The first morning back in Selorn City felt sluggish, almost mundane compared to the relentless pace of the Academy.

No pre-dawn training bells, no rush to lectures, no underlying thrum of competitive mana in the air.

Just the distant sounds of the market waking up, the clatter of pans from the guild hall kitchen below, and the low murmur of voices discussing inventory or patrol routes.

I'd slept fitfully, the narrow bed and thin mattress a stark contrast to the cloud-like comfort of my Supreme Hall suite.

The hushed, worried voices I'd overheard last night echoed in my mind, a stark reminder of the guild's precarious situation. Powerless. That's how I'd felt, lying there, holding secrets worth billions while my family worried about keeping the lights on.

Breakfast was a simple affair in the guild's common hall – rough bread, salted meat, weak tea. My parents were already immersed in guild business, poring over maps and ledgers with grim expressions.

Several guild members nodded greetings, their curiosity about the Academy champion tempered by their own anxieties.

The disconnect I felt yesterday hadn't faded; if anything, it felt sharper in the clear morning light. I was an observer in my own home, a visitor wearing a familiar face.

I spent most of the day in forced idleness, wandering the guild hall, flipping through old training manuals in my room, trying to appear like a normal student on vacation while my mind churned with plans.

Evidence against Relaon. The Dawn Guild alliance. Victor's market manipulations.

The Sword pulsing faintly in my storage. And overshadowing it all, the Willson Guild's slow slide towards insolvency.

By evening, however, the atmosphere shifted. A rare energy filled the guild hall. My mother, Lilly, was humming – actually humming – as she directed two junior members in setting the large central table, not with the usual rough wooden plates, but with the slightly chipped but carefully preserved ceramic set reserved for special occasions.

The smell wafting from the kitchen wasn't the usual bland stew, but roasted grox meat, spiced potatoes, and freshly baked bread.

"What's going on?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe, genuinely curious.

My father looked up from polishing his old guild-issue sword, a rare smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Your brother's coming home, Michael. Marcus."

Marcus. My older brother. Eighteen years old. C+ Rank.

The memory fragments supplied by the original Michael painted a picture: talented, certainly more so than the original Michael, but also hot-headed, eager to prove himself, often clashing with our father over guild policies.

He'd been away for nearly six months on an extended training contract with a larger, allied guild in the northern territories – a common practice for promising young hunters from smaller guilds seeking experience.

"He finished his contract early?" I asked, accessing the memory file.

"Got top marks in their assessment," Darius said, pride evident in his voice. "They sent word this morning. His train should be arriving any minute now."

A mix of borrowed nostalgia and detached curiosity stirred within me. I wondered how this reunion would play out, how Marcus would react to the drastically changed younger brother who now outranked him and held the title of Academy champion.

The guild hall buzzed with anticipation as more members gathered, drawn by the smell of roasted meat and the news of Marcus's return.

Even amidst their financial worries, the return of the guild master's eldest son was cause for a small celebration.

Then, the heavy front door creaked open.

A figure stood silhouetted against the fading twilight outside.

Taller than I remembered from the fragmented memories, broader in the shoulders, carrying a large travel pack slung over one arm and a longsword sheathed across his back.

He stepped inside, letting the door close with a soft thud.

The low light caught his features. Same dark hair as our father, cut shorter now, practical. Same determined jawline.

But the eyes… they were different. The youthful fire Michael remembered seemed banked, replaced by a calm, steady depth that hadn't been there before.

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering briefly on our parents, then finding me.

"Marcus!" Lilly rushed forward, pulling him into a hug. "You're finally home!"

"I'm back, Mom," he replied, his voice deeper, smoother than the slightly raspy tone Michael recalled. He returned the hug gently, a soft smile touching his lips.

Darius clapped him on the shoulder, a gruff sound of approval.

"Good work up north, son. Heard you impressed them."

Marcus nodded.

"It was… instructive." He then turned his attention fully to me. He walked closer, his steps measured, unnervingly quiet for someone wearing worn hunting boots.

He stopped a pace away, his gaze sweeping over me – taking in the Academy uniform I hadn't bothered to change out of, the subtle shift in my posture, the different energy I now carried.

"Michael," he said, his voice even. "You've… changed."

There was no accusation in his tone, no overt surprise, just a quiet statement of fact.

But the way he looked at me, the intensity in those strangely calm eyes, sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

It felt less like a brother greeting his sibling and more like a seasoned warrior assessing a potential unknown.

"Academy does that, I guess," I replied, forcing a casual shrug, trying to match the expected role of the younger brother.

Marcus simply held my gaze for a moment longer, a thoughtful frown flickering across his brow. Then, the intensity softened, replaced by a warmer, more familiar smile.

"Well, whatever it is, it suits you. Rank 1, huh? Little brother's finally decided to stop slacking off."

He ruffled my hair, a gesture so perfectly normal, so brotherly, that it almost made me forget the unnerving stillness I'd sensed just moments before.

"Dinner's ready!" Lilly called out, breaking the moment. "Come on, both of you! Let's eat before it gets cold!"

The guild members cheered, gathering around the long table. The atmosphere turned jovial, celebratory.

Bottles of cheap ale were opened, toasts were made to Marcus's return, and the aroma of roasted grox filled the hall.

We sat down as a family – Mom fussing over Marcus, Dad asking pointed questions about his training, and me, observing.

Marcus answered everything calmly, detailing his experiences with a maturity and tactical insight that seemed far beyond an eighteen-year-old C+ hunter.

He spoke of monster subjugation tactics, of coordinating with different squads, of mana conservation during prolonged engagements. His words were articulate, his observations sharp.

Darius listened intently, nodding in approval, clearly impressed.

But I felt a growing unease. This wasn't just growth; it felt like a complete overhaul.

The reckless, impatient Marcus from Michael's memories seemed to have vanished, replaced by someone… older. Wiser. More controlled.

His swordsmanship, too – even the way he handled his eating utensils had a subtle, precise grace that hadn't been there before.

Later, when one of the younger guild members excitedly asked Marcus about a particularly difficult technique,

Marcus hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then described a complex footwork pattern and breathing method that sounded less like standard Academy training and more like… something else entirely. Something ancient, perhaps.

My frown deepened. I watched him interact with our parents – respectful, affectionate, yet with a subtle distance in his eyes, as if observing a familiar play rather than fully participating in it.

He laughed at Dad's jokes, listened patiently to Mom's worries, even offered surprisingly insightful advice on a guild contract dispute.

He was playing the part of Marcus Willson perfectly, almost too perfectly.

It wasn't just one thing; it was a hundred tiny details. The way he held his teacup. The cadence of his speech.

The unnerving calm in his eyes even when discussing dangerous hunts. The almost imperceptible way his hand rested near his sword hilt, even at the dinner table.

This isn't just experience, I realized, my stomach tightening.

This is a fundamental shift. Like someone else is looking out from his eyes.

The thought sent a chill down my spine. Could it be possession? A curse? Or something even stranger?

As the dinner wound down, Marcus caught my eye across the table. He offered a small, quiet smile, the same one he'd given upon arriving – familiar, yet distant.

I needed answers.

Later that night, alone in my room, the sounds of the guild settling down below, I sat on my bed and brought up the system interface. My fingers hesitated over the query panel.

"System," I whispered, the words barely audible in the quiet room. "Analyze Marcus Willson. Status, recent changes, any anomalies detected."

[Ding~ Analyzing target: Marcus Willson. Cost: 1,000 SP. Confirm?]

My thumb hovered over the 'Yes' prompt. A thousand SP wasn't cheap, but the unease coiling in my gut demanded resolution.

"Confirm."

The system screen flickered, lines of data scrolling rapidly.

Then, it froze, displaying a result that made my blood run cold.

[Analysis Complete.]

[Subject: Marcus Willson]

[Status: Stable. ???]

[Anomaly Detected: ???.]

(To be continued)

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