The streetlamps of the Coastal Kingdom glowed like amber fireflies when the Strongest Guild stepped through the north gate. Shops still bustled; fishmongers packed stalls in crushed ice, and sailors hauled cargo by lantern‑light. The sea air tasted of salt and fried squid, and deep waves thudded in the dark like a slow drum. They had just arrived, but none of them wanted to waste a minute. Shunjiro gathered everyone under a hanging lamp outside the gate office. “We have two goals,” he said. “First, find any sign of Takeshi or Squad 8. Second, a place to sleep before we fall over.” “So,” Itsuki offered, “I can go look for an inn.” “I can go with you, I’ll find the best food street on the way,” Tetsuo added, patting his belly. Aiko adjusted the strap on her travel flask. “Ryuji and I will ask around taverns for Squad 8 rumors. And maybe taste local beer, for research.” Ryuji grinned. “I like this half of the plan.” That left Shunjiro and Yoshinori. “We’ll check the guild hall,” Yoshinori said. “If Squad 8 ever filed missions through this city, records will be there.” They bumped fists, then set off down three different streets, lantern light trailing behind. Shunjiro and Yoshinori followed signboards carved with a crossed‑sword symbol to a two‑story stone house at the center dock square. A wooden plaque read “Harbor Guild Office.” Compared to the great marble hall of Radiance, this place felt almost cozy, only ten quest boards, one help desk, and wall lanterns instead of chandeliers. Inside, a few bronze‑badge wanderers picked jobs from cork boards. A clerk with inky fingers stamped payment slips. The guild master, an older man named Captain Jarvis, sat behind a counter made from an old ship rail. Yoshinori stepped forward. “Sir, we’re looking for information on a guild called Squad 8. They finished an SS mission here four days ago. Anything you can share would help.” The captain’s tanned face tightened. “Information that high can’t be given out to rank‑C strangers. Sorry, lads.” Shunjiro tried charm. “We’re not here to bother Squad 8. One of them is my brother. I only want to know if he’s safe.” Captain Jarvis’s eyes softened, then grew wary again. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Son, top guilds live with prices on their heads. Rival crews, shadow cartels, even foreign spies look to snag a name like that to force negotiation or collect a bounty. If folks see me sharing files, they come after my staff. Can’t risk it.” Shunjiro’s shoulders slumped, but Yoshinori gave a respectful nod. “We understand. Thank you for your time.” Jarvis sighed, glancing left and right, then slid a scratch sheet across the desk. On it he tapped one brief note: “Try the harbor street. Look for people who walk like heroes.” Then he cleared his throat loudly and waved them away as though nothing happened. They spent the next three hours roaming lamp‑lit alleys near the docks: a smithy where swords hung like fish on a rack-no luck. A spice house whose owner swore he once sold “trainers’ salt” to a tall man with a blue cape, might be a false lead. A sailor’s pub called The Rolling Gull, where drunks argued about shark‑men sightings, nothing solid. With each turn Yoshinori tried to read clues: size of boot prints, tone of gossip, timing of supply orders. Shunjiro stopped any dock worker who looked friendly. They were about to give up for the night when a small voice called, “Mister?” A girl, no older than seven, stood under a fish lantern. Her wool dress had a torn sleeve patched with bright thread. She held a seashell doll missing one arm. Shunjiro knelt. “Hey there. Something wrong?” “You’re asking about the sword man, aren’t you?” she whispered. “The one who fixed my roof.” Yoshinori’s eyes sharpened. “Sword man? You know his name?” She nodded hard. “Takeshi. He and a funny lady with big earrings.” Shunjiro’s breath hitched. “Can you tell us where they went?” The girl frowned, thinking. “They come to town lots. Mostly they stay in the big warehouse, white doors and a star flag on top.” Yoshinori traded a look with Shunjiro. A private base, no surprise for a top guild. But a warehouse was broad; Bay Street stretched a mile. The girl hugged her doll. “He said I’m brave and gave me this shell.” She opened her palm; a small pink shell glimmered. Shunjiro reached for his coin pouch. “For your help.” He held out five dragon coins. Wide‑eyed, the girl shook her head. “No pay. He said people should help each other.” Shunjiro’s throat tightened. He slipped the coins into her pocket anyway. Yoshinori crouched. “Did Takeshi say when they’d be back?” She chewed her lip. “After the next big job, he said.” Then she looked down. “Sorry, that’s all I know.” “It’s plenty,” Yoshinori assured her. He took out a blank quest slip, ripped a corner, and drew a simple map from the dock square to the North Star warehouse. “Keep safe, all right?” She beamed, then skipped off into the maze of houses. Walking back toward the inn district, Yoshinori pieced the puzzle aloud: “Squad 8 runs covert, keeps a private dock house. A local guild master who shares details could be seen as an ally or leak. If cartels attacked, the small guild might be crushed.” Shunjiro nodded. “I hate it, but it makes sense.” “We know a street and a flag sign now,” Yoshinori said. “Tomorrow at first light we’ll scout.” Shunjiro slapped his arm. “Thank you, man. Couldn’t have found her without your sharp head.” Yoshinori gave a rare smile. “Just footwork and listening.” They arrived at the Sea Fern Inn, a two‑story house with blue shutters and baskets of dried seaweed hanging from beams. Itsuki opened the door before they could knock. Her apron was dusted with flour. “You’re back! Dinner’s still warm.” The dining room smelled of fish stew, herb bread, and candied kelp. Tetsuo sat at the table, cheeks bulging. “She cooked three pies,” he mumbled. Shunjiro blinked. “When did you learn the kitchen here?” “I traded some dragon coins to the cook,” Itsuki said with a shy shrug. While they ate, the two shared their lead. Itsuki clapped. “A warehouse, great first clue!” Tetsuo thumped the table. “Tomorrow we march down Bay Street and knock on every white door!” Yoshinori sighed. “Better we start at dawn before crowds gather.” They looked around. “Where are Aiko and Ryuji?” Shunjiro asked. “I heard Ryuji yelling about ‘free tasting flights,’” Tetsuo said. “They’ll roll in late.” Itsuki covered a laugh. “I saved plates.” Far out past the harbor, moonlight turned the waves to polished steel. Below, in black depths, something vast stirred. Scales like slate plates slid over sand. A fin taller than a mast cut the surface for one breath, then vanished. Glow‑jellyfish scattered. The shape angled toward shore. Each sweep of its tail pushed a pulse of cold, as if the ocean itself held its breath. Unseen by any lantern, the creature moved closer to the Coastal Kingdom, carrying a threat that no city wall could bar. Shunjiro’s group laughed inside the Sea Fern Inn, warm and unaware. But outside, the tide pulled higher, and the deep carried secrets toward the coast.