I Refused To Be Reincarnated

Yann exploded from the tavern, the swing door slamming behind him with a hiss of protesting hinges. Two minutes. Adam couldn't have gone far in two minutes. Couldn't have ruined everything. At least, he hoped that wasn't enough time to create irreparable troubles, or he could kiss his collaboration goodbye. No, it was much worse.

Adam's parting threat echoed in his skull - they shared a name now. Shared consequences. And if the capital nobles caught wind... No fake name and bloodline would save him from that storm.

Jaw clenched, he grabbed a passerby by the collar, stunning him with a bark. "Did you see a hooded teenager pass by?"

Even now, he couldn't understand Adam's outburst. He could have negotiated with the minstrel if the price had dissatisfied him this much. Threats didn't help, not in front of a curious spy. Fortunately, he doubted the flautist would risk investigating Adam after his power move unless offered a hefty commission and an official mission.

"What's wrong with you, man?!" The passerby recovered, yet shuddered upon meeting Yann's narrowed eyes and sensing the iron grip about to shred his shirt's fabric.

His tone shifted from an outraged yell to a stuttered answer. "I-I don't know. Teenagers are everywhere!" He glanced at the youths unloading merchandise alongside sailors or those apprenticed in shops or guilds. Then, he patted Yann's hand in surrender. "Please let me go. Even if I saw him, I wouldn't know he's a teenager with his face hidden."

Inhaling deeply, Yann pushed the man back, who scrambled without a word.

Before he could ask another one, however, an aged lady standing behind bouquets of moon flowers, dew roses, or swamp violets, caught his eye with a wave. "A hooded man in a beautiful coat." She started, her wrinkled cheeks lifting in a warm smile that made her appear ten years younger. "I've seen him leave the bar."

He rushed to her, running a hand through his hair. "Your help is much appreciated, my lady. Would you mind telling me where that troublemaker went?" He gave her a noble bow that made the lady chuckle.

"Come now. He can't be a troublemaker with his bearings." She cupped her tilted face with a hand. "I've seen everything Port Vaelora has to offer. But his gait is different. Determined, defiant, like a king surveying his conquest."

Yann tapped his foot on the ground during her explanation, then, brows twitching, said, "Please, lady, tell me where he went."

The woman pointed toward a broad building emblazoned with two blades crossed beneath a helmet. "I've seen him enter the consortium."

Yann paled, his figure frozen for a moment before he bolted toward the Crystal Quill Consortium.

"Hey, wait!" The lady called out, but he didn't turn back. Watching his back vanish between the crowd of peddlers, she snorted. "That's how youngsters repay kindness. Didn't even buy a flower..."

As she grumbled, Yann bolted inside the consortium like a storm given flesh. He rushed to the counter after failing to see Adam, shoving disgruntled men from the neat line. Before the clerk, a blonde lady in an elegant loose white shirt covered in a leather apron, could berate him for his behavior, he slammed the counter's soft wood. The sound reverberated through the hall, silencing the growing protest.

"A hooded lad," he huffed. "Where is he?"

"And who might you be?" The lady raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

"His uncle. Now tell me!" He leaned over the counter, his face mere inches away from the lady.

She stepped back, her hands reaching for the staff tucked between the shelves behind her as the crowd began to stir.

"The uncle of that disrespectful rascal? I should have known the moment he cut the line." A man said, followed by another who snarled.

"Humph. Blood doesn't lie. They think themselves above us because of a family name. Laurentius Lux Aeterna was it? Never heard of this house of noble bastards."

At their words, Yann's veins pulsed on his forehead. Adam had given their family name in one of the three major guilds.

It was too late.

No! He had to stop him before he did even worse, like showing his creations and asking for a sales permit! Every eye would turn toward them if a countryside nobody suddenly sold tier four equipment to the renowned consortium.

He put his weight on his arm, the counter cracking beneath his clenched fist. "Listen, lady. I'm that punk's uncle, and I want to avoid trouble for both the consortium and my family. So, please, tell me where he is."

The lady hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting between Yann, the sleek staff in her palm, and the security storming from outside. She saw Yann's panicked urgency—it wasn't faked. Eventually, she nodded. "My colleague escorted him into our VIP room. Please follow me."

She gestured toward the crowd and the security, brutes wearing the guild's sigil on their polished armor. "Please forgive me for the delay. I'll be back in a minute."

Yann leapt over the counter, following her into a corridor thick with the stench of molten metal. More sweat beaded on his forehead each time he passed by a door blazing with the orange hue and filled with the clangour of refined metal characteristic of animated forges.

But his eyes locked on the closed door that the lady knocked on.

Instantly, a man opened it, revealing the flamboyant velvet carpet covering the ground. Wherever he gazed, he saw familiar displays filled with enchanted jewellery, weapons, and armor of quality far worse than what the capital's luxury accustomed him to.

And there, on the beige sofa, he saw Adam sip tea across from the old guild master as if nothing was wrong.

"Who—"

Before the lady's colleague could ask, Yann stepped inside, causing Adam and the guild master to raise a brow. Ignoring them, he sat beside Adam and gestured for the man to leave. "Close the door behind you." His voice was icy, the kind that would not accept no for an answer.

And Adam's was even icier. "Didn't we part ways about five minutes ago? Get lost, Yann."

---

AN: I fell asleep... Sry.