"Is it made with real fruit juice? There’s this peculiar, artificial aftertaste lingering on my palate. It reminds me of something... ah yes, almost as synthetic as certain pedigrees circulating in this room."
A social landmine had detonated amid the carefully orchestrated dance of etiquette. Julian’s entire entourage fell into stunned silence, their smiles freezing in place. Every head within earshot swiveled to stare at me - the insignificant nobody standing by the punchbowl who had the audacity to speak so boldly out of turn. Julian’s handsome, aristocratic face flushed an ugly shade of crimson, the color spreading from his neck upward like rising mercury.
The waiter, caught in the crossfire between professional obligation and self-preservation, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. His eyes darted nervously between me and Julian’s group, clearly calculating the potential fallout of this interaction on his employment prospects.
"I—I believe it’s a proprietary blend, sir," he stammered, adjusting his bow tie with a trembling finger. "The exact composition is kept confidential by our suppliers. I can certainly inquire with the catering manager about the ingredients if you’d like more specific information?"
"Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account," I responded with a carefully calibrated apologetic smile. "I was merely curious about the formula. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? How some things in this world try so desperately hard to present themselves as genuine when they’re so transparently manufactured. A curious phenomenon, wouldn’t you agree?"
Conversations nearby died down. A ring of silence expanded from our little drama. Heads turned, drinks were forgotten. We had an audience now.
Julian straightened to his full height, turning slowly to face me. His friends took half-steps back, eager to watch but not be caught in the blast radius.
"Did the stray dog just bark?" Julian’s voice was cool and cutting. "I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of your cheap suit. Do you have something to say, or do you just enjoy hearing the sound of your own worthless voice?"
"My sincere apologies." I bowed my head slightly. "I was just making a culinary observation to the staff. I didn’t realize private conversations were subject to your approval, Valerius-san."
Julian’s eyes widened, then narrowed. The casual use of his name revealed that I knew exactly who he was, while he still saw me as anonymous trash. The honorific—a linguistic relic from pre-Rupture Japan—added a layer of mockery so subtle he couldn’t quite call it out without seeming paranoid.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, taking a step toward me.
I stood my ground, smiling politely. "Just another first-year prospect, like yourself. Though I suppose ’like’ is a stretch, given our different... circumstances." I gestured vaguely to his designer suit, then to my own serviceable but clearly less expensive attire.
Julian’s nostrils flared. His friends exchanged nervous glances. The crowd had grown larger, drawn by the tension.
"You know nothing about me or my circumstances," Julian said, his voice tight.
My Liar’s Brooch warmed against my chest. A lie. Interesting.
"That may be true," I conceded. "Just as you know nothing about me. Yet one of us felt entitled to physical contact without acknowledgment or apology." I touched my shoulder where he had bumped into me. "I simply thought, if we’re going to be rubbing shoulders anyway, we might as well introduce ourselves properly."
"You want an introduction?" Julian stepped closer, invading my personal space. He was taller than me, using his height to loom. "Fine. I’m Julian Valerius, heir to Valerius Industries and Vance-Ishiguro Tech partner. My family has produced A-Rank Hunters for three generations. My Aspect is Quantum Disruption. I’ve been accepted to New Vein Academy with full guild sponsorship."
He paused, eyes raking over me with contempt. "Your turn, stray."
"Satori Nakano." I kept my voice modest, unassuming. "Late manifestation, C-Rank Aspect. No family history of note. No sponsorship. Just lucky enough to be here, I suppose." I extended my hand for a shake, the perfect picture of naivety.
Julian stared at my offered hand like I had presented him with a dead rat. The crowd watched, murmuring. To refuse a handshake would be a social faux pas even Julian couldn’t justify.
With visible reluctance, he took my hand. His grip was painfully tight—a cheap intimidation tactic.
I smiled through the pressure. "I look forward to seeing you at the academy, Valerius-san. Perhaps we’ll have classes together."
"I doubt you’ll see much of me," he replied, releasing my hand. "I’ll be in the advanced track."
"Ah, of course." I nodded respectfully. "Well, best of luck with your... partnership ambitions. Though you might want to reconsider your approach with Ms. Cabana. Toilet cleaner comparisons are hard to come back from."
Julian’s face went from red to white in an instant. Behind him, one of his friends stifled a laugh, then quickly covered it with a cough.
"You—"
"Satori! There you are."
We both turned to see Luka approaching, his massive frame parting the crowd effortlessly. Relief washed over me—not because I needed rescuing, but because the timing couldn’t be more perfect. End on a high note, leave them wanting more.
"Excuse me," I said to Julian with another small bow. "It seems my family is looking for me. A pleasure making your acquaintance."
I turned and walked toward Luka, feeling Julian’s furious gaze burning into my back. The Liar’s Brooch cooled against my chest, silent confirmation of my victory in this opening skirmish.
Behind me, I heard Julian’s friends asking in hushed tones: "Who the hell was that guy? How did he know about Reyna?"
"Dunno. Some C-Rank nobody. Probably won’t even last a semester."
"Then why do you look so worried?"
I allowed myself a small, private smile as I reached Luka. Phase one complete. The hook was set. Now all I needed to do was reel him in.
"Everything okay?" Luka asked, glancing over my shoulder at Julian’s group. "You looked like you were having an intense conversation there."
"Just making new friends," I replied innocently. "You know, networking."
Luka raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. "Well, come on. There’s someone I want you to meet. An old friend from my early hunting days. He’s a teacher at NVA."