Rolin opened his eyes.
His vision was blurry.
Not the dramatic kind—just enough to make him blink several times in confusion.
The first thing he saw was… white.
A white ceiling.
As his sight slowly sharpened, details emerged:
a perfectly smooth surface, and a flat, circular spotlight embedded above him.
"…Where am I?" he muttered.
Then he froze.
"Wait… how can I see clearly when I only have one eye?"
His right hand shot up instantly.
He touched his left eye.
It was there.
Fully intact.
"…Okay. That's new."
Then—
"Wait… why is my right arm back?"
He sat up abruptly, checking his arm, his eye, his body—then pinched himself hard.
"Ow—!"
"…Yeah. Definitely not a dream."
There was no pain.
No lingering ache.
Nothing.
He pushed the door open.
The moment he looked outside, his breath caught.
Standing there was the woman who had interrogated him before everything went downhill—before prison, before the mountain, before all the madness.
She hadn't changed much… but also had.
Her black hair was loose and silky, cascading naturally over her shoulders.
Her purple eyes were exactly the same—sharp, observant, unreadable.
She wore a black dress accented with a silver belt at the waist, a modern white jacket with slightly puffed sleeves over it, black gloves, and high heels that clicked softly against the floor.
Rolin stared.
Then—just like the first time—
He whistled.
She raised an eyebrow.
"So? Are you going to say 'beauty is scarce in the Kennel' again?"
He smirked.
"Stole the words right out of my mouth."
She smiled, revealing pearly white teeth, and sat beside him.
"I was on my day off when the hospital called," she said casually.
"They said you were showing signs of waking up. So I came."
Signs of waking up…?
That means I was in a coma…
He looked at her.
"How long was I out?"
She thought for a moment.
"Maybe two or three weeks."
Rolin blinked.
Two or three weeks… and yet—
His muscles felt fine.
His body felt normal.
His terrible wounds were gone.
His eye and arm—completely restored.
"This hospital is incredible," he said honestly.
"It healed everything. Even preserved my body during the coma."
She stared at him.
"…What are you talking about?"
"Didn't this hospital treat me?"
She flicked his forehead lightly.
"Ow—! Why?!"
"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" she asked flatly.
Rolin rubbed his forehead.
"Why would you—"
"When we found you," she interrupted, "you were completely clean. Not a single scratch. And this place?"
She glanced around.
"This hospital is a wreck. I'm convinced that if a healthy person enters, they'll leave sick."
Rolin froze.
Then… memories surfaced.
The voice.
The warmth.
"…So it was real."
She narrowed her eyes.
"What was real?"
He turned quickly.
"Nothing. Literally nothing."
That voice said something about swords… what was it…?
His eyes widened.
Suddenly, he shouted—
"So that I can break swords!"
Silence.
"…Are you absolutely sure you didn't hit your head?" she asked.
Rolin looked away, embarrassed.
"I was just… thinking."
Right. Likath said something similar. Warned me about swords. But why? They're just metal. I've broken plenty before… haven't I?
She cut into his thoughts.
"I'm actually here to discuss something with you."
"What is it?"
She suddenly leaned forward, grabbed the edges of his hospital gown—and pulled it open.
Rolin screamed internally.
He shoved her away, face instantly red, covering his chest.
"W-What are you doing?! Is that what you want from me?!"
She blinked.
Then burst out laughing.
Hard.
"So that's what goes on in that filthy brain of yours?" she said between laughs.
"Relax, kid. I'd rather adopt a dog."
"…What?"
Before he could explode, she pointed at his chest.
Rolin followed her finger—and froze.
"What… is that?"
On his chest was a mark.
A tattoo—or a brand—of a wolf.
Its body was massive, its fur thick and wild, its head turned slightly to the side.
Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.
And on the right side of his abdomen…
A black stone, embedded into his flesh like dark agate.
Of course, his body was still covered in countless scars—old ones, earned through life itself.
But the wolf mark and the stone…
They were new.
"When we took you from the mountain," she said, "we found this near you."
She handed him a dagger.
Likath's crimson dagger—three converging blades spiraling like a drill.
"You killed a Corrupted Breaker and walked away without a scratch," she continued.
"That alone is insane. But the rumor spread fast. People heard that a boy killed a monster capable of tearing apart a fourth-rank adventurer with ease."
Rolin ignored the mark and the stone, gripping the dagger tightly.
"How did you find me?"
"A little girl came running to the knights guarding the exit of Earthy Mountain," she said.
"She said, 'My big brother is playing with me.'"
"…Then?"
"We climbed up. Found the corpse of the Devil Claw beast. And then we found you."
She stood up.
"Anyway, we'll talk later. Get some rest."
She paused, glancing back at him.
"And I hope you reconsider my offer. Because after learning what you did…"
She smiled.
"I'm not letting you go."
She reached the door, then stopped.
"Oh, right. I never told you my name."
She turned.
"I'm Julia. Fifth-rank adventurer. I look forward to working with you."
She left.
Rolin sat there, stunned.
Damn it… a fifth-rank adventurer?
How did I miss that? Am I really this stupid?
Suddenly—
The atmosphere changed.
The circular light above him went out.
The air grew hot.
"…What's happening?"
A dark crimson flame appeared before him—almost black.
Then a voice.
"Ah… damn it. Looks like I got stuck, you ugly idiot."
Rolin stared.
"…I'm starting to hate waking up."