I spent the day trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy— same way i had tried the past few days. Cleaning my home, clearing dusty corners I hadn't touched since before the Nine Frequency mission, and feeding the lazy white fox until it finally stopped screaming at me like I owed it rent.
Once it finished inhaling half a week's worth of food, it curled up on the sofa and promptly fell asleep, tail wrapped neatly over its nose like nothing in the world had ever been wrong.
I envied it a little.
Evening rolled in, faint orange light filtering through my curtains—soft enough that it didn't hurt. That's when I heard a knock.
Three light taps. Even. Rhythmic.
Team Leader Silva.
She didn't wait for me to invite her in; she never did. The moment I opened the door, she stepped inside with the same quiet confidence she carried everywhere, as if her presence alone stabilized the room.
"Your home looks less like a Anomaly... Please remain consistent." she observed flatly.
"That's one way to say 'hello,' I guess."
She blinked slowly—her version of an apology.
Or acknowledgment.
Or maybe she was just existing. Kinda Hard to tell with her.
She set a small container on the counter.
"Dinner."
"You really don't have to keep bringing food," I said as she began unpacking it like this was her own house. "I can cook you know."
She paused— barely.
"That is debatable."
I squinted at her. "I'm a decent cook."
"You burned rice."
"That was one time."
"Incorrect. Twice."
I threw my arms up. "Who the hell even keeps count?!"
"I do," she said, with absolute sincerity.
And somehow that made it worse...
We ended up eating together again— third evening in a row, Visiting me for dinner was a daily routine after the Nine Frequency Anomaly. Silva ate quietly, methodically, like she measured every bite.
She didn't talk much unless I asked something directly, but her presence filled the silence more than any conversation could. That was just how she was— calm, steady, an anchor you didn't know you needed until things got too loud inside your own head.
After dinner, she helped me clean up. No words exchanged. She simply rolled up her sleeves, took the plates from my hands, and began washing them with that same focused intensity she applied to missions.
Somewhere between the clinking dishes and the warm steam, a thought settled in the back of my mind.
'…Does she feel responsible for what happened to me at the Nine Frequency Anomaly?'
Every time I tried asking, she brushed it off with the same cryptic line:
"I want to make sure the sun rests safely," she would say.
Or, "Even the sun rests at night."
Tonight was no different.
As she dried her hands with a towel, I leaned back against the counter. "Silva… you don't have to keep checking on me, you know."
She looked at me. Not sharply—just… directly.
"But... uhm... You are on leave."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I need supervision."
"I am not supervising."
I raised an eyebrow. "So what are you doing?"
After a moment, she said, "…Ensuring stability. I think."
I stared. "Stability? For me or you?"
She didn't answer. Her face was as expressive as a rock.
'Does she ever relax her facial muscles?'
"Silva," I pressed, "if you're feeling guilty about the anomaly—"
"I do not feel guilt."
"…Right."
"I feel… concern."
I blinked. "That's basically guilt."
"No. Concern is logical. Guilt is… unnecessary. You survived. That is enough."
Something in her tone—subtle but present—made my chest tighten.
"…Silva," I said more softly, "you know I don't blame you, right? None of what happened was your fault."
She held my gaze for a long moment.
Then, quietly:
"…Even the sun rests at night. If it does not, it burns itself."
I groaned loudly. "Oh my god, the sun metaphors again—"
"They are relevant."
"No, they're not! Half the time I don't even know if you're being poetic or if this is just how you talk."
She blinked. "Both."
'Of course it was.'
She picked up her coat from the chair and headed toward the door.
"I will come again tomorrow," she said simply.
"That's not a request, is it?"
"No."
And with that, she left—soft steps echoing faintly down the hallway.
I sighed, locking the door behind her.
"…She definitely feels responsible," I muttered to myself.
The white fox on the couch lifted its head just long enough to stretch, yawn, and blink slowly at me—like it had personally witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations and found me the most disappointing artifact among them. Then it curled right back into a fluffy ball.
"I thought foxes were active animals," I said, flicking its ear. "Why are the only things you do sleep, eat, and laugh at me?"
It didn't even bother opening its eyes.
Just let out a high-pitched, chattering laugh—the same one it used whenever it wanted me to know I was beneath it—before drifting right back to sleep.
"The audacity of this thing is insane," I grumbled. "You must be the most insufferable fox in the world."
Its tail flicked once. Smugly.
I shook my head and headed toward my bedroom, but my mind drifted somewhere else entirely: back to the nightstand, to the small slip of paper waiting there like a secret I wasn't sure I wanted to touch.
I picked up the card carefully.
A golden border shimmered faintly beneath my fingers.
An invitation I'd found inside the Evaluation Anomaly—still pristine despite being carried around for days.
『Golden Moon Parade Market!』
Buy, sell, or exchange your Anomalous Items—anonymously!
Every full moon, 2–4 A.M at the address below!
P.S. Please be mindful of the dress code.
Tonight was a full moon.
"As sketchy as it sounds… it might be useful," I muttered, rolling the card between my fingers. "Or fatal. Hard to tell."
I spent the next few hours lazing around, flipping through channels on TV, letting my mind drift through noise and distraction. But I wasn't really watching. My thoughts kept returning to the invitation. To the words anonymously and parade and full moon.
At 1 A.M, curiosity won.
I flipped the card over to check the dress code again.
"All black and a hood," I read. "That's… it?"
I stared at it for a moment, unamused.
"I mean—it's an anomaly. Couldn't they at least ask for a mask shaped like a goat skull or something?"
My own disappointment bothered me more than the dress code.
I grabbed a pair of black pants—wrinkled from staying untouched in the back of my wardrobe—and a black hoodie with no logo.
"Should be enough," I muttered, pulling the hood up. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "Yep. Perfect mysterious idiot chic."
The address wasn't far. Lucky, because visibility at night in my district was always a coin toss between dim streetlights and pitch-black nothingness.
I walked.
The air was cold, brittle, and quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears until you're hyper-aware of your own footsteps. It was exactly the kind of atmosphere where Anomalies tended to lurk—soft, silent corners of the city, just out of sight.
By the time I reached the location, it was already 2:20 A.M.
I found myself standing at the edge of a small forest, facing a massive tree that didn't quite fit in. Its trunk twisted upward like a column of frozen smoke, wide enough that three people couldn't wrap their arms around it.
I approached cautiously.
Something about it felt… expectant. As if I were not approaching the tree, but being acknowledged by it.
My steps slowed.
The air felt heavier.
Even the moonlight dimmed, like something was drawing it inward.
And then—
The moment my fingers brushed the rough bark—
—everything snapped.
The forest dissolved like paint washed in water.
The ground rippled beneath my feet.
Colors bent, inverted, reformed.
The air shifted from cold to warm to something indescribable.
A soft chime echoed—clear, melodic, unreal.
The world around me reassembled into something impossible.
A street.
A market.
A maze of stalls stretching endlessly under a sky painted silver and gold.
Lanterns floated weightlessly.
Voices murmured.
Shadowed figures in black cloaks wandered past, faces hidden beneath elaborate masks—foxes, ravens, moons, wolves, things with too many eyes. Most of the Shadowed Figures didn't resemble Humans or any animals.
'So even Anomalies attend this... Market?'
And above it all—
A massive parade was underway, shimmering at the far end of the street, moving with a rhythm that felt alive.
My breath caught.
"So This," I whispered, "is the Golden Moon Parade Market…?"
Behind me, the entrance sealed shut like it had never existed.
I was inside.
And whatever this place was—
I had a feeling it was far more dangerous—and far more tempting—than the invitation had implied.