Torrential rain poured down, the window shrouded by a curtain of water that sealed the tavern from the outside world.
Syr stared at the storm with a troubled look.
Because of the sudden downpour, the proprietor, Mia, had decided to venture out for last-minute ingredient shopping.
As punishment for slacking off, Lunoire had been dragged along to carry the heavy goods.
With the rest of the staff staying home to await updates, the tavern was nearly empty—only Syr, Ryuu, and two endlessly chattering catgirls remained.
"So boring. Syr must be thinking about that white-haired boy, nya," Anya said idly.
"Speaking of which, as a clever detective, I noticed something interesting, nya," Chloe added.
"What is it, nya?"
"That boy—after eating Syr's love-filled bento, he didn't react at all, nya."
"Right! Even I would've passed out after eating that stuff, nya!"
"I think either Syr's cooking improved through love, or that boy's built differently, nya."
Ryuu, watching the slightly flustered human girl nearby, cut in without mercy. "If you're so curious, why don't you try Syr's cooking again?"
"!"
"Spare us, nya!"
Both cats cried out in unison, shuddering visibly.
Meanwhile, the subject of their teasing—Syr—just sat there, blankly gazing at the rain, showing no response at all.
"I think Syr's definitely hiding something, nya."
"I agree, I can smell a mystery brewing, nya."
"Don't tell me… after the boy got kicked out of the tavern last night, something happened between them, nya?"
"Meow?! Isn't that way too soon, nya?"
The two leaned close together, pretending to whisper—but their voices were loud enough for everyone to hear clearly.
Syr continued staring out the window, unmoving.
Ryuu frowned slightly, concern flickering in her eyes as she tried to think of a way to gently ask what was wrong.
But before she could speak, Syr suddenly seemed to notice something. She quickly grabbed an umbrella and rushed out of the tavern.
"Meow? Did she see the boy, nya?"
"Impossible. My senses didn't pick up anything. There's absolutely no trace of the boy outside, nya."
Ryuu didn't bother questioning what Chloe meant by "senses."
Instead, she shot up like the wind, unfurling her umbrella and following closely behind Syr's fading figure.
...
Rain lashed down like spears as Bell trailed the mercenaries through the backstreets.
The route they took was all narrow side paths, completely deserted—clearly chosen with care.
This kidnapping had been planned from the start.
Bell had no intention of throwing his life away in a head-on fight.
The mercenary already held the advantage, and Bell's body was on the verge of collapse. Charging recklessly would only lead to death.
Even so, he didn't give up.
Reporting to the Guild would take time—too much time spent on procedures and evidence.
If he wanted to save Naaza, locating the enemy's base as fast as possible was the key.
The farther he walked, the sharper the pain grew.
The rain felt like arrows piercing his flesh, soaking through his clothes and biting deep into his skin.
He couldn't afford to relax for even a second.
To avoid being spotted, he had kept a safe distance—but if he lost sight of them now, everything would be for nothing.
The mercenaries turned into a narrow alley.
Bell forced his heavy, battered body forward, ignoring the scream of pain from his side, and rushed after them.
By a rundown gambling den, the mercenary knocked on a side door and carried Naaza inside.
He found it.
Their hideout.
All he needed to do now was contact the Guild and report their location.
Bell exhaled slightly in relief—only to realize his body could barely move anymore.
Blood filled his mouth, its metallic taste overpowering even the scent of rain, leaving only rot and pain behind.
The relentless sprinting had twisted his wounded abdomen into a grotesque, purplish-red mess.
The unbearable pain spread through him like a demon clawing free.
Move.
Bell screamed inwardly.
Just one last step. Move—now.
His body felt as though a thousand-pound weight had been chained to it. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't move.
Move!
Bell leaned against the wall, forcing his body upward using what little strength he had—only to cough up a mouthful of blood.
The rain washed the crimson away, leaving nothing but pain and exhaustion behind.
The youth collapsed onto the ground.
Even though his heart still burned and his mind screamed, his body refused to take another step.
Raindrops soaked through his clothes, swallowing him whole. What followed was endless guilt and creeping darkness.
The rain fell harder, as if crying for someone.
Inside the casino, the mercenary carried Naaza through a deserted private corridor and handed her over to the client.
Ignoring the glances of others, he frowned and turned back toward the entrance.
The image of that white-haired boy lying motionless on the ground refused to leave his mind.
He shouldn't have been able to hurt me.
What am I afraid of?
Irritation welled up in the mercenary's chest as he stepped outside, scanning the street.
He didn't even know why he was being so cautious. His instincts simply told him to eliminate the threat.
It felt like he'd returned to his days as an Adventurer—nervous, hesitant, jumping at every monster's roar.
If the gods could see him now, they'd laugh at his cowardice.
He glanced around again—and froze in disbelief.
White hair.
An illusion?
He'd checked the apothecary himself. Every healing potion there had been used up. There was no way that boy could have followed him here.
Humans remember pain. Instinct drives them to avoid danger.
Even if the boy had somehow stood back up, after those injuries, no sane person would keep following.
Unless he was a complete fool… or something inhuman.
At the far end of the alley, a glimpse of white hair caught the mercenary's eye. He moved closer.
Drawing the longsword from his waist, he approached cautiously.
It wasn't an illusion.
The figure was low to the ground—collapsed?
Just as he reached the mouth of the alley, the white hair shifted.
The mercenary rushed forward.
What he saw instead was a beautiful, unfamiliar girl.
A tavern waitress?
He recognized her by her clothes.
"What's wrong, Adventurer… sir?" Syr asked, holding up her pale green umbrella, her eyes flicking uneasily toward his drawn sword.
"Sorry. Must've been my imagination." The mercenary sheathed his blade. "You wouldn't have happened to see a white-haired boy around, would you?"
"No, I haven't. It's pouring out here—you should head back before you catch a cold."
For some reason, Syr's voice carried a strange, soothing warmth.
It was as if her gentle tone washed away every trace of doubt and anger, clear and calm like spring water.
"Thank you for your answer."
The mercenary turned away with a faint, self-mocking smile.
That boy couldn't have made it this far. Maybe those scumbags were right—those mixed Potions scattered on the floor must have produced hallucinations.
He hurried back toward the casino, never noticing what was behind Syr.
Not far from her, the white-haired youth who had haunted his mind rested quietly on an Elf girl's back.