The door to the office swung open with a dramatic crack as Vel cheerfully burst inside, grinning from ear to ear.
"Morning, Darius!"
The heavy oak door slammed into the stone wall with a loud thud, rattling the nearby bookshelves and sending a few loose books tumbling to the floor.
Behind the desk, Darius flinched visibly.
"Vel-sama," he growled through clenched teeth, not even looking up from his paperwork. "Must you assault my door every time you enter this room?"
Vel strolled in as if nothing happened, hands behind his head and a carefree bounce in his step. "Gotta keep things lively."
"One day I'll enchant that door to slap you back," Darius muttered.
Stacks of scrolls and ledgers cluttered the long desk at the heart of the room, lit softly by magical lanterns near the walls.
Darius stood near the desk, adjusting a few notes with practiced hands as he spoke.
"The trade with the Merchant Guild is running smoothly," he said without looking up. "We've secured a steady supply line for potions, rations and gears for exchange of monster materials. So far, no complaints from their side."
Across from him, Vel sat slouched in the guest chair, arms folded, chin dipped toward his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, and he let out a faint snore.
"…However," Darius continued, not missing a beat, "the western forest being closed off and bandits activity in the northern side has cut our revenue by twenty percent. And that—"
He turned, noticed Vel's blissfully sleeping expression, and sighed.
"Unbelievable."
With a flick of his hand, a globe of water formed mid-air. Darius calmly guided it above Vel's head — and let it fall.
Splash.
Vel bolted upright with a loud gasp, soaked and sputtering.
"Wha—!? I'm awake! I'm awake!" he sputtered, hands flailing as if he'd just been dragged from a lake.
Darius crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Good. Now that your nap is over, we can continue."
Vel wiped water from his face, blinking. "You could've just poked me, you know."
"I considered setting your hair on fire instead," Darius replied flatly. "Now, where was I? Right. With the downtime, I've been reviewing our internal structure. We need more specialized trainers in the Guild. The variety of threats is changing."
Vel, still dripping, grinned. "Huh. That's actually… a good idea. New trainer, huh? Yeah, I like that. I'll look into it."
Darius nodded. "I'll draft the resource allocation proposal."
The mood shifted then. Darius's face turned more serious.
"Now… as for the bandit investigation."
Vel straightened a little, his amusement fading.
"There's no progress," Darius said simply. "Not yet. Our trackers and scouts haven't found anything useful, and the captured bandits aren't talking. We're relying on the knights now — waiting for their interrogation reports. Until then… we're at a standstill."
Vel's playful expression faded. He stood suddenly, drying his cloak with a burst of wind magic.
"Alright. I think I know what I'll do next."
He turned on his heel, already halfway to the door.
"Vel—wait," Darius called out, lifting a hand. "There's one more thing I need to discuss—"
But before Darius could finish, Vel flung open the door and disappeared down the hall.
Darius sighed, shaking his head. "Of course."
Market.
The afternoon sun hung lazily overhead, casting a warm amber glow across the bustling marketplace. Merchants called out their wares, the scent of spices lingered in the air.
Shin walked calmly through the cobbled street. He gave a subtle nod to a fruit vendor who pretended not to notice.
"That spot's good," Shin muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to the covered alley behind the stall. "Clear view of both exits."
He turned his gaze upward. On a second-floor balcony overlooking the market square, a man leaned lazily on the railing, pretending to enjoy the view.
"Good vantage point. Overwatch is set."
Just then, someone brushed past Shin — a man in a worn cloak carrying a bundle of firewood. Without slowing, he slipped a folded note into Shin's hand. Shin didn't react. He kept walking, folding the message into his palm.
A few minutes later, he entered a small, quiet café named "The Dusty Cauldron Café" tucked between a leather shop and a tailor. He found a seat near the window and raised a hand.
A waiter approached.
"Black coffee," Shin said. "And an almond cookie on the side."
The waiter nodded and moved off.
Shin unfolded the note beneath the table. It read: "Everyone is in position. No clues found yet."
Shin frowned, then flipped the note over and pulled a slim pen from his pocket. With quick, precise strokes, he scribbled a short reply, folding the paper neatly just as the waiter arrived with his coffee.
He drank in silence, eyes occasionally drifting toward the marketplace outside.
When the waiter returned with the check, he asked, "Would you like to leave a tip, sir?"
Shin handed him the folded note. "Make sure this gets shared with the others."
The waiter took it without blinking. "Understood."
Elsewhere in the city, a boy in brown-and-white clothes — baggy trousers, a patched vest, and a round hat nearly swallowing his head — strolled down the street with a paper bag of fresh rolls slung under one arm.
His light blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he munched loudly on a crusty roll, crumbs trailing behind him like breadcrumbs. He strutted through the alleys like he owned them, occasionally tossing half-eaten bread pieces into the air and catching them with exaggerated flair.
Turning a corner, he came to an abrupt, dramatic halt. Ahead, in the shadow of a wall, two rough-looking men were trying to wrestle a struggling woman toward a waiting cart.
The boy narrowed his eyes and took an overly heroic stance, one leg forward, fist raised to the sky.
"Stop right there, evildoers!" he declared, voice cracking halfway through.
The kidnappers paused mid-drag, blinking at him.
One tilted his head. "…Huh?"
"I said stop! Cease your villainy!" the boy shouted again, pointing a half-eaten roll like a wand. "You shall not pass!"
The woman stared, bewildered. "Is he… is he talking to them?"
"Get lost, brat," growled one of the men. "This ain't your—"
The boy cut him off with a theatrical wave. "Ah, but justice knows no bedtime! And I, humble bread-boy by day, vigilante hero by later part of the same day, shall not allow this!"
The shorter kidnapper scratched his head. "What is he even saying?"
"Should we… just grab him too?" the taller one asked.
"I insist," the boy said, puffing his chest proudly. "Kidnap me! If you dare!"
Everyone went silent.
"…Is he asking to be kidnapped?" the woman whispered.
He stepped toward them, arms wide like he expected to be embraced.
"Fear not, miss! Reinforcements are—well, they're somewhere. But I alone am enough!"
The kidnappers exchanged glances.
"This is getting weird," one muttered.
"Whatever, just take him too."
As they advanced, the boy flailed dramatically, spinning in circles. "Oh nooo! I've been bested! My tragic origin story begins!" he cried as they grabbed him and hoisted him into the cart like an oversized sack of flour.
The woman was too stunned to even scream.
Up on a nearby rooftop, a man cloaked in dull brown to blend with the city's tones crouched low, watching intently.
A faint smirk crossed his lips. "Finally… found the bastards."