A day in the streets:
“Ahh, I see. The Admin sent you here,” the Hero says, spinning in place like a ballerina on a theater stage.
I blink. “…Yeah.”
I scratch my arm, uncomfortable.
“…Why are you spinning?”
He stops mid-twirl, grinning.
“Because I can.”
“…I don’t seem to understand.”
“Before I reincarnated, my body was so stiff. Now—”
He suddenly launches into a series of backflips, landing effortlessly.
“See? I couldn’t do that before and—”
He throws a casual punch downward.
The floor cracks.
A shockwave ripples outward, shaking dust from the walls. It feels like a mini earthquake beneath my feet.
“This,” he says proudly, “is a perfect example of who I am now.”
He looks down at me with a smirk.
“So tell me, peasant.”
“It’s… Daryn.”
“Hah!”
He laughs, loud enough for the sound to bounce off the walls.
“For a hero,” he says, grinning, “everyone else is just NPCs, my dude. You’re just—”
He squints at me, reassessing.
“Wait… no. Bad example.” He scratches the back of his head.
“Right. Everyone else is an extra. And you?” He points at me. “You’re a secondary character. Don’t feel bad. Anyone becomes secondary when a hero enters the scene.”
I stare at him.
He isn’t threatening. Not in posture.
Yet the smile on his face unsettles me—not because it looks like a wicked grin, but because that smile genuinely tells me he believes what he’s saying is true.
And the longer I look at him, the clearer it becomes why no hero has ever defeated the Demon Lord.
I can’t picture this man winning at all.
“Wow,” I say flatly. “And here I thought reincarnation came with humility.”
He laughs again.
“Why would I restrain myself?” he says. “I’ve never been this free. Since I reincarnated, I can do whatever I want.”
He taps my forehead with a finger.
“You should enjoy the change too.” he pauses and looks down at me with pity for a moment” In your old world, I bet your hair was boring, short and black. But now?”
He grins. “All your genetics, your fancy abilities—don’t you feel it? This excitement? Like, come on, you can do everything.”
He flexes a shiny bicep.
“Look at me! Muscles, six-pack abs—perfection.”
He spreads his arms wide.
“I’m famous across the kingdoms. I’m at the top!”
He throws both hands up, basking in imaginary applause.
“Hahahaha!”
His laugh is so loud that it catches the attention of some people walking by.
I don’t want to keep watching him move around so weirdly and draw attention.
“…Do you mind if we sit on the bench?” I ask.
“Sure, Deryn.”
“It’s Daryn.”
“Sure.”
We sit on the bench as we agree
The agreement doesn’t last.
He can’t stay still for more than three seconds.
Bael stretches, twists his torso, throws a roundhouse kick into the air, then spun again, like he is warming up for a dance contest instead of a conversation.
and almost immediately, he starts talking about his previous life—strangely enough, in the third person when he is talking to himself in the past.
“So let me get this straight,” I say, rubbing my temples.
“In your previous life, you were… a vendor? In a convenience store?”
He nods proudly “Yup. Just a humble shop guy until Truck-kun decided I looked delicious.”
“Truck-kun, huh…”
“Yeah, bro. Bael’s previous life wasn’t grand. He’d wake up, go to work, pretend to smile at customers, drag himself home, buy groceries on sale, walk the dog, clean the dog’s poop, then sleep.”
He sighs dramatically, then lifts one leg into a stretch so extreme it’s painful just to watch.
“That was the cycle. No color. No spice.”
…Honestly?
His old life sounds better than mine ever was.
Behind him, within a distance of eight meters, Cantheris is approaching. Staying in the restaurant was the best option for her—so she wouldn’t overhear our conversation—but it seems she has no intention of obeying at all.
The voice calling my name grows clearer with every meter she closes.
“Daryn!!”
“Daryn!!”
“Your girlfriend is back,” the hero says with a smirk.
“She is not—” I pause. “…My girlfriend.”
“Makes sense. She’s way out of your league.”
The way he says it is infuriating—like those trolls online comments. I want to kick his ass. But I know that would be suicidal. I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight with the wrong adversary. The least I can do is to look at him straight in the eyes
“Wow, relax, buddy. I’m not going to steal her. There are plenty of girls in this world.” he shrugs, grinning.
Then Cantheris arrives.
“Cantheris, I told you to wait in the restaurant.”
“And miss the fun you guys are having?” she says. “You didn’t tell me you were friends with the hero Bael.”
“Elf girl, I’m not his friend. Heroes are—”
He flexes both arms dramatically, striking a pose like he’s on a stage.
“Heroes don’t stick to people.”
He scoffs.
“That kind of thing’s for extras. Side characters.”
He waves a hand dismissively.
“The world moves forward. You either keep up… or stay where you belong.”
He grins, clearly pleased with himself.
His confidence is so inflated I’m surprised he’s not floating off the ground.
“Hero,” Cantheris says, tilting her head. “Where is the legendary sword everyone talks about?”
“Ah, so you did your homework, young elf.”
He grins.
A small portal opens beside him. He slips his hand inside and pulls out a sword.
It’s a beauty on its own. Not even in my most lucid dreams would I ever have the chance to obtain a weapon like that.
The sword has a dark black handle, ten inches long, embedded with red gems in the guard. The blade is massive—one hundred and sixty-six centimeters long—half of it coated in darkness, the rest shifting into gold near the tip. It’s wide too, nearly fifteen centimeters across.
Putting aside the fact that it’s one of the coolest swords I’ve ever seen—though I haven’t seen many—this weapon is nothing like what I imagined a hero would wield. In my mind, a hero’s sword should shine like the sun, blinding everyone around it, radiant and golden.
This one looks closer to a cursed blade… like Colt’s.
“Wait—don’t you think it’s irresponsible to pull that thing out in midair?”
He laughs.
“This isn’t a cursed sword. Not a divine one either.”
He casually rests it on his shoulder.
“It’s a sword perfectly made for my role.”
Cantheris frowns slightly at that word. Role?
“Anyone who tries to steal it gets instantly sent into the portal,” he continues.
“It reappears right back in my hand. Only I can wield it.”
He smirks.
“Besides, it’s not exactly easy to steal. Wanna try?”
“…Me?”
“Yeah. I bet you can’t even carry it.”
I brace myself and grab the handle with both hands.
The instant he lets go, my arms are ripped downward. The moment my fingers wrap around the hilt, my arms scream in protest. My chest tightens, lungs refusing to cooperate, as if the sword itself is pressing down on me.
The blade slams into the ground, dragging me with it. My knees crash against the floor, pain shooting through them.
The weight is unreal—like the entire world is pressing down on my spine.
My arms tremble violently. Heat floods my face as blood rushes to my head while I struggle uselessly against it. My fingers are crushed against the floor by the sword’s weight. I bite my lip hard, desperate not to scream, but muffled, broken sounds still slip out of my mouth.
In that single moment, my mind is no longer thinking clearly—only searching frantically for a way to get this sword out of my hands before the weight leaves me fingerless.
I can’t lift it.
I can’t even breathe properly.
Bael lifts it effortlessly with one hand.
“One-handed,” he says casually, as if he’s picking up a stick. “Four tons.”
All the sweat and worry vanish in an instant, replaced by a rush of disbelief that leaves me breathless—like I narrowly avoided death for a heartbeat.
I stare at the blade, then at him.
“So yeah,” he continues, smirking. “Only in their most humid dreams would anyone else manage to barely separate this sword from me.”
When the weight finally leaves my hands, my arms throb violently. The pain is deep, hot—already settling in.
Tomorrow is going to be worse. I know it.
The burning sensation crawls up my muscles, twisting into something uglier. Anger. Frustration. And that word keeps echoing in my head.
Four tons.
“Four tons… DUDE,” I snapped. “That could’ve killed me!”
He laughs—not cruelly, just amused. As if almost killing someone is just another punchline.
“Relax,” he says. “That’s why I pulled it away in time.”
He hums to himself, eyes closed, posture loose and confident. Completely unbothered. The kind of person who finds everything funny—as long as he’s not the one bleeding.
I open my mouth to fire back—
Footsteps.
Firm. Purposeful.
Someone is approaching.
“Bael.”
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through the air.
I turn.
It’s the captain from the other day—the man who stood beside the silver-haired girl.
He is ignoring me or perhaps he has forgotten about me.
There is no wonder in that, like the hero says, next to him, I am just an NPC.
“Ey, sup, old man!” Bael waves at him like he’s greeting a drinking buddy.
I actually see it.
A vein pops on the captain’s forehead. Not metaphorically. Physically.
“Bael,” he growls,
“If you were summoned here, we expected you to arrive earlier.”
Bael shrugs.
“Well, wasn’t the meeting scheduled for next week?”
“Yes,” the captain replies, jaw clenched,
“but your arrival to the castle was projected within one hour. Not eight later.”
Bael flicks his hand dismissively.
“Sorry, butthead.”
He stretches, cracking his back loud enough to scare birds from the trees.
“Tonight I was busy helping a restaurant deal with some problems,” he says casually.
“That’s what heroes do, you know?”
He puffs his chest.
“Community service, baby.”
The captain exhales through his nose, like a dragon barely holding back fire.
Even I can feel his patience tearing apart, thread by thread.
“If it makes you feel better, I have been here since last week. Long story short, I heard that Zakarias was seen in this kingdom. I've been in the dungeon these past couple of days but have no clue. So I was really thinking about being on time. ”
“Zakarias seen in the kingdom?”
The captain ask really worry even his tone changed
“Yeah but it might’ve been rumors, what a shame, I really wanted to test all my powers with him.”
The hero makes a tantrum
After hearing that the captain composure returns
“We have matters to discuss. Get ready. We’re going to the palace now,” the captain snaps.
“Just take a break—come on” Bael adds lazily “It’s already night. Why not start tomorrow? I’ll be there on time.”
“Bael,” the captain growls, “the king waited for this meeting—and even agreed to your ridiculous terms. The least you can do is show up early.”
“Whoa, whoa. Ridiculous?” Bael smirks. “It’s a fair price for a hero. Come on—who else can do that kind of job?”
He grins wider.
“Besides, I already met the king once. It’s not like it’d be his first time.” He shrugs. “Now, if it were his first time, I’d understand. Who wouldn’t want a meeting with the great Hero Bael? Every kingdom wants a hero to protect their domain.”
“You really don’t understand—”
The captain stops mid-sentence.
He notices me.
Then Cantheris.
Whatever he was about to say, he swallowed it.
“I’m afraid I must insist”
For a single second—
Bael changes.
His posture straightens. His smile vanishes. His eyes sharpen.
“I want it tomorrow.”
He grips the sword—not raising it, not swinging it.
Just holding it, like a reminder.
The captain stiffens.
Sweat beads on his temple.
“…Fine, it is not like a day will hurt” he says, taking a step back. “But this will be deducted from your reward, per our agreement.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Bael scoffs.
The captain turns and leaves.
The moment his back is turned, Bael sticks out his tongue and pulls exaggerated faces like a child who just won.
Cantheris watches the captain, thoughtful.
“Do you know him?”
“I don’t,” she says slowly. “But… I feel like I’ve seen him before.”
As soon as the captain disappears from sight—
“Right! Hahaha!” Bael laughs. “He retreated just because I frowned. Did you see that? Damn, it’s way too easy.”
He claps his hands together.
“ Fans, time for me to go! I heard there’s a party nearby!”
He bends his knees like a runner at the starting line.
“Enjoy the night!!!”
And then—
He’s gone.
“Can you believe we just met a hero?”
Even though she looks happy, her eyes don’t shine like those fangirls’.
Makes sense. She’s intelligent—sharp. She wouldn’t fall for a jerk or a pretty face.
Her thoughts are pure, she’d choose a book over a man any day.
She’s obviously the type who saves herself for someone special.
That reassures me she’s not like the others.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You’re practically steaming.”
I cough. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I glance at her. “I know, right? It’s not every day you meet a hero. And you—wow—you don’t sound like those fangirls at all.”
“Well,” she says calmly, “heroes inspire the younger ones. But I’m not a little kid, you know.”
“So-” I stop middle sentence getting nervous to ask, I can’t ask
Damn it is so embarrassing but I have to know.
“Wanna continue? “
“Ummm sure, I bet we can see something more”
It will be worth it to spend my time and effort on her.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following day, I returned to my job.
My arms are quite sore but nothing to regret.
“It’s 6 a.m.” I look up at the sky knowing that today is going to be another hard day at work.
“ If I work hard enough, I can make up for what I missed yesterday.”
The field is empty except for the main office building.
There is no trace of Paul Then I decide to walk around to find him.
Approaching my job zone I pick up where I left off, but I can’t find anything unfinished. Everything looks… complete.
“That’s weird, I thought that this is where I was supposed to continue”
It doesn’t take long before Paul shows up with a big bag.
“Hey, Paul,” I say. “You guys really worked hard.”
I try to sound confident. I know he’ll try to scare me, so I brace myself.
I deserve a punishment. I know that.
“I know I know what you are going to say, and I’m sorry but I just couldn’t stay, but you insisted on my to be in the entire shift and you know-”
“Daryn, you’re fired.”
“What?”
That’s not what I expected.
The words I prepared in my head vanish. Fear takes over, and desperation speaks for me.
“Wait—Yesterday. It was a simple mistake. Come on, I’m the best on the team.”
He throws me the bag
“Here is all your staff and take with you.”
“But Paul, you’ll lose time hiring someone else. ”
He laughs.
“You work for hours—those hours belong to us. Every damn second of your shift.”
He leans closer.
“We don’t need someone who thinks their ass is their own during job hours.”
Then he turns and walks away.
It fills me with desperation, so I quickly retreat to my car. Something inside me wants to come out—it’s like tears are flowing, but I don’t let them spill until I’m inside.
My fingers shake as I drop the keys, then snatch them up again.
I open the car and shove myself in, like someone’s tackled me into the seat.
The warmth of the car calms me slightly. I need to focus on something else.
I put on music, and without realizing it, I’m crying—the warm liquid stings my eyes.
“It’s not fair… fuck.”
I breathe a little faster, heavier than usual, each inhale thick with mucus clogging my nose.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Without realizing it, my eyes opened. It seems I had slept out of pure exhaustion.
I feel a little better, calmer—but I still don’t want to go home.
“It's 8:23 am. I can’t keep crying forever” I chuckle “Either way I earn points with cantheris. For now, I must enjoy this little vacation. A vacation with a tight budget….”
I decided to drive downtown in hope to see something that can distract me.
Seeing traffic increase, I decided to walk.
Buying bread and oat without sugar as breakfast.
“I shouldn’t be eating much bread, but I need to get my stomach full. Besides-”
For some reason today most shoppings stores are closed.
I didn’t know why until I could see with my eyes a few blocks from the main thoroughfare I noticed something blocking the streets.
It turns my curiosity on so I keep on walking.
The sounds grow louder—not because the volume increases, but because they’re approaching the path I’m on.
About five meters ahead, I notice a large crowd marching, their voices rising in unison. The distance closes with every second.
“Wow…”
From my position, the intersection is completely flooded with people.
“What’s going on?”
There’s no way to pass through—just a sea of bodies moving forward. I can’t even see the end of the line. With no other option, I wait patiently for the crowd to pass. As I stand there, I hear countless voices. At first, I think they’re all shouting the same thing, but soon I realize each group has its own chant.
Because the groups overlap, I can’t tell who belongs to whom, but when I focus, fragments slip through.
“They attacked my shop.”
“They killed my brother.”
“Stop the extortions”
When I notice the signs they’re carrying, it becomes clear—they’re all talking about the climbers’ group.
Spotting a small gap among the crowd, I push my way through. The heat of so many bodies is suffocating, but forcing my way forward is the only option.
“Finally—now I can—”
I look ahead to the next intersection.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?”
But this one is different.
Every sign carries the same message—demands directed at the kingdom. The drawings catch my eye, stirring a strange sense of empathy. Flames engulfing people, sketched in disturbing detail.
These aren’t exaggerations. They’re serious.
“Damn… no wonder the villagers were like that.”
By some miracle, I didn’t lose Rika during that event.
“Wow… I forgot—where is Mi—”
Suddenly, someone touches my shoulder.
I turn to see an old woman gripping a cane, barely able to stand.
“Young man,” she says softly, “Would you please help me? I’m trying to find my son.”
Her voice is almost drowned out by the loudspeakers. Since I’m not part of the protest, she seems to assume I have time.
She is asking for help, if I refuse then what if something happens to her or her son. Will they be able to sleep peacefully from now on?
I can’t let that happen.
“Ah, sure. What does your son look like?”
Her description is vague—black hair, average build, a champagne-colored shirt and jeans. At least he isn’t a child. That makes things a little easier. He could still be nearby, calling for her.
“When did you last see him?”
“We were walking through the march,” she says, pointing to where I came from. “Then two men pushed us by accident. It caused a commotion. I felt dizzy, and when I came to… I was alone.”
“I see. Then we’ll look around, I don’t think he went far.”
It’s the most obvious lead.
If he got separated, there’s a good chance her son is still somewhere around this area.
It took more than two hours but I didn't have a clue.
Even when we scream help to people, the activists neither stop nor lower their volume.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“This will be harder than I expected.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“We’ll get out of the crowd for a second.”
We push through out of the marches.
Two men are laughing nearby, talking loudly, but I ignore them.
Until a can is suddenly thrown at my head.
Two men without shirts: one with an eye patch and a sword on his back with a big grin; the other wearing only pants with chains at the waist with some missing things and some hanging.
They are standing near a light pole outside a store. No matter if you see from far or close, they are sure to be adventurers.
“Brother Louie, look—that’s the hag who was with that guy from before. She quickly replaced the poor bastard.”
In order to get answers I try to talk with them but the old woman’s weak hand pushes me, trying her best to drag me away. In her eyes, I see tears.
“What you doing those might know where is—”
“Don’t—They—”
We make it to the alley.
“What’s going on?”
“The thing is…” she keeps crying. “When those evil men pushed us, my son tried to defend me, the same way you did. I thought…” She breathes heavily. “I thought it would be a short discussion”
“Relax,” I say.
She continues, gasping for air. “The other guy hit me in the neck and I fainted. After waking, I tried to find my son… but—” She stops, unable to speak.
“The two evil men are free… and your son is missing.”
Her fear is palpable; she seems ready to give up.
“Wait for me.”
“What—” she pulls my hand. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call the knights.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring your son home.”
“They are going to kill you. Those guys sure are killers…” She start crying
She is breaking.
“Nobody is dead, relax. I promise I will bring him back. So please don’t cry”
She tugs at my arm, but I slowly pull away and keep moving.
Exiting the alley, I accidentally bump into someone.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
That blank, unforgettable expression.
“Lars!” I yelp.
She stares at me for a few seconds.
A chill runs down my spine.
She means trouble. Forget it—I’m already in deep. I can’t let her drag me straight to the bottom of the ocean.
“Good afternoon” she says “ frankly, I never expected to see you here. I thought you were living in the south”
“Yeah… yes… a lot of things happened and you, huh, what are you doing here?”
She tilts her head.
“Keeping watch over this place.”
“No, I mean—you know what, forget it. But you’re here working like… what?”
“I prefer if we don’t continue with the query.”
“Good. Oh, well… you know, I remember I have things to do. Tasks and chores.”
I wave and start to run. “It was nice seeing you. Bye.”
There’s no way I’m getting involved with her again.
Step. Step. Step.
“Where are they?”
Step. Step. Step.
It is like they move out from that place.
Step. Step. Step.
“There they are.”
I spot the two men from earlier hanging out on the next street.
Step. Step. Step.
“Brother, can you believe this guy came back?” one of them scoffs. “That old woman must be out of her mind to send you.”
“Where is the son?”
“The bastard?” He smirks. “Didn’t his mother teach him not to talk to strangers?”
“Brother,” the other one says, cracking his neck, “let’s teach this bastard a lesson too.”
The second man yawns. “I don’t know. We’re already in—why waste time on this twink?” He grins. “Then again… one body might be fine. Two might make us stand out.”
They split apart, each drifting to my sides, deliberately stepping into my blind spots.
A classic move.
Two attacks from different angles.
Dirty fighting.
Nothing new.
One throws a punch straight at my face while the other aims low, driving a blow toward my liver.
I remember my father’s kicks to the liver. A clean hit there could knock me out cold. A punch to the face, on the other hand, is easier to deal with.
I focus entirely on the liver attack.
I accept the punch to the face.
In exchange, I launch an uppercut with everything I have before the punch connects to the liver.
The impact is brutal. I see teeth flying.
The other man freezes mid-motion.
“What—”
The man with chains on his pants collapses, his body hitting the ground limp. Asleep.
“So, Louie,” I say, stepping closer, “you have one minute to tell me where the son is—before I make sure you look worse than your friend.”
“Bastard,” he snarls, a wicked smile twisting his face. “Don’t think for a second you’re better than me just because you beat my brother. You’re no match for me. With these hands, I crush the faces of my enemies. I pop their eyes with my punches.”
I check his level.
Level 6.
Strong, sure—but nothing special.
He reaches for the sword on his back.
I don’t let him.
I move before he can even grip the handle, forcing him back into close combat. He has no choice but to throw punches.
I dodge calmly.
He’s good—but I’ve already felt his punches.
Taking one or two more won’t change the outcome.
The difference in speed is obvious.
He’s sweating now. His impatience reeks. His breathing grows heavy while mine stays steady.
He wipes sweat from his forehead.
“Bastard… there’s no way.”
Step
Step
Step
Each step I get closer to him.
Then he raises his hand covering his face from afar.
“Wait-Wait- we don’t have to go further, you want that guy right, who was with the old hag. Right, right!” He says in a voice trembling “We were just pranking him, we-” he gulps
His bravado falters. He hesitates, then retreats—tripping over and over.
I follow him.
We reach an abandoned building nearby a shore.
“We don’t have to make it more difficult”
“You… fine, he is here.”
After a few seconds shots echo from within. As I approach, the sight stops me cold: The adventurer lies on the floor, bleeding. A man stands over him, a gun in hand.
He has long black hair, a dead, expressionless face—not unlike Lars, but with subtle differences. Baggy eyes hint at sleepless nights, and a small mole marks his right cheek.
His coat is striking: long, white, and dark-trimmed, almost brushing the floor. It hangs open, sleeves wide like wings, the fabric immaculate, ceremonial. Black lines trace his shoulders, emphasizing a sharp, almost ritualistic precision.
He stares at me, eyes empty, unshaken. No fear, no hesitation.
Words aren’t necessary—any sound could be fatal. A single misplaced syllable could be like a double-edged blade; it will distract our minds.
Action, not speech, is the only language here. For me, especially—one wrong move, one stray bullet, and it’s over.
Only a raised arm, the gun poised, ready to fire. He’s probably assuming I’m frozen in fear.
In contrast to me his face is unreadable, a blank mask. I can't see what his next play will be. Resulting in moving sideways, then step backward, trying to disrupt his aim, confusing his timing.
Then, shock—he drops the gun to the floor. The sound echoes like a warning. My chest tightens. This was nothing like I expected. I stumble, just for a second, but recover, pressing forward instead.
The gun hits the floor with a sharp thud.
Less than two meters separate us.
He moves a finger, pointing down—a silent command.
It’s too late.
A suppressed shot slices through the air, grazing beneath my shoulder. Pain explodes along my side.
I scream.
For a second I am on the floor screaming.
My mind tries to focus.
A sniper. But where…?
He approaches—calm, unhurried.
He looks down at me as if inspecting a fallen object.
“You’re alive?” he says mildly. “I really thought I’d have blown your brains out. Seems your survival instincts are better than I expected.”
I force myself up onto both feet, wobbling into a crude fighting stance.
He sighs.
“I suppose, since you survived, I should apologize for what my men did,” he continues. “And to make your death slower.”
“I won’t let you kill me until you tell me where the son is.”
For a split second, his eyes widened in surprise.
“Big words,” he says, “for someone standing at death’s door.”
He pauses.
“Where is the son?” I snarl. “Tell me—before I make you regret not shooting me twice.”
From behind him, in the darkness, something appears.
My blood freezes.
Six armed men step forward.
I swallow hard.
He sighs again and flicks his eyes to the side.
Two of them step forward, dragging a body that matches the old woman’s description of her son.
“I told my men to bring only one,” he says calmly. “There is no need for the other.”
“You—!”
“Hm?” He tilts his head. “I’m not a bad man. I have no intention of killing both innocents.”
The cold and the pain steal my voice.
It’s as if my body is telling me to save what little strength I have—for one final attack.
Another shot slams into my knee joint.
The shock rips my balance away, forcing me down into a squat, one arm barely keeping me upright.
“Scream all you want,” he says calmly. “No one is coming to help you.”
I try to stand.
Fire erupts through my leg.
Using my other leg as a lever but I collapse, slipping in my own blood as it spreads across the floor.
My vision blurs. Consciousness starts to fade.
I hit the floor.
The last thing I see is him approaching.
My eyes closed.
“Don’t die yet.” I hear voice
Something pierces my neck.
The bleeding stops.
The pain fades.
Sensation rushes back all at once. I can feel it. I can move.
As if none of it ever happened.
Only seconds ago I was bleeding out, unable to stand. Now my body responds perfectly—smooth, obedient.
I’m in shock.
Not because of side effects.
But because this is better than any hospital rehabilitation I’ve ever known.
Even my mood is better than before.
Is this a new drug? Or what is it?
I stand quickly a few meters away from him.
“What did you do to me”
“It seems to work,” he says with a smile. “This really shows great advances.”
“Hey”
“That kid is really brilliant.”
He ignores my talking
“Ha ha, I really made the best decision to hire him. I can see many payings a ton for this formula”
“Hey” I move only one single step
Then another multiple shot in my two knee joints.
Make me hit the floor immediately.
I scream in pain
He is playing with me.
Treating me like his men, none more than an object.
Something that he can get rid of easily.
He turns his face to see me, clearly annoyed.
“Don’t you understand your situation? Is futile. So Shut up for a second. Since the test is over I don’t need you anymore. ”
“You-lets fight hand to hand, you-coward”
He grabs with his fingers his face in irritation and groans.
“You must be really thinking you are special since you are a player”
“Huh?”
Did he just say player?
He pulls out a cigar.
“Do you think cigars come from this world?” He pauses, watching my reaction.
“Yes—but look closely,” he continues, lifting it. “This one. Do you see it?”
He grabs my chin, forcing my head up. I have no strength to resist.
It’s a perfectly normal cigar.
And that’s the problem.
It’s from my world.
“You—”
“Me?” He smiles faintly. “Yes. I’m another player, Daryn.”
His fingers press into my cheeks, stopping me from speaking.
“Maybe you’re wondering how I know your name. I understand.” He closes his eyes, utterly calm. “I’d be scared too if an enemy knew my identity, my information.”
He releases my face.
Then flip me, his foot comes down on my chest. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp.
“Let me give you a hint. Does a boxer,” he says softly, “and a hospital ring any bells?”
So he’s the one.
The man who sent the boxer during the hospital attack.
“I can see the anger in your eyes,” he continues, almost amused. “But no—I’m not particularly interested in that priestess nor in you. I simply keep a register of everyone I cross paths with. You just have bad timing, that's all.”
He sighs
“Now that you’ve seen me in person…”
“…you have to die.”
I try to move.
Nothing responds.
I’m trapped.
Then—
The man is sent flying like a rag doll.
Step.
Step.
Step.
“It’s like you’re a magnet for trouble.”
“L?Lars…” My voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.
The man forces himself upright, eyes narrowing.
“Lars.” He chuckles as if that name amuses him.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Silent multiple shots, tearing through the air from different angles, all aimed at Lars. Coordinated and Precise.
“I’m not risking a fight here,” the man mutters.
While the other man gets ready a van to leave.
He retreats instantly, disappearing before the echoes fade.
Lars remains standing.
She’s bleeding—slowly. As I get closer, I see it clearly: wounds across her body, shoulders, torso, even dangerously close to her neck. Every shot carefully avoided her head. She dodged them. Not all—but enough.
She walks toward me.
Unsteady, but upright.
I can see the tremors in her movements, hear the low groans she tries to suppress. Still, she stands taller than I do.
The floor is littered with cartridges.
It looks like long?range rifles emptied their magazines all at once—
“We need to get to my place,” she says weakly.
“Hey, you’re badly hurt. We should go to a hospital.”
“It’s fine.”
She cuts the conversation short.
Behind us, the other man starts to wake up.
“Huh…?”
I scramble for words, trying to explain without sounding insane.
“Don’t worry. I know this all looks weird—and trust me, I’ve seen way worse—but please, please don’t panic. The agent—”
Suddenly, warmth presses against my cheek.
Or rather… I don’t feel it the normal way.
Everything goes dark.
I realize, too late, that she punched me.
The blow feels completely out of place—
but it still knocks me unconscious.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brain.
My head.
My skull.
“It hurts… What the hell happened?”
I’m in a small, enclosed room. Painfully simple—but still better than my actual place. The kitchen, bed, and fridge all share the same space. Even the bathroom is here, separated only by thin walls pretending to be privacy.
The floor isn’t really a floor—just packed earth, scrubbed as clean as possible. The ceiling looks like it could cave in at any moment.
The kitchen takes up barely a quarter of the room. A faint scent of tea lingers in the air.
Lars stands there, boiling water over a gas flame. She notices I’m awake.
“You okay?”
Bandages wrap tightly around my head. More bandages around my legs—I can feel them beneath my pants.
My knees throb dully beneath the sheets.
Even healed, the joints remember the bullet.
The slight combination of pain goes through my body and that is when I remember what happened.
“You punched me, idiot,” I groan as I try to move.
“You almost called me an agent in front of a civilian,” she says flatly. “You can’t say things like that out loud. That information is mine to share—or not.”
“Yeah, but you could’ve stopped me another way.”
“How?”
“What do you mean how? Put a finger over my mouth, cover my words, shout over me—anything!”
She tilts her head, genuinely confused.
“This was easier.”
I try to sit up.
My head explodes with pain.
“Don’t move. You need rest.”
“Why am I not in a hospital?”
“It’s complicated,” she says. “Don’t worry. I have everything necessary to take care of you.”
She gives me a cup of tea.
I sip the tea.
A strange calm spreads through my body. It’s made from plants I’ve never seen in stores—but whatever it is, it’s working.
“And the son?”
Her eyes widen slightly—surprised I remember.
“He’s fine,” she says, taking a sip of her own tea. “Why did you go through all that trouble to help her?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not exactly in my best moment. So maybe…” I scratch the back of my neck. “I just wanted to feel good after helping someone. You know, an emotional boost”
Her half-closed eyes study me with suspicion.
“I can tell when someone’s lying.”
“Oh? Wow. That’s a dangerous secret to share,” I say lightly, pointing at her. “Good thing I’m not lying.”
She keeps staring.
“It just feels painful,” I finally say, quieter. “Losing family. I couldn’t just stay still.”
“Family, huh.”
“Well, doctor,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “How long am I going to be stuck in bed?”
“I’m not a doctor.” She pauses. “Based on your wounds, you shouldn’t move much for a couple of weeks.”
“Of course I know you’re not a doctor,” I say. “It was just a joke.”
I don’t know who the idiot is—me, for trying to joke with her, or her, for not understanding one.
“To answer your question, there’s a chance your knees suffered trauma. They’re healed, but recovery takes time.”
“So… I won’t be able to walk?”
“I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say for sure. But if you want my opinion—you’ll walk just fine. Just give it some rest.”
My body agrees, reminding me of what she said—weeks. But it’s not a big problem. Tomorrow I’ll start eating rocks and regain my life points.
“I have to go,” she says. “Night patrol. Stay here and sleep.”
Still… wasn’t she worse than me?
I look at her more carefully.
She seems fine, even though she was shot. But when I focus, I notice dark stains on her hood—no, not stains. Blood. The wounds are still bleeding slowly.
She notices my stare.
She turns around and pulls back her hood slightly, showing the back of her neck. A small bandage covers the spot where she was shot. It’s soaked red.
“You’re going out like that?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“No way. You’re going to faint any moment.” I grab her arm.
“Don’t make me break your arm.”
A chill runs through me.
I let go immediately.
“You really are like that, huh.”
“Like what?”
“Forget it. Changing the subject—something’s been bothering me.”
“What is it?”
“The man we fought. Who was he?”
She rinses her cup.
“Tomorrow, clean your cup before you leave.”
“Hey! I’m talking to you!”
“What.”
“The guy—the one shooting from who-knows-where. All those snipers.”
“I can’t share that information with a civilian.”
She says it calmly while preparing a small backpack.
“Come on. Now you are calling me a civilian? You’ve already shared more than you were supposed to. And now you’re telling me you can’t say anything?”
“It’s because,” she says without looking at me, “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
That cuts the conversation short.
She’s right. After our last meeting, we both thought we’d never see each other again. I don’t know about her, but from my side… I didn’t want to. Even now, I don’t want to spend more time here with her.
But that man—he isn’t alone. He belongs to a large group. Too many people working under him.
He’s the one responsible for the hospital attack.
“He’s the one who sent the men who attacked Tsukihana,” I say. “Who knows if he’ll keep trying?”
“Why do you care?” she asks. “You’re far away from that place now.”
“He’s testing some kind of drug. Or something worse. That guy is dangerous.”
“I repeat—why do you care?” Her voice stays flat. “It’s not your duty. Leave this to me. That is my purpose.”
I force myself up, ignoring the pain, and grab her by the hood.
“Why are you so insensitive?” I snap. “Isn’t Tsukihana your friend?”
“I don’t have friends,” she replies. “Only duty.”
A sudden tap—then weight crashes onto my shoulder, forcing me down.
“Wow—what—”
“No matter.” She says” No matter how much you want to help, you are a civilian, or did you already forget what happened today.”
That really hits reality.
My powers aren’t like Bael’s, nor are they like Lars’.
Even if I’m good at fighting, I still have a limit.
I understand the situation now. I’m not a hero—let alone an adventurer.
Even if it hurts my pride, I have to accept reality and help only in the ways I’m capable of.
Not recklessly meddling in things beyond me.
“Now.” Her stare is intense “Get back in bed,” she says firm but coldly. “Or I’ll break your legs.”
I glare at her.
I gulp.
I can’t even get mad. If she had shouted, I would’ve shouted back. Instead, I feel something closer to pity.
“…Fine.”
I crawl back to the bed.
After I enter the bed and put the blanket on.
“His code name,” she says after a pause, “is GunKiller12ofnormies.”
That’s definitely him.
“You’re a tsundere, aren’t you?”
“A what?” She tilts her head, genuinely confused.
“Nothing. Continue.”
“He’s the leader of the Climbers.”
“Oh…” I exhale. “That explains a lot.”
“I’m not sure what their plans are now,” she continues, “but he’s listed among the ten most wanted men across all kingdoms.”
“He looks dangerous, sure—but how exactly?” I ask. “If an advanced adventurer fought him like you did, he’d be defeated easily.”
“You’re right,” she says. “But power isn’t his greatest weapon.”
“Then what is?”
“Intelligence.”
“Huh?”
“His criminal organization is massive, even in its current weakened state.” She stands on the door “There are at least two other highly dangerous individuals working under him.” She pauses. “Do you remember the dandy from the last incident? He was a customer of GunKiller”
“Customer?”
She opens the door.
“We don’t know how,” she says without turning back, “but every source points to the same conclusion—he’s the creator of the shooting weapons.”
“Wait-”
She leaves without another word. The door closes with a gentle smack.
Normally, I’d worry about a girl being alone at night—but she’s more like a force of nature wearing the shape of one. I’m far more worried about the next person unlucky enough to cross her path.
Now that I think about it, he showed me a cigarette—exactly like the ones from my world.
So he can create things from our original world.
But I still don’t understand how that makes him one of the most wanted men across all kingdoms.
“I hope she’s right… that she can handle everything.”
I look around.
“So this is her room, huh…”
It’s small, but cozy. Still, it’s kind of unexpected that she lives like this.
…Or maybe this isn’t even her room.
I chuckle. “Yeah. No way this is her room.”
I probably shouldn’t judge her living situation when, if I miss my rent, I’ll end up worse than this.
Right. I’m jobless.
“I should find a way to get a job in this couple of days.”
I yawn.
“I feel numb… and sleepy.”
I lie down.
“I’ll sleep now.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The family trivia:
I wake up, and the first thing I notice is her absence.
My body feels better. When I step onto the floor, pain shoots through my legs with every step—but at least I can stay on my feet.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to—”
My legs tremble, and I almost fall.
“Where’s a rock when I need one?”
I pick up a few stones from outside the door and eat them.
The bland taste only fuels my hunger. My stomach growls.
“That sounds like I’m healthy now.”
Snooping around someone else’s place would normally be a bad idea—normally. Still, the chocolate cookies on the table are practically begging, so I take a few. I open the fridge and throw together eggs with vegetables, simple and fast.
I do a quick routine of exercises testing how much the wound hurts, then I decide to take a bath.
“Only cold water huh…”
While getting my things ready, my eyes catch on a wardrobe nearby.
Lars’s clothes.
For a split second, my mind does what it always does. I’m not exactly a saint. A girl’s wardrobe, alone, door closed—it’s the kind of temptation I’d usually entertain without much resistance. But a chill runs through the back of my neck knowing very well who this belongs to.
Lars.
Yeah… no.
Any spark of curiosity dies instantly.
I don’t want to be buried alive.
Thinking of her like that doesn’t excite me—it does the opposite. It’s like picturing a thunderstorm deciding whether or not to strike you.
Honestly, even imagining it gives me a headache.
“…What am I thinking?”
I shake my head.
“Not worth it. I think I learned my lesson.” I gulp.
I finish eating and head out.
My knees still hurt, but the pain is slowly fading. Maybe in two days it will be completely gone. Those medicinal herbs from Lars, combined with my regeneration, did wonders.
I should avoid pushing myself too hard—if the wounds reopen, it won’t end well.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking the streets at this hour feels strange. Families shop together, children trail behind their parents, merchants arrange their stalls. At night, the city is louder, more alive—but daytime has its own quiet charm, a clean, fresh scent in the air.
Seeing this place at this time brings me a strange peace. My mind feels clear.
It reminds me of the days I’d skip school, stop by a store for food, then rush home to play video games. That feeling of having no chains—of acting on impulse—comes rushing back.
The spontaneity moment makes me feel alive again.
Until I see a couple laughing, leaning into each other, closing the distance until they kiss.
Something tightens in my chest.
I turn away.
I sit on a bench, my thoughts empty. I should be worried, but somehow just sitting here and breathing feels refreshing—like I don’t have any responsibilities.
“Feels good.”
Still, I shouldn’t waste my time.
“…Should I visit Cantheris?”
The answer is obviously yes.
But I can’t just show up out of nowhere. I need an excuse.
I tap my knuckles against my palm, like a hammer striking an idea.
Right, I have an idea.”
I could ask her to lend me a book.
The oldest trick in the book.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I get closer to her house, I notice she still hasn’t answered my message.
Maybe telling her “I’m coming to your house” was a bad idea.
Too direct. Too honest. Too much me.
I park the car and step out.
Her house is right there.
But so is… someone else.
A figure is pacing in circles between her house and the neighbor’s—stop, turn, pace again—like an NPC who forgot their pathing. Their face is covered by something that looks like a bag.
“…Huh?”
I walk closer.
Wait. That’s not a bag.
It’s a hood. A very fancy old fashion style, very dramatic hood.
“Uh… excuse me?”
She yelps.
Like, actually yelps.
“KYAA—!”
She spins around, nearly tripping over her own robe, and freezes.
Oh.
She’s an elf.
“You lost?” I ask.
“Yes! Very!” she blurts out. “This street is supposed to have my daughter’s house, but every door looks the same!”
“…Do you mean Cantheris?”
Her eyes go wide.
She points at me like I just solved a murder mystery.
“YES! THAT ONE! THANK BARANSU! A FUNCTIONING PERSON!”
“Yeah, that’s her house,” I say pointing at the right house. “Why didn’t you just ring the bell?”
She frowns and proudly lifts her hand.
“I have my own bell. I brought it with me.”
“…No, I mean the button. On the door. Someone would have guided you to her house or something”
She is confused to my explanation then I tell her to follow me through the stairs
She stares at the door.
Then at me.
Then at the door again.
“…Your doors ring themselves?”
“Yes. Watch.”
I press the button.
She gasps.
“Ohhh!”
We wait.
“Wow,” she says, looking around. “She lives here? This is a nice neighborhood. Though honestly—it needs more trees. And maybe a fountain with a statue.”
“Of course.”
She suddenly snaps her head toward me.
“And you,” she says, eyes sparkling. “You’re one of her party members, aren’t you?”
“Uh—yeah.”
“She’s perfect, right?!”
My soul leaves my body.
“Y-yes.”
“I KNEW IT!”
She strikes a dramatic victory pose, nearly smacking the mailbox.
“She’s brilliant! Talented! A little mouthy! But adorable! You wouldn’t BELIEVE how many times she—”
She suddenly stops.
Squints at me.
Points.
“…Wait.”
Uh oh.
“What are you doing here exactly?”
“Visiting?”
She leans in close, whispering loudly.
“Don’t tell me you’re in love with my daughter.”
“I—what—no—”
She grabs my shoulders.
“If you are, I can give you tips.”
“Please don’t.”
“I have charts.”
“PLEASE don’t.”
She laughs, clearly enjoying my suffering.
But then something feels… off.
We’ve been waiting too long.
“…Wait,” I say, pulling out my phone. “She’s not responding.”
The elf woman slowly turns toward the door.
Her smile fades.
“…That’s not normal.”
“Cantheris!”
With a powerful kick, I break the door open.
The living room is clean. Too clean.
Everything is perfectly organized. The kitchen hasn’t been used at all.
Whoever did this is a professional.
No traces. No mess. No signs of struggle.
Behind me, the elf woman drops to her knees.
“My daughter!!”
Her cry echoes through the house—loud enough to hurt my ears.
Honestly, it’s starting to get annoying.
Then—
In response to her crying I hear something like being dropped on the floor.
“Wait—!” I say
She suddenly stops crying.
I follow the sound where it was produced in a door at the far end of the living room.
I reach for the handle.
“Stop,” she says, serious for once.
“This is a mother’s job.”
I gulp.
She turns the knob, stepping in front of me and blocking my view.
For a moment, I see nothing.
Then she yelps, like she ran out of breath.
“What—what is going on?” I push past her slightly and step inside.
Books.
Books on the floor.
Books on the shelves.
Books stacked on the table.
Books stuffed into the wardrobe.
Books spilled on the bed.
And on under them—
Cantheris with pajamas in a really weird pose.
Lying on the bed, buried under books. One is open, covering half her face.
She’s smiling. Laughing softly, like she’s dreaming.
“Yeah… Ramirus… you can do that to me…”
Drool slowly runs down to her chin.
The room goes silent.
The elf mother lets out a long sigh.
The kind of sigh that says this is not the first time.
“…She does this,” she says tiredly.
Cantheris shifts.
The book slides off her face as light from the open door hits her eyes.
She squints, yawns, and half-stands on the bed.
“…Daryn?” she mumbles. “Why are you in my room…?”
She smiles dreamily.
Then she notices us.
Silence.
Three seconds pass.
Her eyes snap open.
“DARYN?!” she panics. “YOU BROKE INTO MY HOUSE?!”
“Wow, I know it looks bad,” I say, raising my hands to calm her down.
“DON’T GET CLOSE! DON’T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME!”
“Sweetie,” her mother says calmly, “that is not how you treat guests.”
Cantheris freezes.
She gulps.
“…Mom?”
“Yes. Now please get changed.”
She turns to me. “Come on, Daryn. Let’s give her some time.”
“Sure.”
We move back into the living room.
I was so focused on Cantheris that I forgot—this is my first time inside her house.
The living room is big: three sofas, two small and one long, a low table, a kitchen table nearby, and a small hallway leading to her room. Everything is pink, with gold decorations.
On the walls are pictures of Cantheris with her mother when she was a kid.
I sit on the sofa, looking at them.
“Daryn, can you help me?” her mother asks.
“Ah?” I walk over. “Yes?”
“How do I turn this on?”
“You just turn the knob clockwise,” I say, showing her.
Her eyes sparkle.
“Wow. They still use gas?”
“…What do elves use?”
“We do use gas, but not for simple chores. Usually a bit of chop-and-fire magic is enough.” She smiles. “Do you want tea?”
“Sure.”
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the water ends up boiling, Cantheris comes out of her room.
Her cheeks are slightly red—still embarrassed.
She approaches, and the first thing that hits me is the dress.
Soft pink fabric drapes over her shoulders, leaving them bare, the cloth gathered neatly at the collar like it was made to sit just right on her frame. A warm yellow layer peeks through beneath, subtle but bright, giving her an unexpectedly lively look. Around her waist, a deep red sash is tied firmly, pulling everything together and giving her figure a quiet confidence—nothing flashy, just deliberate.
The skirt falls light and loose, swaying naturally with each step, short enough to feel bold but worn without any hint of embarrassment. It suits her in a way that feels almost unfair—simple, practical, yet undeniably eye-catching.
It’s different from what I’m used to seeing her wear.
“What do you guys think is a new-”
Then she explodes.
“WHERE THE HELL IS MY DOOR?!”
“Daryn did it!” her mother immediately sells me out.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I explain everything in short, simple sentences—how I lost my job… or rather, how I’m technically on vacation.
“So you can’t pay for the door,” Cantheris says flatly.
“No,” I reply. “I’m just short on money right now. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
Her mother steps in before Cantheris can say more.
“Cantheris, isn’t he the one who gives you free rides?” she says. “Don’t be so hard on him. In fact, I’ve seen how worried he gets about you.”
“But no one told him to worry today,” Cantheris snaps. “And why did you even come here? We didn’t have any plans.”
“I just… wanted to visit you,” I say. “I wanted to see you.”
Her cheeks turn slightly red. She looks away and hums under her breath.
Then she sighs, exhausted.
“Fine,” she says. “Don’t worry about the door. You can pay me back whenever you want.”
“Now, now. Let's get some tea together and we can talk for a while. Before the massage”
They’re complete opposites.
Her mother dominates the conversation, lively and energetic, while Cantheris and I mostly listen. Every now and then they argue for a few sentences, but it never goes beyond that.
“Sorry, I need to use the bathroom,” her mother says.
“Yeah, it’s in the corner on the left,” Cantheris replies.
When her mother leaves, Cantheris lets out a small sigh.
“Sorry about my mom. She’s not usually like this. I think the city is affecting her.”
“What do you mean?”
It’s nothing special,” she says. “When I first came to the city, I was the same. Excited. Amazed by everything. I swear I felt like a different person. I even stopped reading books for the first week.”
I blink.
“…Wow.”
I look at her with a calm smile.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“…Why?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just feel better.”
She looks confused, clearly about to ask more—then decides not to.
Honestly, I’m glad she doesn’t. I don’t really want to create an explanation that would be misunderstood.
Being here, talking to her like this… it feels like my confidence is coming back.
For the first time in a while, my problems don’t feel impossible. They feel… manageable.
“So,” her mother suddenly says, clapping her hands together, “you two lovebirds preparing for your next mission?”
“Mission?” I repeat. “Cantheris, you didn’t—”
She suddenly scoots closer on the sofa and slaps her hand over my mouth.
“Of course, Daryn,” she says smoothly, smiling like an angel. “I told my mom you’re the new member of the party and that you’ve been helping me recover from the sprain from my last mission.”
She turns sweetly toward her mother.
“That’s why she’s here,” she adds. “For my therapy.”
I slowly realize her mother is missing critical information.
“Oh,” I say carefully. “I didn’t know you were a therapist.”
“A thera—what?” her mother asks.
I look at Cantheris.
Seriously?
“What?” Cantheris says innocently. “Anyone can give a massage. So I’d rather have my mom touch me.”
Her mother nods with pride.
“…I raised her well.”
As we finish our tea, I clear my throat.
“It’s really good. Thanks for the tea.”
“No problem,” her mother says proudly. “These herbs come from our village. Medicinal, nutritious, and delicious.”
She pauses.
“…More sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
She looks at me oddly, then suddenly smiles.
“Of course! Anything for the one giving rides to my daughter.” She leans in, whispering loudly. “Can you believe it? None of her party members wanted to. But you? The new one.” She winks. “Actions speak louder.”
“Mom…” Cantheris groans.
“I know, I know,” she laughs, pouring more tea. “Ah—Daryn, forgive me. I’ve been talking too much. Maybe you want to talk alone with Cantheris?”
“Ah—no, it’s fine,” I say quickly.
“Oh come on,” she waves a hand. “Relax. Ask anything.”
I freeze.
In my car, I’m confident.
On the street, I’m normal.
Here? I’m being crushed.
I sigh.
What the hell I was supposed to ask?
I had the question before.
I forgot. Then I will change tactics.
“Oh—uh… Miss, what’s your name?”
She chuckles.
“Oh my. I didn’t know you liked mature women,” she says, cheeks slightly red.
I choke.
“What did I just say?” I whisper to Cantheris.
“That’s the first thing my dad ever asked her,” she says flatly. “You triggered a memory.”
“No, no—”
Her mother laughs. “I’m joking. It made me feel young again.” She smiles warmly. “Aurelith.”
She tilts her head.
“Another question? Maybe for my daughter?”
“Actually…Yeah. For you Cantheris.”
“Oh?” The mother says in curiosity
“It’s about your sister. Lars.”
Silence.
“…Sister?” Cantheris asks.
“Cantheris is my only child,” Aurelith says slowly.
“I’ve never met anyone named Lars,” Cantheris adds. “Our village is small. I’d remember.”
“And if someone knows my daughter without us knowing them,” Aurelith says quietly, “that’s unsettling.”
“I want to meet her,” Cantheris says, curious.
I hesitate.
“Well… I met an elf named Lars,” I say, forcing a laugh. “She said she knew Cantheris. Maybe a childhood friend?”
“Then why would she say she’s my sister?” Cantheris asks.
I sink into the sofa.
I should’ve stayed in the car.
I don’t know what is going on anymore.
Now I'm with more questions than answers.
