Chapter 84: You’ve Got to Study Hard

By the time Uriel had finished processing the fact that he was reincarnated with a silver spoon in his mouth, it was already getting dark. Not because he'd spent that long thinking about it, but because a storm was rolling in. Thick clouds pushed in from the west, swallowing the last of the sunset. The air thickened with the smell of wet earth, and street vendors began glancing up at the sky, hurriedly packing away their stalls.

"It's going to rain, little Uri."

Uriel nodded. He had two paper packages. Galatina had three. Both of them picked up the pace.

They'd barely turned the corner off the commercial strip when the first drop hit.

A few drops became a downpour within seconds, fat drops cracking against the cobblestones, leaving heavy, dark stains. The sky split open like a seam giving way and the rain fell in solid sheets.

Galatina reacted instantly. Shielding the three packages against her chest, she turned her shoulder to block the wind-driven spray and nodded toward the narrow eaves of a shuttered general store nearby. They jogged the last few steps and pressed in against the wall. The eave was narrow — barely enough for two people and five paper packages — and the runoff gathered at its edge and fell in a continuous curtain that crashed against the pavement at their feet.

"Mom brought umbrellas."

She reached one hand into the air, paper bag string still looped around her wrist. Reaching into the void of her storage magic, she withdrew two: one plain folding umbrella, and one slightly larger light-blue long-handled one.

Uriel looked at the umbrellas, then looked at the wall of rain outside. Droplets were bouncing off the pavement nearly half a foot high. The streetlamp across the road had dissolved into a smear of warm yellow light. Puddles were forming in the low points between stones.

"This isn't a light shower. We've also got clothes with us." He bounced the packages in his grip. "Let's wait it out. Move when it eases up."

There was a café right next door. The wooden sign above the door had been washed bright by the rain, the name carved in flowing script — The Stag Head Coffee.

Uriel shouldered the door open. A brass bell chimed overhead.

---

The space was small. Five or six tables. Warm-toned light pooled over dark wooden tabletops, giving them a smooth, burnished look.

The air carried the toasted scent of roasted coffee beans, mixing with the particular close dampness that only existed on rainy days. The combination was, unexpectedly, pleasant.

The window seat was open. Uriel walked over, set his packages on the empty chair beside it, and sat down. Galatina settled across from him, carefully stacking all three packages against the inner side of the wall-seat first — angled so nothing could catch a stray splash if the door opened — then picked up the menu.

When two cups arrived, the rain outside had grown heavier.

Uriel took a sip. The bitterness hit first, followed by the rich, roasted aftertaste. He paused. In his previous life, coffee had mostly meant sugary canned drinks or overly complicated syrupy stuff. This was his first time tasting the real, unfiltered deal.

He leaned back in his chair and looked out the window.

Three or four people were crammed under the eaves across the street. A woman with a market basket was brushing water from her skirt. Two students had their bags held over their heads. An old man with a cane stood quietly at the innermost edge, perfectly still.

Pedestrians with umbrellas moved quickly through the street. Rain drummed against the canopies in uneven bursts. A carriage turned the corner and the horses' hooves blew through a deep puddle, sending a sheet of muddy water splashing over the nearest sheltering figure. The figure jumped and shouted something. The driver didn't look back.

Then he saw the other one.

A few steps past the sheltering group, in the open gap between two shopfronts where there was no eave at all, stood a living sandwich board.

He was a young man wearing a cheap cloth tunic that had been soaked straight through to the skin. Two wooden placards were strapped to him—one on his chest, another on his back. On the boards, painted lettering in exaggerated colors: Royal Capital Grand Theatre · New Production: The Rose Knight Order · Curtain at Seven.

He was also holding a small flag. The rain had plastered it completely flat against the pole. Whatever color it had originally been was anyone's guess. Water ran from his hair down his face and into his collar.

He dragged a hand across his face, drew a breath, and kept calling out to the empty, rain-soaked street.

"The Rose Knight Order — performing tonight — front row seats still available—"

The rain swallowed most of it. By the time the sound reached the window, only fragments of syllables came through.

He couldn't go shelter under the nearby eaves.

The surrounding storefronts were just a few steps away, but he was carrying someone else's advertisement. He couldn't just duck under someone else's awning while advertising their business. That simply wasn't done.

No public overhang. No covered walkway.

He stood in the rain and kept calling.

---

Uriel held his cup and watched through the water-blurred glass.

Some things are universal.

He didn't say it out loud. He'd seen it before his reincarnation and here it was after. The era had changed. The world had changed. Magic had replaced technology. But a young man standing in the rain holding somebody else's advertisement looked exactly the same as it always had.

"Little Uri."

Galatina's voice came from across the table.

"Mm?"

"Do you see that person?"

Uriel set his cup down.

"I see him. That's rough."

And just like that, the next line practically auto-completed in his head before she even said it. Every child heard this speech eventually. Rainy day, someone working in it, and the adult beside you pointed and said:

So that's why you need to study hard. Or one day that's you out there.

He knew it was coming.

And here we go.

Even you, Mom? You're supposed to be above this kind of lecture.

But this was Mom. She'd never use the standard version.

He could already guess what she'd say. Something about how he needed to study hard so he could help people like that someday. Probably something like: otherwise you won't be able to help people like him. Then he'd nod, and they'd move on.

"Right." Galatina let out a quiet breath and stood up. "So you really do need to study hard, little Uri." She reached for the light-blue umbrella. "Otherwise, you won't be able to make things better for everyone."

Uriel nodded.

Called it —

He felt his eyebrows draw together slowly.

Free everyone.

Who exactly was everyone?

---

Galatina had already walked out of the café.

She crossed to the billboard man and held out the plain folding umbrella.

The young man went still. He looked at it the way someone looks at something they don't quite believe is real.

Water ran down his forehead. He blinked. His eyes moved from her face to the umbrella she was extending toward him. Both hands were still occupied — one holding the flag, plastered flat and useless against the pole, fingers pale from the cold, knuckles locked stiff.

His lips moved.

Maybe he said thank you. Maybe it was just the rain trembling against them.

He took the umbrella. His fingers closed tight around the handle.

Galatina had already turned back. She folded the long-handled umbrella, shook the drops from the canopy in the doorway, and pushed inside. The brass bell chimed. She settled into her chair, leaned the umbrella against the wall, lifted her coffee cup and took a sip — then frowned slightly.

Uriel watched her, wanting to confirm he hadn't misheard. "Mom. What did you just say. Free everyone from that kind of suffering — who's everyone?"

"Everyone." Galatina set her cup down, both hands folded in her lap, her expression candid and unhurried. "If little Uri studies hard and grows stronger, the world becomes a better place. So no one has to suffer like that anymore. That's what Mom thinks."

Uriel picked up his cup and took a tactical sip. It had cooled. The bitterness was sharper than before.

Make the world a better place. Free everyone from standing in the rain with an advertisement board.

That was way too big.

Where was he even supposed to start?

Wherever the actual shonen protagonist of this world is hiding — I could really use some help carrying this one.

He set the cup down and tapped two fingers against the table, deciding that deflection was the only viable response to something this heavy.

"Mom, isn't that a lot to put on one person? That's literally changing the world."

"Is it?"

Galatina tilted her head slightly.

Her expression wasn't the kind that said Mom believes in you, sweetie. It was closer to stating a fact she'd already confirmed for herself. The same tone used for things like water flows downhill or the sun rises in the east.

Inevitable. No caveats. No wiggle room.

"I just think little Uri is so capable. I'm sure you can manage."

"That's a massive amount of pressure, you realize?"

Galatina looked at him. Then the corner of her mouth curved upward again, and something different moved through her eyes — softer than the certainty from a moment ago.

The warmth of someone who wants to comfort you but doesn't want you to catch them doing it.

"Then little Uri just needs to do what he loves. Little Uri is kind. Follow your heart, and the world gets a little better on its own."

Uriel gave a noncommittal sound and ran his thumb slowly along the rim of his cup.

Internally, though, he had to admit it tracked.

He wouldn't call himself kind, exactly. But he didn't go out of his way to hurt people. When he saw someone getting rained on, he found it genuinely miserable.

Here was the thing, though. If he weren't kind — if he ever actually asked her to help him do something terrible — that was the end of the story. Full stop. She would listen to the entire request with complete seriousness, smile, and say: Little Uri must have a good reason for this. Mom will take care of it.

The world's continued survival, when he thought about it clearly, rested entirely on his combined two-lifetimes ethical score — which, averaged out, scraped a passing grade on a generous curve.

So her saying little Uri is kind wasn't wrong, in the end.

The cause-and-effect chain that had led him here was, somehow, both funny and heavier than it looked.

---

The rain eased.

What had been a solid curtain thinned into fine, close-set threads of water. Across the street, a few of the sheltering figures were already reaching hands out to test the air, then stepping out into brisk walks.

The puddles on the stone pavement caught the streetlamp light and trembled with small, overlapping rings.

"Let's go." Uriel stood and gathered the two packages.

Galatina lifted her three, took the light-blue umbrella, and followed him to the door.

They stepped outside and the after-rain air came forward immediately — clean, cool, carrying the layered scent of wet earth and bruised grass.

The street was filling back up with people. The billboard man was gone from his spot. With a working umbrella, he'd probably moved to better foot-traffic territory, or called it an early night.

Uriel looked at the empty gap between the two shopfronts, then looked away.

Something in his chest felt warm. Probably the hot coffee.

Probably.

The two of them walked side by side over stone pavement washed clean by the rain, heading back toward the inn at no particular pace.