CHAPTER 62: CHAPTER 9.3 : DIMENSIONAL STONE

It was only three in the afternoon when Al left school. But instead of heading straight home, he decided to drop by Indra’s place first—a spontaneous decision fueled by a strange gut feeling. When he arrived, he found his friend already dressed and looking ready to head out somewhere.

"Going somewhere?" Al asked, pulling down the hood of his jacket.

Indra gave a small smile. "I’m heading to the fish market to help my dad. Business has been booming since the partnership with Nipponia. My dad’s still short on manpower, so I need to lend a hand."

"Oh yeah? In that case, I’m coming with you."

"Alright, let’s go."

They set out together.

Al glanced up at the sky, which had started to cool even though it was still bright. There was something off in the air. Not quite a bad feeling—just... unfinished. Like the day wasn’t done with him yet. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. Still, something about today felt like it would lead him somewhere far bigger than simply helping out at the market.

Once they arrived—

The atmosphere at the fish market was stranger than usual. Some areas were buzzing with activity, while others felt almost deserted.

The stalls managed by Indra’s father were overflowing with customers and traders unloading stock, weighing fish, and calling out prices.

On the other side, a few stalls stood eerily quiet—those belonged to the Norvalien family, the previous rulers of Makazhar’s fishing industry. In recent years, their monopoly had begun to crumble, losing ground to Nipponia, a newer player offering better terms for suppliers, vendors, and buyers alike.

Nipponia’s operations focused on quality control, steady modernization, and health standards—things sorely lacking under Norvalien’s reign. Back then, prices were arbitrary, and market thugs or officials constantly harassed vendors for bribes or "taxes."

Since Nipponia began investing, Norvalien’s influence had drastically declined. The arrogant pride of their workers had been replaced with silent panic. That’s how business worked—years of legacy could crumble in an instant and would take forever to rebuild.

Among the bustling crowd, a few bitter gazes were thrown toward Indra’s family stalls. Not from customers—but from Norvalien workers idling at the far end of the alley. Resentment simmered in their eyes, but so did fear. They knew their dominance was slipping away, and the world was changing faster than they could adapt.

Al and Indra briefly greeted Indra’s father, helping with some light tasks like logging transactions and assisting distribution.

But not long after, a faint tingle flickered in Al’s nerves.

He turned sharply—and spotted several men in black handling logistics at one of the Norvalien stalls. Among them was a man whose neck bore a rune Al had secretly marked for tracking.

Al narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t a coincidence.

Smiling slightly, he excused himself to "step away for a bit"—then moved fast, darting like a shadow, leaping across rooftops and slipping through alleys as he silently tailed the man.

From above, he watched as three men entered a shadowy corner of the market. One of them was speaking to the others. Moments later, Rudi appeared. He scanned the area cautiously before giving a small signal—then the group followed him toward a black car parked behind the market, near a seldom-used waste disposal area.

The vehicle drove off, taking a back route—an off-road path barely used by regular traffic. Even cargo trucks rarely passed this way. The dirt road was filled with potholes and overgrown grass, as if it were sending a message: this isn’t a road for ordinary people.

Al followed. Moving in stealth mode at high speed, he raced through trees and rooftops, keeping pace with the car until it finally arrived at an old, abandoned district on the edge of Makazhar.

It looked like a long-forgotten warehouse. But even from the outside, Al could feel the heavy presence of magic.

He crept in through a broken window—and saw something familiar.

Altars. Ritual tools. Containers filled with thick, crimson liquid. Stacks of strange black-and-white crystals that pulsed faintly. And standing in the center of it all—Daraka, the infamous dark shaman.

In one corner, Jogo sat, still bearing the wounds from his last encounter with Al. He was slowly recovering using the red liquid. Daraka spoke while occasionally chuckling under his breath.

"This experiment will succeed. You’ll become something new. Forget beating that orphan kid—even David Virellano won’t be able to stop you."

Jogo and Rudi exchanged satisfied looks. Laughter echoed through the room, as if their victory was already guaranteed.

But they never learned.

Because the very factor they always underestimated—was their target himself: Al.

Al observed closely, and something caught him off guard. His eyes locked onto the strange crystals. Those weren’t ordinary stones. He recognized them...

Dimensional stones.

How did they get those? Where did they come from? Al thought, now alert.

He crept closer to get a better look.

But then—snap.

His foot landed on a pile of dry leaves. Leaves? Inside this sealed room?

The sound was just loud enough.

Krekk.

Everyone turned in an instant.

Especially Daraka—who had clearly sensed something.

"Who’s there?!" he shouted.

Al froze, his body trembling and drenched in cold sweat. But Daraka’s yell snapped him back, though a fraction too late.

Daraka darted toward the sound, his followers close behind.

And then—he saw a figure in a black hoodie, with a school uniform visible beneath the jacket.

"...You?" Daraka muttered in surprise.

"Tch!" Al hissed—and ran.

"Catch him."

Daraka’s men sprang into action. The shaman unleashed dark magic, launching deadly spells in every direction, aiming to cut Al off.

Even in his rattled state, Al dodged expertly, slipping through narrow gaps between buildings with stunning agility.

And just like that—he was gone.

Daraka stood frozen in disbelief, more irritated by the fact that someone had found this place—especially that someone.

"Idiots! Why didn’t anyone sense his presence?! Do you think this is a joke?!"

His men looked at one another, equally shocked. None of them could understand how Al had managed to show up in this place.

Rudi and Jogo came over, asking what had happened.

Daraka glared at Rudi for a long moment before finally saying, "This place has been compromised. We’re leaving."

"Compromised? By who?" Rudi asked.

"The rat you wanted dead," Daraka replied, walking past him.

"Rat?" Rudi repeated, thinking. And then it clicked. "You mean... Al?"

His head throbbed. That name—Al—echoed in his mind, stirring a familiar, infuriating frustration.

"Why is he always there at the wrong time..." he muttered. But he still assumed this was coincidence.

Daraka didn’t answer.

"How did he even find us...?" Rudi asked aloud, still confused.

He and Jogo exchanged glances—neither had any clue. But they both agreed: now was the time to act. The boy was alone. And he’d come to them.

Daraka turned to the two, who looked eager to hunt Al down, and simply shook his head.

"My men are already chasing him. If he’s lucky, he’ll survive. If not—he’s all yours."

Jogo and Rudi grinned at that.

Daraka walked back toward the pulsing black-and-white crystals and picked one up, studying it.

What’s the point of catching that orphan brat? I didn’t set all this up just to hunt down a little rat. What I really want is... he thought darkly, the rest of the thought left unsaid.

Then he turned to Rudi and Jogo again—with a chilling smile.

And no one knew the real reason Daraka had suddenly decided to work with Rudi’s family, after previously refusing to get involved with them at all.

"Get everything ready. We move now," Daraka ordered.

Everyone—including Rudi and Jogo—nodded and began moving out, leaving everything else behind.

---

Meanwhile...

Far away, Al sat atop an old water tower, not far from one of the more secluded beaches in Makazhar. His face was pale, eyes blurry as he stared down at his trembling hands.

"...Tchhh! That memory again..."

He looked at his palm, trying to stop the shaking. There was fear in his heart—a deep, lingering fear.

He jumped to the side of the tower’s tank. His eyes sharpened. Despite the trembling, he clenched his right fist—and a swirling, dark crimson energy gathered there.

And then—

"Arrrggghhhh!"

He screamed and drove his fist into the water tank.

BOOMMMM!!

The impact was powerful but focused. The tank wasn’t destroyed—but a clean hole punched through it.

The blast shot across the sea, exploding at the center of Makazhar Bay.

"Damn it," he muttered.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. The strike had calmed him... a little.

Finally regaining control, Al took a deep breath. His face hardened. The world felt just a bit more complicated today.

The sky grew grayer. Seagulls cried overhead—but their voices felt foreign.

Al inhaled deeply and looked out over the city from his high perch, as if searching for peace in the silhouette of concrete below.

But even up here, in the highest place he could find—he still felt hunted.

Not by Daraka.

Not by Jogo.

Not even by Rudi.

But by something far deeper—something inside himself.