By the time the morning rush thinned out, Rize found herself standing in front of the guild’s quest board again, the way a needle returns to north no matter how many times you shake the compass. The hall was loud with familiar life—boots grinding grit into stone, chair legs dragging, laughter that sounded too carefree beside the price tags on parchment. Sunlight from the high windows turned the dust into drifting gold, and the smell of sweat and leather mixed with ink and cheap ale that had soaked into the wood for years.Her bandages were barely necessary anymore. Most of the wraps had been discarded days ago, tossed into the corner of an inn room like shed skin. Only one remained, wound around her wrist in a single clean loop. Not for protection. Not for support. For memory. There’s still a little heat there.

  It was ridiculous—skin didn’t keep warmth like a keepsake—but the sensation lingered anyway, a phantom trace that refused to be argued down by reason. The hand that had healed her had been warm. Too warm. The kind of warmth that sank into the bones, as if it had been poured there. Every time she looked at the wrap, she felt the faintest echo of that touch and the uncomfortable relief that came with it. Her finger slid down the list, stopping on a line that made her mouth go flat. Chasing rats out of an attic.

  Rize plucked the parchment free and walked toward the reception desk, her boots tapping a steady rhythm on stone. Behind her, someone was boasting loudly about a magical beast they’d “almost” killed, and the lie hung in the air like smoke. She didn’t look back. She kept her eyes on the counter, on the clerk’s tired expression, on the stamp that would make this job real.

  “Rat extermination?” the clerk asked, already reaching for the ledger. “Yes,” Rize said.

  The word came out clean. Plain. Accepting. The clerk stamped the paper and slid it back. Rize folded it carefully and tucked it away like it mattered, because right now, it did.

  The ladder up creaked with every step, the wood complaining under her weight. When she pushed open the attic hatch, a dry, dusty breath rolled down at her like something exhaled. The space above was cramped, the ceiling low enough that she had to hunch immediately. Old beams cut shadows across piles of stored junk—broken chairs, sacks of straw, cloth bundles tied with twine, a cracked mirror leaning against the wall like a tired eye.

  She used the broom the owner had handed her, prodding gently at the places where the scratching came from, driving them toward daylight. It wasn’t glamorous. It was a dirty dance—pressure, retreat, pressure again. A rat bolted too close, and she flinched on instinct before she could stop herself. It brushed her boot and vanished with a hiss that sounded almost offended.

  “Already?” “It was just rats,” Rize said, brushing dust off her sleeves. Her voice wanted to underplay it, to make it smaller than it was.

  But as she stepped outside into clean air, sunlight warming her face, something inside her loosened by a fraction.

  Back at the guild, she filed the report, accepted the modest coin, and felt its weight in her palm. Not much, but real.

  When she stepped outside, the square in front of the guild was dyed in the deep orange of sunset. The light soaked into the stone buildings and made them look softer, as if the city had been carved out of warm clay instead of hard rock. And within that orange glow stood three familiar shadows.

  “Yo, Rize!” Naz’s voice shook the air. Loud. Booming. Bottomlessly cheerful, as if his lungs were built for shouting across battlefields. Rize’s shoulders lifted before she could stop them. Not fear. Something like surprise that turned into a reluctant ease.

  “It’s been a while,” she said, and the words came out steadier than she expected.

  “Been doing well? Still wearing bandages? That’s rare for you.” Hanara waved lightly, loose and energetic, the motion casual enough to look careless, but her eyes were sharp.

  “Just keeping it for the mood. I’m fine now.” Rize touched the wrap without looking at it. “I see. Don’t push yourself!” Hanara’s grin widened, satisfied.

  A little further back stood Roa, composed and quiet as usual. She didn’t speak at first, just bowed slightly. Her posture was polite, almost formal, and it made Rize bow in return without thinking. It felt like acknowledging a silent agreement: we saw you fall, and we saw you stand up again.

  The sunset wind carried the smell of cooking from nearby stalls. Somewhere, someone laughed too loud. The city kept going.

  ?

  The conversation flowed in the way it always did when people shared a history made of near-deaths and unfinished questions. One remark led to another, and somehow, without anyone making a grand announcement, they drifted into an invitation for dinner as naturally as if it had always been scheduled. The dining hall they chose was warm and crowded, a place where steam rose like spirits from heavy plates and the air was thick with oil and spice. A wooden table in the corner took them in—scarred by knives, stained by spilled drink, polished by countless elbows. The plates arrived in waves: stew with a rich, dark broth; bread that tore with a soft sigh; meat seared at the edges, still glistening.

  Rize sat with her back angled toward the wall out of habit, eyes scanning the room the way her body had learned to do without permission. Naz filled the space beside her with his easy presence, talking and laughing, slapping the table once hard enough to make the cups jump. Hanara picked at her food like she was bored by it, but she ate steadily, her posture relaxed in a way that only came from confidence. Roa sat a half-step removed, quiet, hands neat around her cup.

  Just then, the door swung open.

  “Wow, everyone’s here! No fair!” Kaya slid into the empty chair next to Rize, breath slightly quick as if she’d hurried, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. The warmth of her presence pressed against Rize’s side, and for a second Rize registered it the way she registered heat from a fire: immediate, undeniable.

  “Coincidence,” Hanara said with a grin. “Just happened, you know.”

  “You guys can use Traits, right? Can I ask about them?” Kaya didn’t waste a second. She leaned forward over the table, elbows nearly in the plates, the way someone did when they were about to pry open a secret with both hands.

  “Oh! I don’t mind being asked! It’s not like you can imitate them just by hearing about it!” Naz’s laugh burst out, loud enough that a few heads turned. He didn’t care.

  “It’s the result of adding unique logic and training to magic.” He jabbed a thumb toward his chest as if pointing at the concept of earned strength.

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  “That’s a Trait,” Hanara added, twirling something around her fork as if the definition wasn’t worth looking at directly. “In other words, a Unique Technique.”

  “So it’s not just… being born special?” Kaya blinked, absorbing it.

  “Not unless you count being born stubborn,” Hanara said dryly.

  “Exactly!” Naz slapped the table again, delighted.

  “You know mine, right? My trait call [Lost Memory].” Hanara tilted her head toward Kaya.

  “Lost… memory?” Kaya echoed, as if she’d misheard. “I can build a spell, cast it, and then the structure I just made… disappears from my head. Like it was never there.” Hanara’s expression didn’t change. “So before it slips away, I label it with a number. That way I don’t need to remember the logic—I just call the number and fire it again.”She said it the way someone might mention the weather.

  “Wait—what?” Kaya froze with her fork halfway up.

  “At least remember that much, you lazy menace!” Naz barked, loud enough to rattle the tableware.

  “Shut up, Naz-kun!” Hanara snapped, but there was heat in her eyes that didn’t match real anger. “It’s efficient!”

  “Um, so… does that mean you don’t remember general magic either? Daily life seems tough.” Kaya’s confusion deepened into visible concern.

  “We kinda support her on that front. Me and Roa. She’s useless without us.” Naz’s answer was smooth, almost too practiced.

  “What the hell! Don’t look at me like that!” Hanara slammed her fork down with a sharp clink. “It’s not that I can’t use it! Because of my Trait’s restriction, I just can’t exercise magic other than Numbers!” She pointed accusingly around the table as if someone’s expression had betrayed them.

  Rize watched Kaya’s face tighten as she tried to understand a world where your strength came with a built-in wound. Even here at dinner, the truth of it sat between them like a second dish no one wanted to taste: power always demanded payment.

  “Exactly as Hanara says… nya.” Roa, who had been quietly sipping wine, suddenly spoke up. Her cheeks were flushed a distinct shade of pink, and the steadiness in her posture had softened by a fraction.

  The table went silent.

  Naz’s grin faltered in slow motion, as if his face had received a warning too late. Hanara’s mouth opened, then closed, as if she’d swallowed a scream. Kaya stared like she’d seen an entirely different person appear in Roa’s chair.

  “Even a [Triple Number] has digit-level power difference… hic… nya.” Roa lifted her cup again with solemn dedication, then set it down with a careful thud that wasn’t as careful as she thought. “When we saved Rize, it was a [Double Number]… nya.” Her eyes shimmered with the seriousness of someone delivering prophecy.

  “Roa,” Rize whispered, wide-eyed. The name came out as a plea.

  “Stop drinking already.”Naz pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Is Roa… that kind of character?”Kaya leaned slightly toward Naz, still staring at Roa as if Roa might start purring.

  “No,” Naz sighed, exhaustion pouring into the word.

  "Nope. Only when I'm drinking, and only when I'm in bed, nya" Roa lifted her cup more again and again.

  “Someone stop this drunk!!” Hanara yelled, half mortified, half furious, cheeks coloring despite herself.

  Rize watched the chaos without speaking. The noise bounced off the dining hall walls, warm and loud, and for a moment it filled the hollow places in her chest. It wasn’t a relationship deep enough to be called nostalgic. They were still practically strangers, bound more by circumstance than by time. Still—her current self was here. Sitting at a table. Sharing food. Hearing laughter that wasn’t forced. It lightened her heart just a little, like someone had loosened a strap she hadn’t realized was choking her.

  “…Naz’s [Maximize]. What kind of Trait is it?” After a pause, Rize asked the question that had been sitting in her mind like a stone.

  “Simple. I can ‘maximize’ the target I set to the limit. Strength, speed, hardness, weight. That’s all.” Naz’s grin returned instantly, grateful for safer territory. He flexed a bicep with theatrical pride, like a performer. “But that simplicity makes it difficult.” He spread his hands, as if simplicity itself was the trick.

  “Because the definition is vague, the degree of freedom is high,” Hanara added, stealing a fry from Naz’s plate with perfect shamelessness.

  “If I can define the target, I can push it. But if I define it wrong, I waste it. And if I push too hard—” Naz didn’t even protest. He just kept talking, energized by the explanation. And he shrugged, and the motion carried the implication of consequences.

  “But in return, the restrictions are strict too… nya,” Roa muttered, now staring into her empty glass as if it contained secrets.

  “Well, there’s no such thing as power without restrictions, right?” Naz nodded toward her anyway, accepting even the drunk commentary.

  “Haa… So this is a corner of the country’s strongest party.” Kaya let out a long, dramatic sigh and rested her chin on her hands. “Seems so so far away.” She glanced around the table with exaggerated awe.

  “I won’t let you catch up that easily! First, you gotta start by quitting being human!”Naz laughed and pointed at her like she’d challenged him.

  Laughter spread across the table—warm, loud, and bright enough to drown out, for a few breaths, the darker thoughts that always waited behind Rize’s ribs.

  ?

  As dusk deepened into night, the group broke up. Outside, the air was cooler, and the night wind caressed their cheeks with the gentleness of something that didn’t care about battles or quests. The city lights flickered, turning the stone streets into a river of dim gold. Somewhere in the distance, stalls were still calling out, and the sound drifted through alleys like smoke.

  Rize and Kaya walked side by side toward their inn. Their footsteps matched without effort, and the simple rhythm of it made Rize feel steadier than she had any right to.

  “Hey, Rize,” Kaya said after a while, voice quiet enough to feel private. “What?” Rize answered, eyes forward.

  “Those three were amazing.” Kaya’s tone held genuine admiration, unmocked by jealousy. “They’re really strong.” “...Yeah. They surely are.” Rize swallowed.

  “But Rize,” she said slowly, as if placing a piece on the board, “you must be fighting with someone even stronger.” Kaya’s gaze slid sideways, studying Rize’s profile like she was trying to read something hidden. “Wait!? What do you mean?” Rize stopped so abruptly her boot scraped stone.

  “Eh? Am I wrong?” Kaya blinked innocently. “Yes!” Rize blurted, too fast. Her cheeks warmed, and she hated that it happened so easily. “That’s not—” “Then who are you arguing with?” Kaya teased, voice light, but her eyes were sharp in the way only close people could be. Rize’s mouth opened, and nothing came out. Her throat felt suddenly dry, as if the night air had turned to dust.

  “Like at night, when I look at you suddenly, you sometimes have a face like, ‘I messed up,’ or ‘I said too much.’” Kaya continued, gentle but relentless. “You never used to make faces like that.” She reached out and poked Rize’s arm with one finger. Rize’s hand rose to her own cheek without thinking, fingertips brushing skin as if she could erase the expression Kaya had seen. Does it show?

  “…Does it show?” she asked, voice small despite herself. “Quite a bit,” Kaya said, unrepentant. “…Ahh…” Rize groaned and looked away, staring at nothing.

  The memory hit with cruel clarity—the argument, the words that had slipped out sharp and wrong. You’re just watching. The regret had been immediate, like biting your tongue and tasting blood. She’d carried it ever since, letting it sit in her chest because she didn’t know where else to put it.

  “Hahaha! If you’re worrying about it that much, he’s probably not a bad person, right?” Kaya laughed softly, the sound warm instead of mocking. “...Maybe.” Rize pressed her lips together, then let out a small laugh of her own. Resigned. Gentle. Almost helpless. They walked a few more steps. The inn’s familiar outline waited ahead, windows glowing faintly. Rize felt Kaya’s expectation beside her like a lantern.

  “Kaya,” Rize said, and the decision formed in her mouth before she fully understood it. “Go home ahead. I’m going somewhere for a bit.” “Okaaay.” Kaya’s eyes widened in delight, as if she’d been handed proof. “Tell me about it later properly!” Her grin turned mischievous.

  Rize didn’t look back. If she looked back, she might stop. Her stride naturally quickened, boots tapping faster as she peeled away into the darker stretch of street.

  She was heading there—to the quiet place where the wind blew through. To the rooftop. And as she moved, her footsteps melted into the night city without hesitation, as if the path had been waiting for her the whole time.