"Oh? This bakery still hasn't gone out of business?" Yago looked at the familiar bakery in front of him with some emotion. Inside, the familiar baker was still wearing the same greasy apron as before.
It was also the day he met Annie, right? Memories flashed through Yago's mind as he stepped into the bakery.
Obviously, the baker didn't recognize Yago. He bought two pieces of bread and quietly stuffed some extra money under the paper bag—after all, back then he had "helped himself" to quite a bit of bread from here.
"Uh…"
After taking a bite and chewing twice, Yago's brows immediately furrowed. Being able to make bread this nostalgically awful after so many years—just as bad as he remembered—was a kind of talent in itself.
Without hesitation, Yago tossed the bread into the trash. This time, though, no stray dog came running out to snatch it away. (See Chapter 72 for related events.)
…
For the next while, Yago walked through several shops he used to "frequent" as a child. At each one, he left behind a fair amount of money—more or less making up for the less-than-honorable behavior of his younger days.
Especially the Madina Dessert Shop, where Madam Madina had once cared for him deeply. It was thanks to working at her shop that he had gradually pulled himself out of that old life of petty theft.
But Madam Madina didn't seem to be home today. With some regret, Yago left behind a considerable sum of money as repayment for her kindness back then.
After leaving the dessert shop, Yago headed toward his final destination. A faint sense of nervousness welled up in his chest, and his palms began to sweat.
At the edge of the Liberio internment zone, the environment was just as harsh as it had been years ago. Marleyan factories continued to recklessly discharge wastewater into the areas where Eldians lived, and the air was thick with a foul chemical stench.
What the Eldians inside the zone couldn't understand was this: as an Honorary Marleyan, Leonhart had every opportunity to move to a better district, yet he stubbornly remained here, refusing to relocate. Whenever anyone asked why, the usually taciturn man would only reply:
"I'm waiting here for my daughter to come back."
In front of the low house, three wooden stakes had split open under years of wind and sun, and the ropes tied around them had long since rotted away.
Inside the house—if Annie were here, she would be shocked. Her once robust and powerful father had grown ordinary and worn-down. A slight paunch had replaced the solid muscles he once had. Only the sharp light in his eyes remained unchanged.
Sitting across from Mr. Leonhart was a man about his age. But the occasional coughing betrayed his poor health. The red armband on his arm showed that he too was an Honorary Marleyan.
"Leonhart, try to let it go. Our children aren't coming back. They… sigh. I shouldn't have let Bertholdt become a Warrior either. He—my child—he was only seventeen… cough, cough."
The man's face was filled with pain. From his words, his identity was clear—Bertholdt's father, Mr. Hoover.
Facing Mr. Hoover's anguish, Mr. Leonhart's dark expression remained unchanged. He said firmly,
"No. Annie will absolutely be fine. She will come back. That was our promise."
Though his tone was resolute, his pupils trembled slightly, revealing the unrest within his heart.
After talking for a long time, Mr. Leonhart stood to see Mr. Hoover off. Watching him leave, the straight line of his back suddenly bent.
"Annie, you promised Father. You must come back safely…"
The sorrow in his eyes was no longer hidden. At this moment, he was only a father praying for his daughter's safety.
Just as he was about to return inside, he noticed someone walking straight toward him.
Mr. Leonhart straightened his back again and fixed his gaze on the approaching figure.
A tailored black coat, a tall frame, a handsome and youthful face. Most importantly, the black-haired young man wore no Eldian armband. A Marleyan youth?
Leonhart frowned slightly in confusion. He didn't know this young man. Yet there was something strangely familiar about his face—though he couldn't recall where he had seen it.
Yago carried his gift as he approached Mr. Leonhart, silently rehearsing the lines he had prepared.
"Mr. Leonhart, hello. I'm Annie's boyfriend. Do you remember me? I'm Yago… Mr. Leonhart…"
Finally, under Mr. Leonhart's gaze, Yago stopped in front of him. Because of the height difference, Mr. Leonhart had to look up at him.
That sharp gaze made Yago instantly nervous. He opened his mouth and blurted,
"Uh, Mr. Annie, I'm Leon—eh! No, I'm Mr. Annie, not! I'm the boyfriend!"
The moment he spoke, he said everything wrong. Panic surged through him, and he began rambling incoherently.
But Mr. Leonhart had keenly caught Annie's name. His entire body trembled. He suddenly grabbed Yago by the collar and yanked his face close.
"Kid! What are you saying? You know Annie!? What else do you know?! Speak!"
Yago blinked, his expression dazed. After a long pause, he stammered,
"Mr. Leonhart… I'm Yago. Do you remember me?"
Suddenly, Mr. Leonhart's eyes widened. He released Yago's collar and stared at that strangely familiar face. In his memory, there had been a black-haired boy who was always with his daughter. Comparing that boy's face with the young man before him now—they looked remarkably alike.
But Leonhart clearly remembered that the child named Yago had died. He had seen the body dragged away by the Marleyans on a cart, taken away together with several other Eldian children's corpses.
So how could this be?
...
On the simple wooden table sat an opened bottle of wine and a few plain dishes. Yet the two men seated across from each other remained silent.
They stared at one another awkwardly, the atmosphere stiff and strange.
After a long while, Mr. Leonhart finally picked up the bottle and poured wine into both cups. Acting casual, he asked,
"So Annie is safe now, right? There won't be any problems with her staying alone in Tessi Province?"
Yago accepted the cup with a smile.
"Of course not. I'm Annie's boyfriend—I'd never let anything happen to her. The reason I came here this time is…"
Crack!
The wooden cup suddenly shattered in Mr. Leonhart's hand. Hearing the words "boyfriend," he had unconsciously tightened his grip. Looking up at the stunned Yago, Mr. Leonhart feigned nonchalance.
"Oh, it's nothing. The cup's just old—not sturdy anymore. It's fine, it's fine. Let's continue."
But Yago felt something was off.
He could sense a faint killing intent lingering in the air.
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Pls Drop some Power Stones
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