Arin walked home under the dim glow of dusk, the dense forest slowly giving way to worn paths and familiar trees.
Every step felt surreal.
The fight with the King Snake replayed in his mind like a dream—a vivid, impossible dream where he had poured every ounce of training, every drop of pain, every suppressed scream from the past year into one decisive slash.
But now… he carried a broken sword hilt, a pouch heavy with gold, and a book that promised more than just knowledge—it whispered the beginning of transformation.
As he neared his home, he heard the creak of their wooden door open. His father stood in the frame, still thin but no longer skeletal like the man he used to be. Beside him, his mother sat, knitting under the dim lantern, her fingers steady—no longer trembling with illness.
"Arin?" his father called softly.
He stepped into the light.
Both parents froze the moment they saw him.
His shirt was torn and slightly scorched. Dried blood clung to the edges of his hands. A broken sword hilt was strapped to his belt. But his eyes—his eyes were burning with quiet power.
"I'm home," he said with a tired smile.
His mother rushed to him. "You're hurt!"
"No," he replied, gripping her shoulders gently. "I'm just… tired."
They brought him inside. Sat him down. Gave him water. Asked no questions yet, sensing that something had changed.
After a few minutes of silence, Arin pulled the pouch from his side and placed it gently on the table.
The gold coins inside clinked as they shifted.
His father's eyes widened. "Arin… What is this?"
"A gift. Payment for a mission."
His mother stared at the pouch, then back at Arin. "How…?"
Arin leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"I fought something. Something huge. A Rank A."
His parents stiffened.
"And I won."
"You… what?" his father choked out.
"I killed a Triple-Eyed King Snake."
Silence fell like a hammer.
Even the wind outside seemed to pause.
His father slumped into the nearest chair, mouth open. His mother covered her mouth with her hands.
"I had help," Arin said softly, "but I did it. And someone from the Academy noticed."
He then reached into his shirt and pulled out the slim leather-bound book the old man had given him: World of Body and Mind.
"He told me to come to the Magic Academy. Said if I pass the entrance exam and bring him the snake's eye… he'll help me grow."
His mother's eyes misted. "The Academy? But… Arin, that place is for nobles, for geniuses…"
"No," Arin interrupted gently. "It's for those who fight to survive. Just like us."
He pushed the pouch of gold toward them. "Use it. For the medicine. For repairs. For anything you both want."
His father stared at the gold for a long time. Then he looked up. "But you…?"
"I'll take just one coin." Arin plucked a single gold piece from the pouch and tucked it into his pocket. "That's all I need."
His parents looked at him with pride and disbelief tangled in their expressions.
"Why only one?" his mother asked quietly.
"Because," Arin stood and looked toward the door again, eyes glowing with determination, "I'm going to earn the rest."
They watched him walk toward his room, back straight, steps steady.
That night, as he lay on his straw bed, Arin stared at the ceiling and whispered:
"I'm going to the Magic Academy.""And I'll make sure the world never sees me as just a beggar again."