A profound silence filled Zuzu's chambers, broken only by the faint sound of her own breathing. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger. The memory of the recent battle was a relentless loop in her mind—the blinding flashes of energy, the overwhelming presence of the Cursed Doll, and the effortless, terrifying power Shiro and Rael had wielded to take down Nihilastra. A cold knot of frustration tightened in her chest.
I have to be able to use my Sword Saint authority, she thought, the title feeling like a borrowed, ill-fitting coat. Her gaze lifted from her hands, drifting past the sheathed sword that lay untouched on the far side of the room. To even look at the blade made her feel like a fraud. Instead, she looked out the window, her focus sharpening on a guard in the courtyard below fellow Sword Saint, one who commanded a long, elegant polearm instead of a sword. The sight was a painful reminder of the discipline she was meant to embody, a mastery that now felt just out of reach.
A sharp, sudden knock shattered her introspection.
Before she could answer, the door opened. It was Ryo. The guild healer stepped inside, her sharp eyes performing a quick, sweeping scan of the room.
"You're already up," Ryo noted, her gaze curiously darting into the corners as if searching for something.
"What are you looking for?" Zuzu asked, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew.
Ryo didn't stop her visual inspection. "Just making sure shiro isn't hiding around here."
Zuzu tilted her head, a faint frown on her lips. "Why do you say shiro not Rael?"
"Well," Ryo said with a dismissive wave of her hand, finally turning to face Zuzu fully. "That guy always looked like a girl because of the hair." She swiftly changed the subject, her expression hardening into one of pure, unadulterated exasperation. "Do you have any idea the list of damages those two have caused? The royal palace wall is a pile of rubble! And on top of being the guild's accountant of chaos, they've made us take care of the unconscious Nihilastra! We're glorified babysitters for a comatose terrorist!"
Seeing a perfect excuse to escape both the room and Ryo's tirade, Zuzu stood. "Then let's go find them."
They found Shiro and Rael in the main guild hall, standing squarely in the line of fire of a loudly reprimanding Hikaru.
"—and the structural damage to the palace wall will take a month and a fortune to repair!" Hikaru's voice echoed off the high ceilings.
Just as Shiro opened his mouth, likely to offer a defensive retort, Rael smoothly intervened, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the councilman's fury.
"Zuzu and I will track the source of the Cursed Doll," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Hikaru paused, considering this for a moment before giving a curt nod. "Good idea." He then shifted his stern gaze back to Shiro. "As for you, you are on mandatory rest. We can't have you causing more collateral damage."
Shiro's shoulders slumped in defeat. "That traitor," he muttered under his breath as Rael and Zuzu turned and left the hall without a backward glance.
Left alone in the suddenly quiet hall with Ryo, Shiro shoved his hands into his pockets. "So. It's just the two of us, huh?"
Ryo fixed him with a deadpan stare that could freeze lava. "This," she said, her voice flat, gesturing vaguely at everything around them, "is your fault." With that final pronouncement, she turned and marched away, leaving him completely alone.
Shiro sighed, the sound heavy in the empty space. "It's been 2 weeks and she's still angry about that thing. Huhhhh… what do I do now?" He stood there for a long moment before a slow, realization dawned on his face. A grin spread across his features. "Wait a minute… this is a perfect opportunity. I got myself a day off."
The scene changed from the formal guild hall to the vibrant, bustling streets of Arcadia. For the first time since his arrival, Shiro was not training, fighting, or being scolded. He was simply walking, a lone figure weaving through the crowds of the market district. The air was a tapestry of smells—spices from distant lands, the soot of blacksmith forges, and the earthy scent of packed dirt.
Then, a new aroma cut through the rest, hitting his nose with the force of a physical blow: the sweet, yeasty, irresistible scent of freshly made soup. His stomach growled in immediate and fervent agreement. He followed the scent like a man possessed, his feet carrying him to a small, charming Diner whose windows were stacked high decision to choose from.
His moment of bliss was short-lived. His eyes traveled from the buns to the line of customers stretching out the door and snaking down the street.
A look of profound despair fell over his face.
"This," he groaned to himself, "is gonna be a long day."
The scene shifted from the guild hall's oppressive atmosphere to the open road. Dust kicked up in small clouds beneath their feet as Rael set a punishing pace, leading Zuzu southeast, toward the coastal reaches of Arcadia. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the air grew thick with the salty tang of the sea.
Zuzu's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, her lungs burning. The weight of her polearm felt like an anvil on her back. She stole a glance at Rael, who moved with an infuriating, effortless grace, his breathing even, his dark hair barely disturbed by the wind.
How long can this guy keep running? she thought, her mind screaming with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. They had been moving for what felt like hours without a single pause for water or rest.
"Come to think of it," she finally managed, the words scraping her dry throat, "where are we even heading? The energy signature was faint. How can you be sure of the direction?"