My "fall" in the Grey Hills bought me exactly what I needed most: time.

For two days, I was confined to my small room in the Willson Guild Hall under my mother's strict orders.

"Mana exhaustion from a fall like that is serious, Michael," Lilly insisted, bustling in and out with trays of nourishing, if bland, bone broth and herbal teas.

"You just stay put and recover. No training, no running off. Understood?"

"Understood, Mom," I'd reply, playing the part of the dutifully recovering son.

It was the perfect cover. While my family saw a boy healing from a clumsy accident, I was, in fact, in a critical recovery phase.

The backlash from the spatial jump and the B-Rank guardian fight had left my mana core feeling less like a stable reservoir and more like a cracked crystal.

The 10 points I'd allocated to Endurance had stabilized the damage, but I needed meditation is deep, focused, uninterrupted—to smooth over the micro-fractures and fully integrate the chaotic energies I had wielded.

So I "rested."

I spent hours sitting cross-legged on my bed, eyes closed, circulating my mana in slow, deliberate cycles.

I wasn't just healing; I was analyzing. The fight with the Solara Votary, though physically agonizing, had been an invaluable data point. It showed me the raw, terrifying limits of my E+ body and the sheer, reality-defying potential of my affinities when pushed to the brink.

My new [Aura Dominion] hummed in my core, stronger now, more settled.

The 'Mindbreaker' title felt like a cool barrier in my thoughts. And the new Skill Scroll Fragment, ['Sever' (1/3)], sat in my inventory, a tantalizing promise of power I didn't yet understand. It felt connected to Heaven Splitter, a more conceptual application of the same principle.

But my recovery wasn't just internal. On the afternoon of the second day, a soft knock came at my door.

"Michael?" It was Elina's voice, hesitant.

"It's open," I called out.

She slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. Her eyes, no longer shadowed by despair, were bright, though red-rimmed as if from crying—but this time, they looked like tears of relief.

"He's awake," she whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched a small, empty vial—one of the two I had given her.

"I… I did as you said. I gave him a small amount, mixed with water. He slept for almost a whole day. When he woke up this morning… the tremors were gone."

She pressed a hand to her mouth, her voice cracking.

"He… he sat up on his own, Michael. For the first time in weeks. He asked for food. He held the spoon himself."

A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted from my chest. It had worked. The game item, the alchemical cure, it had worked in this reality.

"That's… that's incredible news, Elina," I said, offering a small, tired smile.

"It's a miracle," she corrected, tears welling up again. She suddenly rushed forward and, before I could react, grabbed my hand.

"A miracle you brought. I don't know what merchant you found, or what ancient text you read, but you saved his life. I… I'm in your debt. Forever."

"Elina, I just got lucky—"

"No," she insisted, her grip tightening.

"It wasn't luck. It was you. I don't have money to repay you for an elixir like this, I know it must have cost a fortune. But… I have my skills." Her gaze was fierce, resolute.

"My father taught me everything. Advanced rune-scribing, warding, even basic artifact analysis."

She clap her hand and said.

"From now on, if you need anything—a document translated, a barrier diagram, information from the city's merchant circles...you come to me. No questions asked. I'm yours to command."

I looked at her earnest, determined face. This wasn't just gratitude; it was an oath. In the original game, Elina Thorne was a minor NPC, a forgotten childhood friend.

Now, I had just accidentally bound a future master rune-scribe to my side.

This was... incredibly useful.

"I understand, Elina," I said softly, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Thank you. For now, just focus on your father's recovery. But I'll remember the offer."

She nodded, wiping her eyes, and left the room with a lightness in her step that hadn't been there two days ago.

I leaned back against my pillows, a faint smile on my lips. One piece on my personal chessboard had just been firmly set.

The other, however, was proving more complicated.

"Little brother."

My door creaked open again. Marcus stepped inside, carrying a bowl of steaming broth.

His face was calm, his movements fluid as he placed the bowl on my nightstand.

"Mom was busy in the common hall," he said, his voice even. "Figured you'd be hungry."

"Thanks, Marcus," I said, sitting up.

He didn't leave. He stood by the window, his back to me, looking out at the guild's training yard. The silence stretched, heavier than it should have been.

"You're recovering fast," he observed, his tone casual.

"That fall... it must have been a bad one. Your mana was completely drained when you returned."

My hand, reaching for the spoon, paused for a fraction of a second.

"Yeah. It, uh… it was a shock. Emptied me out completely."

"Hm." He continued to stare out the window.

"It's strange. A physical fall that drains a mana core. Usually, it's the other way around – mana exhaustion causing a fall. For a simple tumble to inflict that kind of core-level backlash…" He half-turned, his eyes, calm and unnervingly deep, meeting mine.

"You'd have to have been actively wielding an immense amount of power at the moment you fell. Or... perhaps it wasn't a fall at all."

My blood ran cold. He wasn't guessing. He knew. His cultivator's senses had diagnosed my condition perfectly.

I kept my face neutral, forcing a weak, confused laugh.

"What are you talking about? What else could it be? I'd just been practicing aura control…"

Marcus held my gaze, his expression unreadable. He wasn't accusing me. He was… assessing. Measuring my lie.

Finally, he smiled, a thin, unconvincing smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You're right. Must have just been the shock. Glad you're feeling better." He started towards the door. "But Michael…"

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, looking back at me. The warmth was gone from his voice, replaced by a quiet, steely command that sent a shiver down my spine.

"This is Selorn City. Not the Academy. We're a small guild, not a fortress. Whatever battles you're fighting, whatever secrets you're carrying… don't bring them to our parents' doorstep."

He didn't wait for a reply. He left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.

Clang.

My spoon slipped from my numb fingers, clattering into the bowl.

He knew. He didn't know the truth—not about the dungeon, or Draken, or my reincarnation—but he knew I was lying.

He sensed the danger I carried. He wasn't just my older brother anymore. He was a silent, watchful guardian, and I was now on his radar.

This was a dangerous, unpredictable variable.

______________________

Two days later, I was "fully recovered" and allowed to rejoin the living.

The timing was perfect, as the guild's morale had hit rock bottom.

Darius had just lost another major transport contract to the Iron Vipers, one that was crucial for the guild's quarterly budget.

That evening, the atmosphere in the common hall was funereal.

My parents sat at the head table, a pile of unpaid bills between them, their faces grey with worry. The few senior members present argued in low, hopeless tones.

"We can't make payroll next month, Darius."

"The Vipers are bleeding us dry. They're bidding on jobs at a loss! How?"

"We have to sell the east training yard. It's the only asset we have left that isn't mortgaged."

"No," Darius slammed his fist on the table, his voice cracking.

"That yard was my father's. We sell that, we sell our guild's soul."

"Then what, Darius? What do we do?!"

Into this pit of despair, the front door of the guild hall creaked open.

The receptionist, a young woman named Clara, looked up, surprised.

"Can I… help you, sir?"

A man I'd never seen in Selorn before stood in the doorway, brushing dust from the shoulders of an impeccably tailored, expensive-looking suit.

He was lanky, with restless, intelligent eyes, and an aura of frantic energy barely contained within a charismatic, fast-talking smile.

"Good evening!" the man announced, his voice booming with a confidence that felt utterly alien in this defeated room.

"Terrible weather for business, but excellent weather for opportunity! I'm looking for a Mr. Darius Willson. I'm told he runs this establishment?"

Darius looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I'm Darius Willson. Who are you?"

The man strode forward, hand outstretched, his smile dazzling.

"Victor Arkwright!" he declared, as if announcing royalty.

"Financial consultant, investment strategist, and portfolio manager from Arcadia City. And I believe, Mr. Willson, that your guild is exactly the kind of untapped growth opportunity I've been looking for."

Every jaw in the room dropped.

Marcus, sitting in the corner sharpening his sword, paused, his head lifting with a look of sharp, analytical suspicion.

My father stared, dumbfounded. "A… consultant? From Arcadia?"

"The one and only!" Victor said, taking a seat uninvited.

"Now, I hear you've been having some minor cash flow issues. Let's talk about how we can turn that 'minor' issue into 'major' profit, shall we?"

I leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, and permitted myself the smallest, faintest smile.

The consultant had arrived. The next phase of my plan had just begun.

(To be continued)

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