin into gold," he said, his grin widening. The girls shot him matching looks of annoyance.
Astara wore a confident smile all morning, proudly declaring that she'd be making breakfast from now on—and that she was eager to learn more from Daylan. Medora lit up with joy at the news, thrilled by Astara's enthusiasm. But Daylan, watching them both, knew one thing for sure: Astara was going to pay for each lesson.
Before long, they got ready to visit Daylan's family. He tried to use the remaining minutes to figure out how they could hide their masks—from portals to invincibility—but time was slipping away.
After several failed attempts, he had no choice but to postpone the plan—his only solution needed time.