The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hung in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation. Virelia Grind, the small but ever-crowded campus café, was alive with the usual mid-afternoon rush. Dark oak tables, polished to a dull shine, were arranged in neat rows, each one occupied by students buried in notes, scrolling through tablets, or chattering about the latest campus drama. A glass display case near the counter housed an array of baked goods—glazed croissants, cinnamon rolls, and pastries filled with cream and fruit, their golden crusts illuminated by soft yellow lights.
Near the back, where the café's dimmer lighting offered some semblance of privacy, Huegen "Huey" Cross sat alone. His tall frame was relaxed against the wooden chair, his dark brown skin catching the glow of his tablet screen as he studied the grainy footage in front of him.
The video replayed again. A street corner, morning traffic passing by. Pedestrians moved at a leisurely pace, wrapped in jackets against the chill. A man in a dark coat entered the frame, walking with no particular urgency. Then, mid-step—he was gone. Not a flicker of light, not a shimmer of movement. One frame, there. The next, vanished.
Huey leaned forward, fingers tapping against his cup of coffee. The ceramic was still warm, the scent rich but untouched. His eyes, deep-set and sharp, studied the frozen image as though willing it to yield an answer.
A shadow loomed over his table.
"Yo, Huey."
The words were barely out before a heavy tray landed with a thud, nearly knocking over his coffee. Across from him, Willy Cheng collapsed into the chair, puffing out his cheeks. His round face was flushed from exertion, strands of his jet-black hair sticking to his forehead. A chubby build, an oversized hoodie that swallowed his frame, and a pair of glasses that always seemed slightly too big for his nose. His pet squirrel, Wheeler, peeked out from the pocket of his hoodie, beady black eyes scanning the table before it let out a shrill chirp.
"Bro," Willy huffed, shoving his tablet towards Huey, "we got in."
Huey blinked, lazily dragging his gaze to the screen. Virelia Institute—Logistics and Support Department Acceptance List. His name was there, as expected.
Willy Cheng (Crest: Shard, Level 1)
Huegen Cross (Crest: N/A)
He let out a soft, almost amused hum. "Knew I aced it."
Willy groaned, tearing open a sandwich wrapper like a man who hadn't eaten in days. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in. You probably got the highest score in the exam. I barely scraped through. My Crest is useless, and I'm Level One."
A tiny gust of air swirled over the table, rustling Huey's sleeve. Wheeler, still nestled in Willy's hoodie, flicked his tail with pride, his small body crackling with faint currents of wind.
"You have Wheeler," Huey pointed out.
"Yeah, and?" Willy took a massive bite of his sandwich, speaking around a mouthful. "Not like a flying rodent's gonna make me a top-tier agent."
Wheeler let out an indignant chitter, flaring his tiny paws as if ready to prove a point.
Huey smirked, raising his coffee to his lips—
A tray crashed to the ground.
The noise cut through the café's buzz like a blade. Conversations stuttered into silence. The clinking of utensils halted. Then—a dull thud.
Huey turned his head.
Near the counter, a student lay sprawled on the ground, limbs twitching unnaturally. A faint, eerie glow pulsed beneath his skin—veins illuminated with a silver light that flickered and pulsed like something alive. His breaths were ragged, his eyes rolling back as his body seized.
A waitress backed away, nearly knocking over a chair. Someone gasped. A murmur spread through the café, hushed but urgent.
"Crest infection."
"Call the Arcana Order."
Huey remained still. His gaze, sharp and calculating, took in every detail. The flickering veins. The way the glow surged erratically, like a failing lightbulb. The faint tremors that ran through the student's fingers before his whole body tensed like a drawn bow. This wasn't an ordinary case.
Then, before anyone could act—
The café doors burst open.
A woman strode inside, her coat black as midnight, trimmed with silver embroidery that shimmered in the dim lighting. Her presence was a cold gust of authority, sending a ripple of silence through the room. An Arcana Order agent.
Without hesitation, she flicked her wrist. Golden chains of light snapped into existence, wrapping around the convulsing student's limbs like living vines. The glow in his veins dimmed. His body sagged. His breathing steadied.
The agent pressed a finger to her earpiece. "Another one," she murmured. "Third case this week."
A low murmur spread through the café. Whispers, nervous glances.
Willy swallowed hard. "Damn."
Huey, his fingers lightly drumming against the table, finally took a sip of his coffee.
Three cases in a week? Interesting.
And just like that, his first mystery at Virelia had begun.
The café remained eerily silent, save for the faint clinking of a spoon against porcelain somewhere in the back. Even that stopped when the Arcana Order agent turned her gaze across the room, her cold, steel-blue eyes sweeping over the frozen patrons like a hawk sizing up prey.
Huey watched with idle curiosity, taking another sip of his coffee. It had gone lukewarm, but he barely noticed. Instead, he studied the student now restrained in glowing chains, his body limp but still faintly twitching. The silver glow in his veins flickered, unstable, as if fighting against whatever the agent had done.
Willy shifted uneasily in his seat. "You think he's gonna be okay?" His voice was hushed, low enough that only Huey could hear.
"Depends." Huey tilted his head. "If it's just a normal Crest overload, he'll recover with some treatment. If it's something else…" He trailed off, letting the weight of that possibility settle.
Willy grimaced. "You're really bad at comforting people, you know that?"
The Arcana agent crouched beside the student, murmuring something into her earpiece before flicking her fingers again. The golden chains around his body pulsed, adjusting to his spasms. Around them, the tension in the café held firm—no one wanted to move.
Then, finally, she stood. "Situation contained," she announced, voice clipped and professional. "Everyone return to your business."
Easier said than done.
Even as the noise of conversation hesitantly resumed, it was clear the café's atmosphere had shifted. Some students grabbed their things and left, not wanting to stick around in case another "incident" occurred. Others whispered among themselves, nervous glances flickering toward the restrained student as two more Arcana agents arrived, lifting him onto a stretcher infused with the same glowing energy.
Huey exhaled through his nose, watching as they carried him out. Three cases in a week. If that wasn't a problem, it was about to become one.
Willy leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You think it's linked to those rumors?"
Huey glanced at him. "What rumors?"
"The ones about synthetic Crests," Willy muttered. "I heard some students talking about it in the dorms. Supposedly, there's an underground group selling illegal Crest enhancements. If that guy got one and it went bad…"
"Sounds like speculation."
"Yeah, but three cases in a week?" Willy raised an eyebrow. "You think that's normal?"
Huey didn't answer right away. His fingers drummed against the wooden table, his mind already turning over the possibilities. A new mystery, dropped right in his lap. How convenient.
Willy narrowed his eyes. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
"Thinking about what?"
"The case. You always do this, man. You get that look."
Huey smirked. "What look?"
"The 'I'm about to ignore all common sense and dive headfirst into some ridiculous mystery' look."
Huey hummed, swirling the last bit of coffee in his cup. "Sounds like an exaggeration."
"It's not." Willy gave him a flat stare. "You were the same way in high school. Remember the stolen chemistry exam papers?"
"I solved that, didn't I?"
"And the 'haunted' locker room incident?"
"Turned out to be a raccoon stuck in the vents."
"And the time you tried to expose that teacher for selling test answers?"
UseHuey shrugged. "That was interesting."
"You got suspended for three days."
"Still solved it."
Willy groaned, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. "You're ridiculous."
Huey grinned. "You say that, but you're always there when things get interesting."
"Because you drag me into them."
"Semantics."
Willy muttered something under his breath, but his exasperation was undercut by the slight twitch of a grin. Huey smirked, leaning back in his chair. He'd poke at the mystery later. No rush.
For now, he had coffee, a decent afternoon, and the lingering amusement of watching Willy argue with his pet squirrel.
What more could he ask for?
The ride home was quiet.
Not in the usual, peaceful way—more in the "you're sitting in a car, fully aware of the impending storm awaiting you" kind of quiet. Huey leaned against the window, watching the cityscape blur past as the automated cab smoothly navigated the evening traffic. Skyscrapers gleamed under the setting sun, their neon signs flickering to life. Hover-drones zipped between buildings, delivering parcels and advertisements like mechanical fireflies.
Virelia's skyline was a mix of old and new. The lower districts still clung to cobbled roads and rustic buildings, while the upper city pulsed with advanced tech, glass bridges, and floating platforms. It was a city constantly evolving, yet some things never changed.
Like family.
With a small sigh, Huey adjusted his bag and checked his messages. Willy had spammed him with memes, as usual. Nothing from his uncle yet, but that was fine—he'd get to that later.
For now, he had a far more daunting task ahead.
The Cross family estate was an imposing sight even after all these years.
Built on the outskirts of the city, where the air was cleaner and the roads were quieter, the mansion stood tall—a sprawling mix of dark wood, stone, and sharp edges. It wasn't the modern kind of fancy, no sleek white surfaces or AI-run interiors. No, the Crosses preferred the classic kind of wealth. The "our house has hidden passageways and a personal library bigger than some bookstores" kind.
As Huey stepped through the front gates, the familiar scent of fresh cedar and aged books hit him. The house smelled exactly the same. Comforting. Unchanging.
The moment he entered, a voice cut through the air.
"Ah, he finally arrives."
His father, Atticus Cross, stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, arms crossed. Everything about him was sharp—his iron-gray hair was neatly combed back, his tailored suit pristine despite being at home, and his eyes, dark and observant, studied Huey the same way one might inspect an investment.
"You're late."
Huey shrugged. "Didn't know I was on a schedule."
"You're always on a schedule," his mother chimed in from the sitting area, where she lounged with a glass of wine. Unlike his father, Evelyn Cross had a more relaxed air, but it was the kind of ease that masked something far sharper underneath. She was a businesswoman through and through, dressed in elegant yet simple attire, her dark brown hair styled in a loose updo. "We expected you home hours ago."
"Got caught up in something."
His mother sighed, taking a sip of her wine. "Of course you did."
Atticus gestured for him to sit, and Huey obliged, dropping onto the plush leather couch across from them. He might as well get this over with.
"Well?" His father's eyes bore into him. "Let's hear it."
Huey stretched, letting the moment drag out just a little longer before casually saying, "I got in."
Silence.
Then—
His mother set her glass down with a soft clink. His father's gaze narrowed slightly.
The best institute for aspiring Crest users, future agents, and Arcana scholars. A school known for producing some of the most powerful figures in the world. A place where Crests defined your worth.
And Huey?
Huey had none.
His mother was the first to speak. "That's… impressive."
There was pride in her tone, but it was the reserved kind. The "I am proud, but also confused as to how this even happened" kind.
His father, however, was more direct. "You're Crestless."
Huey rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the reminder."
His mother regarded him for a long moment before a small smile tugged at her lips. "Hmph. You sound just like your uncle."
Atticus let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Huey smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
His father muttered something under his breath before standing. "Do what you want. But don't expect the world to wait for you."
"I never do."
With that, his father turned and left, disappearing into his study. His mother lingered a little longer, watching Huey with that same unreadable gaze before she, too, rose.
"Dinner's in an hour," she said simply. "Try not to get lost in one of your 'mysteries' before then."
"No promises."
She sighed, shaking her head with an amused huff before heading upstairs.
The moment she was gone, Huey pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.
He found the name easily.
Uncle Augustus
Tapping the call button, he leaned back, waiting as the line rang once… twice—
Then, a deep, booming voice answered.
"MY FAVORITE NEPHEW!"
Huey winced, holding the phone away from his ear. "You say that like you many have options."
Max Cross laughed, the kind of loud, unfiltered joy that completely contrasted the stiff, composed demeanor of Huey's parents. "Details, details! Now, what's the occasion? Hope you Didn't you finally decide to run away".
"Not quite." Huey smirked. "I got into Virelia."
Silence.
Then—
A loud bang echoed through the line, followed by what sounded like a chair being knocked over.
"YOU WHAT?!"
Huey chuckled. "Got in. Full acceptance."
"AH-HA! I KNEW IT!" Augustus practically roared.
"Huey's smirk softened slightly. "…Thanks."
"Hell, I gotta tell your grandpa! He's gonna lose his mind!"
Huey sat up straighter. "Wait, Grandpa?"
"Of course! He's gonna love this. He always said you had the strongest mind in the family. A Crest doesn't define a man—his actions do!"
Huey snorted. "Pretty sure that was your philosophy."
Max laughed. "Yeah, well, maybe I got it from him. Either way, you better be ready, 'cause the old man's definitely gonna want a word with you."
Huey leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips.
The Cross estate was quieter than usual, with his parents having retired to their respective corners of the house. Huey had barely finished his call with Uncle Max when the front doors swung open, followed by the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor.
"Where is he?"
Hermione Cross.
Huey barely had time to brace himself before his sister strode into the sitting room, sharp eyes locking onto him.
She still had her work ID clipped to her coat, fresh from a long shift at the hospital. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a neat ponytail, though a few strands had come loose—evidence of a day spent running between patients and emergency rooms. Despite her exhaustion, she carried herself with the same confidence she always had, her white coat draped effortlessly over her fitted black dress.
"You actually got in?" she asked, arms crossed, scanning him like he was one of her patients.
Huey smirked. "Didn't think I had it in me?"
"honestly no," twitching upward. "Still… I'm impressed, Huey. This is huge."
Before he could respond, another voice echoed from the hallway.
"Ahh, there's my little detective."
Hermon.
Unlike Hermione, their older brother took his time entering the room, tugging off his tie with practiced ease. He was the most relaxed of the three, dressed in a crisp navy-blue suit, fresh from a business meeting no doubt. His dark brown hair was cut short, his facial hair neatly trimmed—he was the perfect image of a successful entrepreneur, the golden child of the Cross family.
Huey rolled his eyes. "Took you long enough."
Hermon grinned, draping his tie over the back of the couch before ruffling Huey's hair. "I heard the news. Virelia, huh? Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
Huey swatted his hand away. "I'm not a kid."
Hermione sighed. "Ignore him. He's just upset you might actually surpass him."
Hermon scoffed. "Please, I'm a businessman. I don't compete with students."
Before anyone could say more, the sound of heels clicking against the floor returned, followed by a very familiar voice.
"Well, well, well… my baby brother's all grown up."
Hailee.
The eldest of the Cross siblings walked in like she owned the place. And, in many ways, she kind of did.
Dressed in an elegant burgundy suit, hair styled in a sleek bob, Hailee carried the aura of someone who had long since mastered the art of commanding a room. As a high-ranking legal consultant, she was the most intimidating of the siblings—sharp, efficient, and always three steps ahead of everyone else.
She stopped in front of Huey, looking him up and down with a smirk. "Virelia, huh?"
Huey crossed his arms. "Yup."
"And here I thought you were just going to solve petty crimes in back alleys forever."
"I still might," he shot back. "Just at a higher level now."
Hailee chuckled, ruffling his hair before taking a seat beside Hermon. "You never did care about doing things the 'normal' way."
Hermon gestured lazily toward Huey. "That's what makes him fun."
"Or a nightmare," Hermione added.
Hailee tilted her head. "Dad gave you the whole Crestless bit?"
Huey nodded.
She exhaled through her nose. "Figures." Then, after a moment, she smirked. "Guess that just means you'll have to be twice as good as everyone else."
Huey grinned. "That's the plan."
The conversation drifted from there, with his siblings teasing, congratulating, and, most importantly, supporting him in the way only family could. It was a strange contrast to his parents—where they were rigid, his siblings were free. Where they doubted, his siblings believed.
And for the first time that day, Huey felt something settle inside him.
The next morning, Huey set out early, slipping away before his parents could remind him—again—about his Crestless status. Not that it mattered. He had somewhere important to be.
His grandfather's home sat on the outskirts of town, nestled in a quiet, well-kept neighborhood. It was nothing extravagant, just a single-story house with a wide porch and an old wooden swing that creaked whenever the wind passed through.
But for Huey, this place was sacred.
This was where he first learned how to observe. Where he spent summers listening to stories about real cases, real criminals, and the real work of an investigator. Before Virelia, before anything else, his dream of becoming a detective started here.
And at the heart of it all was Henry Cross.
The man himself was exactly where Huey expected—sitting on the porch, sipping a cup of black coffee. Even in retirement, Grandpa Henry still carried the presence of a seasoned agent. His once jet-black hair had turned silver, but his sharp blue eyes remained just as piercing. He wore a simple button-down and slacks, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the faded scars of a lifetime spent in the field.
As Huey approached, Henry glanced up.
"You look like a man with something to say," his grandfather remarked, setting his cup down.
Henry gestured to the empty chair beside him. "Well, sit down and say it, then."
Huey didn't hesitate. He took a seat, hands resting on his knees before taking a slow breath. "I got into Virelia."
Silence.
Huey glanced sideways. "You're not surprised?"
Henry picked up his cup again. "heard from your uncle, besides I taught you, didn't I?"
Huey blinked. "So, you really think I can do this?"
Henry turned to face him fully, his gaze steady. "Boy, I know you can."
He set