James woke up hearing birdsong. The morning sunlight slipped through the blinds and fell on his bed, like a blessing. He smiled. He had slept very well. He didn't remember what he had dreamed, but it hadn't been a nightmare. All the stress of the past few days had left him and he felt ready to face the new day. With determination and hope, he got out of bed, in pajamas, of course, and approached the balcony. He opened the doors and took a deep breath. Pure air, different, magical.

  "I think I could get used to living in this place," he said. "Yeah, not bad at all."

  James went down the stairs, feeling like a new man. There was a familiar face at reception. That girl, Alma, hadn't made a great first impression on him, but that was no reason to be rude.

  "Good morning," murmured James, intending to leave the hotel right away to go in search of another Quest. The twelve hundred coins were fine, but they'd be gone soon. He could stop to smell the roses when he had his financial life sorted out.

  But he couldn't leave so quickly. He didn't expect Alma to stop him.

  "Good morning, James. You seem different, for the better."

  It would be rude to answer quickly or leave as if he hadn't heard her, so he turned around and stood in front of the reception desk.

  "Nothing, thanks. Is it that obvious?"

  "Yes, of course," the girl tapped the desk with her fingertips, absentmindedly. "When you came here you had a face like the world was falling down on you. Now I see you more alive."

  "More alive?"

  "Yes, exactly. More alive. I don't know your exact circumstances, and don't worry, I won't ask, but many people come here desperate. And it's like they come back to life. Having access to supernatural powers and proving yourself against fantasy monsters must be quite a rush."

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He shouldn't prolong the conversation, but curiosity got the better of him.

  "And what about you? When you're not working as a receptionist, I mean, have you never thought about trying it?"

  "No. I'm fine the way I am. People like you, who do it out of necessity, make sense to me. But people who do it for adventure, for fun, risking their lives... I can only think they're crazy. No, that's not for me."

  James nodded. That was the answer any sane person would give. Danger was all well and good in movies, books and video games; that is, when you could experience the excitement without risking suffering the consequences.

  No sane person wanted to be in danger.

  Anyway, it seemed that with each passing year there were more and more adrenaline junkies, as if the modern world didn't offer enough to the human heart.

  "I understand you perfectly," said James. "I thought the same as you. Before coming here, I wouldn't risk my neck for anything. Not even for money. With so many monsters, you're not even risking a normal death. It could be horrible, violent. They might never find your body."

  "So far you've painted it very well," she said. "Where's the but?"

  James smiled.

  "You said it. I feel alive. Do you feel that way?"

  Alma didn't look away, but she didn't know how to answer him either. Yeah. He'd seen it coming. Her job was a job and nothing more, a way to make ends meet. They accepted with astonishing ease wasting their best years, living to work instead of working to live. The system ground them between its teeth and spat them out after draining them dry. He might end up being bitten and ground up just the same, but at least in the meantime he would be alive.

  "I don't know what to say," she finally admitted.

  "Don't think too much about it either, hey. I'm just some idiot passing through."

  James took a deep breath. His smile became wider, looser and more relaxed.

  "But it really feels good. For example, I don't even know when was the last time I did this."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Talking to such a pretty girl without stammering, of course," James, still quite high on life, laughed at himself and at the look of surprise on the receptionist's face. "Well, see you later and good luck."

  "You too."

  Her smile was, perhaps, a bit less professional and a bit more real. Perhaps. But it could also just be his imagination.