Hilda glanced over her shoulder at him, suspicious at the sight of his crooked smile. "What are you plotting this time?"

"Nothing," Raiden said quickly, schooling his face into innocent confusion.

She gave him a long, skeptical look but said nothing, turning back to the busy road ahead.

Raiden exhaled softly. His pulse steadied, focus sharpening as the magic tingled faintly under his fingertips.

'Alright,' he thought. 'Let's find the right moment.'

Because as much as Miss Hilda thought she was keeping him in line, Raiden Goldheart was already one step ahead—again.

And this time, he wasn't planning to get caught.

The plaza opened up before them, a swirl of noise and color and life.

Vendors shouted over each other, hawking spices, fabrics, roasted nuts, and fruit pies.

The air shimmered with scent — cinnamon, pepper, and warm bread — and laughter rose above the bustle as children darted between stalls with ribbons tied in their hair.

Raiden, trailing behind Miss Hilda, almost forgot his annoyance. Almost.

She was still talking to a spice merchant, bartering with the same sharp focus she'd used earlier to dismantle a gang of thugs. Her back was to him, her tone clipped and professional. The guards hovered at a respectful distance, trying not to breathe too loudly in her vicinity.

Then came the shout. One he'd been silently praying to hear.

"Thief! Stop that boy!"

A commotion rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. Somewhere near a fruit cart, a scruffy youth bolted through the throng, clutching a bulging coin pouch.

The boy's ragged clothes and desperate expression drew jeers and alarmed cries as he shouldered past startled townsfolk.

Raiden's eyes lit up immediately.

A thief. A moving target. Chaos in motion.

Perfect.

Miss Hilda hadn't noticed yet; she was still deep in negotiation over saffron prices. The guards, ever vigilant but a step too slow, hadn't caught sight of the pickpocket either.

Raiden's lips curved upward, a sly spark flickering in his gaze. One last test, he thought. Just one.

He casually adjusted his sleeves, letting his fingers trace a faint pattern in the air. Mana stirred under his skin, bright and responsive to his will.

[Minor Adhesion — Target Mode: Activated.]

A faint shimmer pulsed over a nearby barrel, its surface glowing subtly before dimming into invisibility.

Raiden's eyes tracked the thief's trajectory. The boy was fast but predictable — his route curved right through the plaza, between the fishmonger's stall and the barrel of preserved oranges.

Perfect alignment.

The thief brushed against the barrel — and the spell triggered.

A loud, comical SCHLUP! echoed as the boy's hand, sleeve, and the stolen pouch fused instantly to the wooden surface.

He yanked. Nothing. Tried again. The barrel wobbled but didn't budge.

The thief's panic rose with each futile pull. He twisted, jerked, kicked — only to realize too late that every movement made it worse.

His shoulder stuck next, then his other hand, then a bit of his tattered cloak. Within seconds, he looked like he was trying to wrestle the barrel into submission.

The crowd's initial alarm melted into laughter.

A merchant shouted, "By the gods, he glued himself!"

A child giggled. "Look! He's even dancing!"

Even one of the guards choked back a laugh before remembering his rank.

Raiden folded his arms, trying very, very hard not to grin. He glanced sideways, pretending to be confused, feigning wide-eyed innocence as the thief continued to thrash.

Miss Hilda turned sharply at the noise. Her gaze took in the scene — the struggling thief, the amused crowd, the faint glimmer of residual mana that only a trained mage could see.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Raiden…"

His name came out slow, quiet, and deadly precise.

Raiden blinked up at her. "What? I didn't—"

She gave him a flat look that said don't bother.

Before he could respond, the guards rushed in, cutting through the crowd with practiced efficiency.

"Step aside!" one barked, grabbing the stuck thief by the shoulder.

After some awkward tugging and a few muttered curses, they managed to unstick the boy and retrieve the coin pouch. The merchant, red-faced and panting, hurried forward to reclaim his money, bowing repeatedly in thanks.

"All thanks to your swift actions!" the merchant declared, clutching his pouch. "I don't know what got him stuck but I thank the gods he was caught. Thank you very much."

The guards exchanged knowing glances, trying not to laugh outright.

Miss Hilda, however, looked less impressed and more resigned.

"Heroes," she echoed under her breath as the crowd began to disperse. Her arms folded tightly, the satchel of herbs digging into her elbow.

Raiden avoided her eyes, pretending to study a nearby shop window.

"Raiden," she said finally.

He winced. "Yes, Miss Hilda?"

She stepped closer, tone deceptively calm. "You can't go five minutes without turning life into a performance, can you?"

Raiden raised his hands defensively. "I didn't do anything! He tripped!"

"On a barrel?"

"It was a slippery barrel."

Her stare was as dry as sandpaper. "A slippery barrel that shimmered with residual mana."

Raiden hesitated, then attempted his best sheepish grin. "...Coincidence? Definitely coincidence. I wouldn't be able to pull that off."

Her sigh was long, heavy, and thoroughly done with him.

"You're walking in front of me from now on," she said flatly. "At least then I'll see the chaos before it starts."

"But—"

"No arguments."

Raiden groaned, dragging his feet ahead of her. 'Tch! I just low-key stopped a thief. At least I didn't do anything bad this time.'

"Even without proof," Hilda muttered to no one in particular, "it's clear that mischief follows him like perfume."

As they resumed walking, the plaza slowly faded behind them, its noise replaced by the steady rhythm of boots on cobblestone. The guards flanked them again, ever watchful, while Hilda kept Raiden within her line of sight.

He pretended to sulk, but the faint, invisible shimmer at the edge of his vision told a different story.

[Mission Progress: 100%]

[Mission Complete — Reward Unlocked!]

[Reward: ???]

The words pulsed once, then faded, leaving only the tantalizing question mark hovering in his thoughts.

Raiden's pulse quickened.

Finally.

His mind raced with possibilities — a new skill, maybe, or a title, or something entirely unexpected. Whatever it was, it felt like it would be worth every ounce of trouble he'd endured.

He could barely keep the grin off his face.

Miss Hilda's voice snapped him back to reality. "If you're smiling about whatever nonsense you just caused, wipe it off. Next time we come to the city, I'm leaving you home."

Raiden turned just enough for her to catch his mock-innocent expression. "You'd miss me too much."

Hilda groaned softly, pressing a hand to her temple as if praying for patience. "Saints help me…"

Raiden chuckled, hands tucked behind his back as he walked ahead.

At the corner of his vision, the system shimmered faintly again—reminding him that his next challenge was just around the corner.

Whatever this reward is, he thought, excitement bubbling in his chest, it better be worth all the trouble I've caused.

And from the mischievous glint in his eyes, it was clear that he was already planning the next one.

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