The donation counter on her laptop screen kept ticking up.
12,847,000 yen.
12,849,000 yen.
12,851,500 yen.
Suzume sat on her floor, still wearing her muddy armor, watching numbers that didn't feel real. Her boots had left dirt trails from the door to where she'd collapsed. She should clean that. She should shower. She should do literally anything except stare at her laptop like it might explode.
Her phone buzzed.
Kasumi: did you make it home?
Suzume's face went hot. She typed "yes" three times before settling on:
Suzume: Yeah, all good
Three dots appeared immediately.
Kasumi: you were limping
Suzume: Just tired
Kasumi: eat something. and sleep. that's an order from your tank
Suzume: You're not my tank
Kasumi: I'm everyone's tank. it's a mindset
Kasumi: seriously though. take care of yourself
Kasumi: someone has to keep your cute butt alive
Suzume stared at that last message for a solid minute, her brain short-circuiting. Why did her stomach feel like it was hosting Olympic gymnastics?
Her phone rang, saving her from having to respond. Yumi's contact photo—her giving the camera double middle fingers at some press event—filled the screen.
"You alive?" Yumi asked without preamble.
"Mostly."
"Good. We need to talk strategy. We've got two successful rescues documented, so that requirement is about to be out of the way. And, the donations got us past the finish line when it comes to yen. But, we're still short two members."
"I know."
"And you haven't even looked at the leadership certification exam materials."
"I know."
"And the headquarters requirement—your apartment doesn't count. We need commercial property."
"I know, Yumi."
Silence on the other end. Then:
"You sound dead as hell."
"Just tired."
"When's the last time you ate actual food? Not convenience store onigiri."
"Uh..."
Suzume tried to remember. Tuesday? What day was it now?
"That long, huh." Yumi sighed. "Look, I already put out feelers for potential members. We'll get applications soon. The headquarters thing... there's a guy who owes me a favor. Might have a lead on cheap office space."
"Okay."
"Suzume."
"What?"
"Take it easy. We're going to make this work."
The certainty in her voice made something loosen in Suzume's chest.
"Yeah."
"Now go shower. You probably smell like dead ogre."
"I don't—" Suzume sniffed herself. "Oh god."
"Knew it. Goodnight, hero."
The call ended. Suzume dragged herself to the bathroom, peeled off her armor, and stood under hot water until her fingers pruned.
When she finally made it to her futon, she pulled up the donation page one more time.
13,102,000 yen.
They'd passed the financial requirement. One down, four to go.
She stared at the ceiling. The water stain in the corner had gotten bigger. Her landlord kept saying he'd fix it, but that was three months ago. Now it looked like a map of some country that didn't exist.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Her phone buzzed again.
Kasumi: still awake?
Suzume: Unfortunately
Kasumi: same. adrenaline's a bitch
Suzume: Yeah
Kasumi: you did good today
Suzume typed and deleted five responses. Everything sounded either too casual or like a confession letter. She settled on:
Suzume: Thanks for coming with me
Kasumi: anytime
Kasumi: get some sleep
Suzume: You too
She put her phone down. Picked it up. Put it down again. The ceiling stain definitely looked like Australia now. Or maybe a dog. A dog eating Australia.
Soon, sleep took her.
---
{Honoka}
The interviewer looked at Honoka Nakamura the way people looked at three-day-old sushi.
"Level 3," he said, not really a question.
"Yes." Honoka sat straighter in the metal folding chair, trying to look like someone worth hiring. "But I'm a dedicated healer—"
"Our minimum requirement is Level 10."
"The posting said Level 5 and above considered."
"That's for damage dealers. Healers need to be 10 minimum. You understand, liability issues."
Honoka understood perfectly. She understood she'd taken the train two hours for this interview. She understood her school uniform was still damp from the rain. She understood this was the fifteenth rejection this month.
"I can heal 45 HP per cast," she said. "My cooldowns are—"
"Look, kid." The interviewer, a middle-aged man whose nameplate read 'Tanaka' but who insisted on being called 'Sir', leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure you're very talented for your age and level. But the Iron Fang Guild has standards. We're not running a charity."
"I'm not asking for charity. I'm asking for a chance."
"The answer's no."
"But—"
"You can see yourself out."
Honoka stood.
Her legs shook, but not from fear. From the effort of not saying what she wanted to say, which was that the Iron Fang Guild had lost two Players last month because their healer had been too busy showing off to actually heal anyone.
"Thank you for your time," she said instead, bowing.
"Sure. Hey, word of advice?" Tanaka didn't look up from his phone. "Maybe try the support corps. They take anyone."
The support corps. Where awakened people who couldn't fight went to carry bags and cook meals for real Players. Where dreams went to die.
"I'll consider it," Honoka lied.
She left the Iron Fang building—they had a whole building, twenty floors of glass and steel—and stood in the rain because the universe had that kind of sense of humor. Her phone showed 4:17 PM. If she hurried, she could make it home before her parents. Avoid the questions about why she was in Shinjuku instead of at cram school.
The train platform was packed. Rush hour in Tokyo, where personal space was a myth and everyone pretended they couldn't see anyone else. Honoka found a corner and pulled out her phone.
The first thing she saw was news about the Dungeon Rescue Guild.
RESCUE GIRL SAVES 8 PLAYERS FROM DESTABILIZED DUNGEON
She clicked the video. Shaky phone footage showed a mask-clad girl emerging from a portal, supporting a wounded Player while a gorgeous woman with orange hair fought off something in the background. The girl looked exhausted, muddy, ordinary except for the way she moved—like every step had purpose.
The comments were wild.
"FUCK THE ASSOCIATION"
"finally someone who actually HELPS people"
"yo is that Kasumi Hayakawa with her??? ??"
"Rescue Girl stepping on the Association's neck and I'm HERE for it"
Another video, from earlier. The same girl facing down reporters, announcing she was forming a guild. The Dungeon Rescue Guild. A guild specifically for saving people.
Honoka watched it three times.
A guild for saving people.
Not for glory. Not for money. For saving people.
Her healing magic stirred under her skin, warm and restless. She'd awakened two years ago, on her fourteenth birthday, in the middle of math class. The System had chosen her to be a healer, but no one wanted a low-level healer. Too much risk, they said. Too much liability.
But a rescue guild...
They'd need healers, right? Even low-level ones. Especially low-level ones, maybe, because who else would be crazy enough to dive into destabilized dungeons?
She opened a new browser tab and searched "Dungeon Rescue Guild application."
Nothing official came up, but there was a forum post from someone claiming to know someone who knew Yumi Tanaka, the reporter who'd been covering Rescue Girl. According to the post, the guild was still forming, still needing members.
Honoka looked at the rain-streaked window of the train. Her reflection stared back—sixteen years old, black hair in the required school regulations ponytail, eyes that her mother said were too serious for her age.
She pulled up her status window, just to torture herself.
[Status Window]
Name: Honoka Nakamura
Class: Healer (Level 3)
HP: 35/35
MP: 95/95
Attributes:
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 4
Intelligence: 18
Endurance: 3
Luck: 5
Skills:
Active:
[Healing Touch]
[Restores 45 HP | Cost: 15 MP | Cooldown: 8 seconds]
[Purify]
[Removes one status ailment | Cost: 20 MP | Cooldown: 30 seconds]
[Minor Barrier]
[Blocks 50 damage | Cost: 25 MP | Duration: 5 seconds | Cooldown: 45 seconds]
Passive:
[Mana Regeneration I]
[Recover 2 MP per minute during combat, 5 MP per minute outside combat]
Level 3. After two years. But she'd never been in a real dungeon, never had the chance to gain proper experience. The catch-22 of being a healer—needed experience to get hired, needed to get hired to get experience.
Her phone buzzed. A message in the class THREAD group about tomorrow's test. She ignored it.
Instead, she pulled up that reporter's email and started typing.
Dear Tanaka-san,
My name is Nakamura Honoka. I'm a Level 3 Healer, and I want to join the Dungeon Rescue Guild.
She paused. How did you explain desperation without sounding desperate? How did you say "everyone else has rejected me" without seeming like damaged goods?
I know I'm low-level. I know I'm young. But I've been studying support-class dungeon running for two years. I've memorized every status ailment, every poison type, every curse that's been documented. I can't fight, but I can keep people alive.
I watched the video of Rescue Girl saving those Players today. She looked tired. Hurt, maybe. A healer could have helped.
I want to help.
She added her phone number and hit send before she could think better of it.
The train pulled into her station. Honoka tucked her phone away and stepped out into the rain. Two blocks to home. Two blocks to pretend she'd spent the day at cram school, studying for exams that would get her into a university that would get her a job that had nothing to do with the magic burning in her chest.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Is this Nakamura Honoka?" A woman's voice, sharp and amused.
"Yes?"
"Yumi Tanaka. Got your email. Can you meet tomorrow?"
Honoka's heart stopped. Started. Stopped again.
"I... yes. Yes, I can meet."
"Good. 3 PM, cafe called Rabbit's Foot in Shibuya. You know it?"
"I'll find it."
"Great. Oh, and kid? We don't care about your level. We care if you can do the job."
The call ended.
