The word landed heavier than the knife.

Fritz froze, not because his body failed him, but because it obeyed him too well. Every instinct screamed to move, to close the distance before the blade settled.

The thief stood with his back to the alley wall, one arm locked around the bystander's chest. The knife rested just beneath the jaw, close enough that Fritz could see the faint indentation where steel pressed against skin.

Too close.

The bystander's hands were raised halfway, fingers curled as if unsure whether to grab the arm around him or keep still.

His breathing was fast but not panicked.

Fritz ignored it. In any case, bystanders must not be involved.

His focus narrowed to the blade.

"You don't want to do this," Fritz said, voice low. He took a slow step forward, careful to keep his weight centered.

"Let him go. We can talk."

The knife shifted a fraction closer.

"That's far enough."

The thief's tone was calm. He didn't seem triumphant, just…an eerie certainty.

Fritz stopped.

The pressure in his chest surged, answering a command he refused to give. His muscles felt ready, coiled for a strike that had nowhere to go.

This was wrong.

He was faster. Stronger. Close enough that, under any other circumstance, he would've ended this already.

Fritz exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Alright," he said. "Alright."

He loosened his grip on the metal bar.

Not all at once.

The thief watched every movement.

Fritz lowered the bar and let it fall to the ground. It clattered once against the stone and rolled to a stop near the alley wall.

The sound echoed.

"Kick it away."

Fritz did.

The bar scraped across stone, sliding out of reach.

For a moment, nothing changed.

The knife didn't move, his arms didn't loosen.

"Allow me to leave," the man said calmly. "And I'll let the kid go."

Fritz swallowed once.

"Alright," he said. "Alright."

He took a slow step back, then another, careful not to shift his weight too suddenly. The knife stayed where it was. The arm around the bystander stayed tight.

"We'll count," Fritz said. "On three."

The thief's eyes flicked to him, measuring.

"…Fine."

The word was casual. Almost bored.

Fritz planted his feet.

"One."

Nothing changed. The alley felt too small, the air too still. Fritz forced himself to breathe evenly, every muscle coiled tight beneath his skin.

"Two."

The pressure in his chest sharpened, resolve hardening into a single line of intent.

The moment he's safe.

"Three."

The arm released.

The knife withdrew.

Fritz moved.

He exploded forward, boots striking stone as the distance vanished in a heartbeat. His fist came up, body turning into the blow—with enough force behind it to end the fight cleanly.

Then he saw it.

The thief's hand flicked upward, almost lazily.

Two coins spun into the air. Silver flashed in the sunlight, tumbling end over end.

Fritz's strike passed through empty space.

The man was gone.

Not dodged nor moved, simply gone.

The coins clattered to the ground a heartbeat later, skidding across the stone and coming to rest near Fritz's boots.

Fritz skidded to a halt, breath sharp in his chest. He turned, scanning the alley, the rooftops, the shadows—

Nothing.

Slowly, Fritz straightened.

His gaze dropped to the coins at his feet.

Cold settled in his stomach.

"…What," Fritz muttered under his breath, "…was that?"

But he turned his attention away, back toward the bystander.

The kid was still standing where he'd been left, one hand hovering near his throat like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it now. He rubbed at his neck, wincing a second too late.

"Ah—yeah," the kid said. "That…sucked."

Fritz stared at him.

The skin beneath his jaw was unbroken. No blood. No mark where the blade should've pressed hard enough to leave one.

"You alright?" Fritz asked.

The kid blinked. "What? Oh—yeah. I mean, no. I mean—probably? Hard to tell."

He laughed, then cut it off halfway through, like he'd remembered something.

Fritz frowned.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. Totally." The kid nodded once. Then nodded quickly again. "Guess I just… froze."

That didn't sit right.

Fritz let the silence stretch, watching for something the usual telltale signs of shock.

It didn't come.

The kid shifted instead, glancing down the alley, then back at Fritz. "Guy's fast, huh?"

Fritz didn't answer.

He bent down and picked up one of the coins from the ground, turning it over between his fingers. It was warm, as if it had only just left someone's hand.

He handed it back without a word.

The kid took it, surprised. "Oh. Thanks."

Fritz straightened and looked at him again. Longer this time.

"…You should get home," Fritz said finally.

The kid hesitated. "Yeah. Right. Home."

He lingered a moment longer than necessary, then gave an awkward half-wave and headed off down the alley, glancing back once before disappearing around the corner.

Fritz watched him go.

Something about that whole exchange itched at him. He sighed, at least no one was harmed…but the thief had still escaped.

Fritz didn't go far.

The morning crowd had thinned again, the city settling back into its slow rhythm as if nothing unusual had happened. He retraced his steps until he spotted the man from earlier, the one who'd shouted.

The man was standing near the same stall, brow furrowed as he checked his belongings.

Fritz approached. "Sir…I'm sorry, I couldn't get back your belongings."

The man hesitated, then looked down. He opened the satchel fully this time, fingers moving through its contents: papers, a wrapped bundle, a small coin pouch.

He frowned.

"…Nothing's missing," he said.

Fritz felt something cold settle in his chest.

"You're sure?" Fritz asked.

The man nodded slowly. "Yeah. I thought so at first, but—" He shook his head. "Guess I just felt the strap snap and panicked."

Fritz glanced at the torn strap.

Clean cut.

"Sorry for the trouble," Fritz said.

The man waved it off. "No harm done, I suppose."

He stepped back, watching as the man adjusted the satchel and went back to his business, already forgetting the whole thing.

Fritz didn't.

Nothing had been taken.

Which meant the thief had never been running to escape. He'd been running to see who would follow.

Fritz exhaled slowly and turned away.

Whatever this was—

It hadn't been about theft at all.

***

Ryn watched from the opposite rooftop as the man finally turned away.

Fritz Calder didn't linger. He didn't look around like he expected answers to be waiting for him. He simply took what he'd seen, folded it inward, and walked on.

Good.

Ryn exhaled slowly, the tension he hadn't realized he was holding easing from his shoulders. Below, the city returned to its rhythm, life continuing on as if nothing had happened.

Fritz had been faster than expected. Stronger, too. The kind of strength that came from both talent and hard work. The kind that came from moving on when stopping would've been easier.

More importantly—

He'd surrendered his weapon without bargaining.

And when the threat was gone, he hadn't hesitated.

Ryn's gaze narrowed slightly.

[Determination]

An S-Rank Blessing that responded to his intent and will. A powerful Blessing, definitely Hero-class, that could save the world.

And yet, that very same one almost destroyed it.

Ryn turned away from the edge of the roof.

It was enough, he had confirmed it with his own eyes.

The seed of a Hero is still there.

And he'd make sure it grew up without problems. He couldn't afford to make mistakes now.

Because if there were, well—

This world would be doomed a second time.

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