I'd spent the last three days doing the same thing.

Walking through Greyford's districts with my debug vision active, scanning faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of either Agnes or Gerald.

So far? Nothing.

Well, not nothing. I'd found four more women named Agnes. A baker's assistant, two housemaids in different districts, and an elderly woman who ran a small textile shop. None of them were the Agnes I was looking for.

And Gerald remained completely absent. No stalls. No hooded figures appearing in alleys. No cryptic merchants offering impossible items.

Like he'd just vanished into thin air.

I sat on a bench near the central fountain, watching the afternoon crowd flow past. Merchants called out their wares, children chased each other around the fountain's edge, couples walked arm in arm through the plaza.

Normal. Peaceful. Completely unhelpful.

My MP was holding steady. The enhanced scanning didn't cost much anymore with my increased capacity and the Mana Reservoir passive constantly refilling my reserves.

But the mental exhaustion of looking at hundreds of faces every day was starting to wear on me.

This is inefficient.

I'd basically been wandering randomly, hoping to stumble onto the right person through sheer luck. Which was stupid. Greyford was massive, easily tens of thousands of people. Finding one specific person without a better system was like looking for a particular grain of sand on a beach.

I leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky.

Also, I hadn't seen Scarlet since that first meeting three days ago.

Either she's actually working on it, or she took my coins and ran.

Fifty-fifty odds at this point.

I pulled out the empty vial from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. The glass caught the sunlight, refracting it into small rainbows across my palm.

The proof that Gerald had existed. That the encounter had been real.

So why can't I find any trace of him?

I'd checked the alley where we'd met, but it was empty. No residual magic that my debug vision could detect. No signs anyone had ever set up shop there.

I'd asked merchants in the area if they'd seen anyone matching Gerald's description. Middle-aged man, brown robes, merchant's stall selling rare items.

Blank stares and shaken heads. Every single time.

It's like he was never there.

Except he was. The potion worked. My rank increased from E to D. The system confirmed everything.

My mind kept circling back to one explanation.

A one-time event.

Like in games. Those special encounters that only triggered once under specific conditions. You miss them, you can't go back. The NPC disappears, the shop vanishes, the quest becomes unavailable.

But that didn't sit right with me. People didn't just disappear because you'd finished interacting with them.

Unless they were never meant to be found again in the first place.

I pocketed the vial again, frustration building in my chest.

So what the hell am I supposed to do?

Then suddenly, a commotion near the fountain made me look up.

A street performer was being harassed by a group of young men. They'd formed a loose circle around him, laughing, jeering. One of them held something just out of the performer's reach, dangling it like bait.

His instrument. A lute or something similar, the wood polished from years of use.

The performer was maybe in his thirties, thin and weathered in the way street musicians often were. His clothes were patched but clean, his face desperate as he reached for the instrument.

"Please, I need that to work—"

The young men laughed harder.

Nobles, judging by their clothing. Expensive fabrics, tailored cuts, the kind of casual arrogance that came from never facing consequences.

Five of them. All around seventeen or eighteen, that perfect age where you thought you were invincible and the world owed you entertainment.

Guards stood nearby at the plaza's edge. Watching. Doing nothing.

Of course. The kids are probably from important families. Guards won't intervene unless it gets violent.

And maybe not even then.

I watched for another moment, weighing whether to get involved.

Not my problem.

I've got enough problems.

I stood and started walking away, angling toward one of the side streets.

Then stopped.

Wait...

My mind caught on something. A possibility.

Gerald appeared out of nowhere. Gave me an impossible potion. Then vanished.

What if that wasn't random? What if it was triggered by something I did?

And what if other events work the same way?

I turned back, studying the scene with new eyes.

In games, helping NPCs almost always worked in your favor. Side quests. Hidden rewards. Reputation gains. Sometimes the most random encounter led to the best loot.

This could be nothing. Just five assholes harassing a street performer.

Or it could be something.

A trigger? A chance at finding Gerald or Agnes or some other lead I desperately needed.

Worth the risk?

Not like these brats will actually do something with Victor still in the town. Though our history aside, he is quite famous around here, and yes, mostly many nobles don't want to mess with him. Due to him having a high position in Ashfeld knights.

Just mentioning his name could get me out of the trouble, right?

I hope so. So, I started moving through the crowd toward the commotion.

The young noble holding the instrument was tall and well-built, with dark hair. His clothes were deep burgundy, expensive enough to feed a family for a month. He had a sharp, handsome face that would've been more appealing if it wasn't twisted into an arrogant smirk.

"Play us a song, street rat," he was saying, tossing the lute up and catching it carelessly. "Maybe if it's good enough, we'll give it back."

"Please," the performer said, his voice cracking. "That instrument is all I have. I can't afford another—"

"Then you should take better care of it." The boy tossed it higher this time, making the performer flinch. "Wouldn't want it to break, would we?"

His friends laughed.

I stepped between them and the performer.

"That's enough."

The noble's smirk faltered, replaced by irritation. "Excuse me? Who the hell are you?"

"Nobody important." I held out my hand, keeping my voice level. "Give him back his instrument."

The noble's friends shifted, closing ranks around their leader. Trying to look threatening.

There were five of them now that I was closer. All around my age or slightly older, all dressed like they'd never worked a day in their lives.

"Or what?" The one holding the instrument stepped closer, his jaw tight. "You'll fight all of us? For some street performer?"

I met his eyes steadily, not backing down but not escalating either.

Just waiting.

Let him make the choice.

For a moment, I thought he might actually try it. His free hand clenched into a fist, pride warring with common sense on his face.

Then one of his friends, a shorter boy with nervous eyes, grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Derrick. It's not worth it. Your father will be pissed if we cause a scene in the plaza."

Derrick's jaw tightened further. He glared at me for another long second, weighing his options.

Then he tossed the instrument, not toward the performer, but at me.

I caught it easily.

"Keep the trash," Derrick spat, already turning away. "Both of you deserve each other."

His friends followed, still laughing, already moving on to their next source of entertainment like this had been nothing more than a momentary distraction.

I watched them go, making sure they were actually leaving.

Then I turned and held out the instrument to the performer.

He took it with trembling hands, checking it over immediately for damage. His fingers ran across the strings, the wood, the tuning pegs.

Relief flooded his face when he found everything intact.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice thick. "You didn't have to do that. They could have hurt you—"

"It's fine." I was already turning to leave, scanning the crowd for any sign that this had triggered something, anything.

Nothing.

No system notification.

Just a street performer clutching his lute and strangers going about their day.

So much for that theory.

"Wait." The performer's hand caught my sleeve. "Please."

I stopped, looking back.

He reached into his pocket with one hand, still holding the lute protectively with the other, and pulled out something small.

He pressed it into my palm before I could refuse.

"As thanks."

I looked down.

A small wooden token, roughly carved but smooth from handling. There was a symbol etched into one side, some kind of circular pattern I didn't recognize.

"What is this?"

"Good luck charm," the performer said, smiling despite the tears still wet on his cheeks. "My grandmother made it. She said it brings fortune to those who help others."

I turned the token over in my fingers.

Yeah, sure. Magic luck charm from a street performer's grandmother. Like it will solve all my problems.

But I pocketed it anyway. No point in refusing when he'd already given it.

"Thanks."

He nodded, clutching his instrument close to his chest like someone might try to take it again.

Then he hurried away, disappearing into the crowd before Derrick and his friends could come back.

I stood there for a moment, alone again in the flowing masses of people.

That was stupid.

Getting involved for nothing Just a wooden token that probably did exactly nothing.

But looking at where the performer had disappeared, I found I didn't regret it.

Small thing. Barely cost me anything.

But it mattered to him.

I started walking again, aimless, my thoughts already drifting back to the impossible task of finding Agnes in a city of thousands.

Three days down.

How much time do I actually have?

The wooden token felt warm in my pocket.

Maybe the old woman was right.

Maybe I could use some luck.

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