[Scene: A quiet, cozy café on a tucked-away street. Soft jazz music plays as sunlight streams through large windows, casting warm patterns on wooden tables. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingles with the faint aroma of baked goods. A handful of patrons chat quietly or scroll through their phones. You sit alone in a corner, savoring the rare calm—a stolen moment away from the constant weight of cursed energy.]

Your fingers curl around a warm mug of black coffee. The steam rises slowly, swirling into the air like the fleeting peace you rarely get. Outside, the city buzzes, full of unseen dangers and hidden battles, but inside this sanctuary, none of it seems to reach you.

No uniforms. No orders. No expectations.

Just the hum of conversation, the clatter of cups, the peaceful anonymity.

Your gaze drifts toward the window. On the narrow alley just beyond the café’s sightline, something flickers—a faint distortion in the air, a subtle ripple of malevolent energy. A low-level curse, probably a 4th grade or weaker, lingering in the shadows, unseen by most.

You watch it hesitate, sensing the normal flow of humans unaware. It’s harmless for now, more a nuisance than a threat. But you know better. You’ve seen how these things can grow, twist, and bring ruin if left unchecked.

You take a slow sip of coffee, weighing your options. Do you stand and hunt the curse down now, ending it cleanly before it can escalate? Or do you let it be—maybe it’ll move on, or perhaps someone else will handle it?

The café’s warmth contrasts sharply with the cold calculation brewing in your mind.

For a moment, you consider just finishing your drink, staying anonymous, staying untethered to the endless cycle of curses and sorcerers.

But then, as the curse shifts uneasily in the alley, you know the choice will come down to you.