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As he walked, a smirk played on his lips. He wondered what Anderson had done while he was gone.

It had been a deliberate move to leave the clothes with him—Noah could have easily returned in the night to bring them inside the house, but this was a test.

He wanted to see just how seriously Anderson took his commands, how far he was willing to go

Arriving at the gate, Noah was greeted by the sight of Anderson stepping out, looking slightly dishevelled, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Clearly, Anderson hadn’t rested much since taking on the task.

"Mr. Noah, I’m glad you’re back," Anderson said, his voice showing signs of fatigue. "I have the things in the office, just as you asked."

Noah glanced at the other guards who were stationed outside. They, too, looked exhausted, likely from standing watch all night while the office had been locked.

Noah couldn’t help but admire the effort.

"He really went all out to protect those clothes. This guy… he’s worth nurturing,"

Noah thought, the corners of his mouth curving into a satisfied smile.

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"I’m good, Anderson. Go ahead and open the gate, then bring the clothes to my mansion," Noah said with a calm tone.

Anderson straightened up immediately.

"Right away, sir," he responded.

He loaded the clothes into an SUV designated for the guards, while Noah leisurely made his way to the mansion.

It wasn’t long before Noah heard the soft ring of the doorbell inside the mansion.

"He’s here," Noah thought, walking over to the door to let them in.

As Noah opened the door, Anderson stood there with several large bags, flanked by a couple of guards who had helped transport the clothes.

"Mr. Noah, are we allowed inside to drop everything off?" Anderson asked, his tone as polite as always.

Noah smiled and nodded. "Of course. Come in."

The guards entered the mansion, carrying the bags into the spacious living room. As they carefully placed the clothes down,

Noah noticed Anderson’s wide-eyed glances at the mansion’s interior. It was clear that he was impressed.

He had likely been inside other mansions in the neighbourhood before, but none were quite like this one—grand in both size and design, it was a place that commanded respect.

Once the clothes were dropped off, the guards prepared to leave. Just as Anderson turned to follow, Noah stopped him.

"Anderson, I’d like to have a word with you. Come, sit down. The rest of the guards can go."

Anderson hesitated for a moment but quickly nodded. "Right away, sir," he said, motioning for the other guards to leave as he followed Noah into the living room.

He took a seat, still slightly overwhelmed by the grandeur of the mansion’s décor.

Before sitting down, Noah casually touched Anderson’s arm, activating Memory Glance with a subtle motion.

Images flashed rapidly through Noah’s mind, revealing pieces of Anderson’s past. The first memory showed Anderson, much younger and in his prime, dressed in military fatigues.

He stood tall and strong, commanding respect from his fellow soldiers. But the scene shifted quickly—gunfire, an explosion, the heat of battle.

Anderson fell, his body wracked with pain as he clutched his side, blood staining his uniform.

The memory flickered again, and Noah saw Anderson in a hospital bed, doctors shaking their heads as they discussed his prognosis.

His injury had been severe, and though he survived, his reflexes and physical strength began to deteriorate over time.

Eventually, he had to retire from the military, no longer able to serve at the level he once did.

The images shifted to Anderson’s present life—taking on the role of a guard leader, living in the shadows of his past.

Though he was competent, it was clear he missed the thrill of the life he had before the injury.

The injury was a constant reminder in the back of his mind.

Noah’s eyes flickered as the memory ended, his expression unreadable.

"So, this is who he really is."

"Not just a random guard leader," Noah mused silently. "He’s got potential. He’s not the type that’s easy to tame—he’s strategic and disciplined. But I can sort him out."

Noah leaned back in his chair and gave Anderson a thoughtful look.

"Let me brew us some tea," he said suddenly, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. From his inventory, Noah pulled out a small pouch of magic tea leaves.

Within minutes, Noah returned with two steaming cups of tea, setting one in front of Anderson.

As the fragrant aroma filled the room, Anderson’s eyes widened slightly. It was clear he immediately recognized that this wasn’t an average brew.

Noah smiled softly as he took a seat. "Here you go," he said, motioning to the cup. "This tea is special—made by me. It helps with recovering from past injuries, both mental and physical. Try it. I’m sure you’ll appreciate its effects."

Anderson hesitated for a brief second, his mind racing. "Does he know?" he thought, his pulse quickening.

"It can’t be… it must be a coincidence."

Still, Anderson couldn’t deny his curiosity. After offering a quiet thank you, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip.

The moment the tea touched his tongue, Anderson’s eyes shot wide open. A rush of warmth spread through his body, not just physically but mentally as well.

His thoughts became clearer and sharper, and a sudden lightness filled his chest.

It was as though a weight had been lifted—like the old injuries and scars that had been dragging him down for years were finally getting better, even if it was a small negligible change.

His hands trembled slightly as he set the cup down, staring at Noah in shock. "This… this tea…" he stammered, unable to form the words.

Noah’s smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with a quiet satisfaction. "I take it you like it, then?"

He nodded, his face showing gratitude and shock.