Three weeks had passed since Itsuki Nozomi opened her eyes. 

Yoshinori Raikawa was always the first to wake. Long before the sun. Long before the city. Long before anyone else in the dorm even stirred.

The room was still wrapped in darkness when his eyes opened, the faintest trace of blue-gray light just beginning to press against the edges of the curtains. For a moment, he lay still, listening.

Shunjiro, sprawled without care. Tetsuo, snoring faintly, one arm hanging off the side of his bed. Ryuji turned toward the wall, unmoving.

Yoshinori exhaled slowly and sat up.

The floor was cold beneath his feet as he stood, moving carefully, deliberately. Every step was measured to avoid the creak of wood, every motion controlled so nothing unnecessary disturbed the quiet.

He had done this enough times to know exactly where the floor would complain.

The door opened with the faintest whisper.

Then closed just as softly behind him.

The dorm kitchen was empty.

Silent and peaceful.

The kind of silence that only existed before dawn.

Yoshinori moved through it without turning on a single light. He didn’t need to. The layout was familiar, etched into memory through repetition.

A kettle.

A cup.

Measured movements.

Water poured.

The soft creak of the cabinet as he opened it slightly.

Every sound was small.

Contained.

The kettle began to hum quietly as it heated, the only living noise in the room. Yoshinori leaned lightly against the counter, arms folded, eyes half-lidded as he waited.

His thoughts were already moving.

Not scattered.

Not rushed.

Organized.

Always organized.

By the time the water reached its peak, he had already begun mentally outlining the day ahead, training adjustments, energy control exercises, variables he still hadn’t solved.

The kettle clicked and he poured.

Steam rose in thin spirals, carrying the bitter, grounding scent of coffee into the air.

Yoshinori took the cup in one hand.

Then turned toward the bookshelf.

It stood tucked into the corner of the room, mostly untouched by the others. A collection of texts, old, worn, some barely legible, others filled with dense diagrams and theories no one else in the dorm had the patience to sit through except him.

His fingers traced along the spines briefly before stopping on one.

He pulled it free.

The cover was slightly frayed, the pages inside marked by use rather than neglect.

A book on energy circulation and control. Advanced methods of refining spiritual output. Old training records passed down from veteran adventurers.

The kind of thing most people would call boring. The kind of thing Yoshinori couldn’t stop thinking about.

He walked over to the couch and sat down, the cushions sinking slightly beneath his weight. The room remained dim, lit only by the faint pre-dawn light beginning to creep in through the windows.

He opened the book to where he had left off.

A small crease marked the page.

He took a sip of his coffee.

Then began to read.

His eyes moved steadily across the text, absorbing, analyzing, connecting. Every line was something to be broken down, questioned, understood. His mind didn’t drift. It deepened.

Outside, the world slowly began to wake.

The sky shifted from black to deep blue.

Then to something lighter.

The first distant sounds of the city stirred, faint footsteps, a cart rolling somewhere along stone, the early call of a merchant preparing for the day.

But inside the dorm nothing changed.

This was his time.

The quiet before everything else.

The moment where the world hadn’t caught up to him yet.

He turned the page.

Took another sip.

And continued.

Not long after, the quiet shifted.

The soft creak of the dorm door broke through the stillness, subtle but noticeable against the silence Yoshinori had settled into. He didn’t lift his gaze from the page, but he registered the sound immediately, the measured footsteps that followed confirming what he already expected.

Itsuki Nozomi stepped into the kitchen.

Her long black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, slightly disheveled from sleep, catching the early hints of morning light beginning to filter through the windows. There was a calmness to her presence, something steady and unhurried, as if she had eased into the morning rather than woken into it. She paused for a brief moment upon entering, her eyes naturally settling on Yoshinori seated on the couch, book in hand.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Yoshinori turned a page, his voice just as quiet. “Morning.”

That was all the exchange needed to be.

Itsuki moved further into the kitchen, her steps light as she approached the counter. Her hands instinctively reached for the things she needed, familiarity guiding her movements without thought. Before she began, she stopped near one of the chairs and picked up a pink apron draped neatly over its back. She slipped it over her head and tied it behind her waist with practiced ease, smoothing the fabric once against her front before turning back to her task.

Then she began preparing breakfast.

The kitchen slowly filled with soft, rhythmic sounds, the gentle tap of a knife against the cutting board, the quiet shift of utensils, the low hum of a pan warming over the stove. Each movement was precise but relaxed, a natural flow that didn’t disturb the calm of the room. There was no need for conversation, no need to fill the space with unnecessary words. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it carried a quiet understanding, something that had settled into place over time.

Yoshinori remained where he was, eyes scanning the pages of his book, one hand occasionally lifting his cup to take a measured sip of coffee. The warmth of it lingered as he read, his focus uninterrupted even as the scent of food began to spread through the room.

Itsuki moved with a quiet rhythm that felt almost natural to watch, as if cooking was something her body understood without needing thought. She gathered ingredients one by one, placing them neatly along the counter, her fingers brushing lightly over each item as she decided what to prepare.

She began with the vegetables, drawing them closer and steadying them beneath her hand. The knife moved with clean, precise motions, each cut even and controlled. The soft, repetitive sound of the blade meeting the cutting board blended into the calm of the room, never too sharp, never disruptive. Strands of her dark hair slipped forward as she leaned slightly, catching faint traces of the morning light, and she paused briefly to tuck them behind her ear before continuing.

There was a gentleness to everything she did. Measured. Careful.

She shifted her weight slightly as she moved from one step to the next, the pink apron tied at her waist swaying faintly with each motion. The fabric caught the light differently than her darker clothing, adding a softness to her presence that contrasted with the quiet focus in her eyes.

Once the ingredients were prepared, she turned toward the stove. The pan had already begun to warm, and she placed it properly before adding oil, watching as it shimmered across the surface. There was a small pause, just enough to gauge the heat, before she added what she had cut.

The sizzle was immediate but controlled.

Steam rose gently, curling upward in thin, drifting trails that caught the sunlight now beginning to fill more of the room. She stirred slowly, ensuring nothing burned, her movements smooth and unhurried. The scent of food grew richer with each passing second, filling the space with something warm and familiar.

Behind her, Yoshinori turned another page.

Itsuki reached for another pan, balancing the timing without effort. She cracked eggs cleanly against the edge, the shells separating in her hands without mess, letting them fall into place with practiced ease. Her attention never wavered, even as she moved between tasks, adjusting heat, stirring, plating pieces as they reached the right point.

The kitchen slowly came alive with warmth, the early sunlight stretching further across the floor, catching in the rising steam and reflecting softly against the surfaces around her. 

The quiet didn’t last much longer.

A heavier step sounded down the hallway, less careful, less deliberate, followed by the faint scrape of a door opening wider than necessary. A yawn echoed softly before it was cut short, and a moment later, Shunjiro Tenzai stepped into the kitchen, running a hand through his already messy hair as he blinked against the growing light.

He paused when he saw her. Itsuki stood at the stove, framed by the soft gold of the early morning, steam rising gently around her as she moved between pans. The pink apron tied at her waist caught his attention for half a second before his expression shifted into something more relaxed, more awake.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still carrying the rough edge of sleep.

Itsuki glanced over her shoulder, a small smile forming as she continued stirring. “Good morning.”

He stepped further into the room, the scent of breakfast hitting him fully now. Whatever lingering drowsiness he had faded quickly as he leaned slightly toward the counter, trying to get a better look at what she was making.

“What is all that?” he asked, curiosity slipping easily into his tone.

“Breakfast,” she answered simply, though there was a faint hint of amusement in her voice.

He let out a quiet laugh at that, nodding as if the answer was completely reasonable. “Yeah, I figured that much. I meant what kind.”

“I’ll show you when it’s done.”

Shunjiro pulled out a chair at the table and dropped into it with a soft exhale, stretching his arms briefly before letting them fall against the surface. The warmth of the room, the smell of food, and the calm atmosphere settled around him quickly, grounding him in a way that felt almost unfamiliar after everything they had been through.

A moment later, Yoshinori closed his book. He placed it carefully on the table beside his cup before standing and walking over, taking a seat across from Shunjiro. His movements were as composed as always, though there was a subtle shift in his posture, less isolated now that the morning had begun.

Shunjiro glanced at him. “You’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”

Yoshinori nodded once. “As usual.”

Shunjiro shook his head lightly. “I don’t get how you do that.”

“It’s efficient.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

The conversation settled into place naturally after that, the kind that didn’t need effort to start or maintain. Shunjiro leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting along the edge of the table as he spoke, his energy steadily returning now that he was fully awake.

Yoshinori responded in his usual manner, direct, thoughtful, occasionally dry but there was an ease to it that hadn’t always been there before. The tension from past battles, the constant urgency, had faded just enough to allow something more ordinary to take its place.

Behind them, Itsuki continued cooking, listening quietly as they talked. She moved between tasks with the same calm rhythm, occasionally glancing back at them, the faintest hint of a smile returning each time their conversation drifted into something lighter.

The kitchen filled not just with warmth and the scent of food, but with something else.

Something simple and steady.

Several plates were set neatly along the counter, steam rising in soft waves from the food she had carefully prepared. The warmth in the room had deepened, no longer just from the stove, but from the quiet sense of completion that settled in once everything was ready. She wiped her hands lightly against her apron, taking a small step back to look over her work, making sure nothing was missing.

“It’s ready,” she said, her voice calm as ever. Then, glancing toward Shunjiro, she added, “Can you wake the others?”

Shunjiro stood almost immediately, stretching once as he pushed himself away from the table. “Yeah, I got it.”

He made his way down the hallway, the sounds of the kitchen fading behind him as he reached the door to the boys’ room. Without much hesitation, he pushed it open.

The room was still dim, curtains drawn just enough to keep the early sunlight from fully spilling in. The air carried the heaviness of sleep, undisturbed except for the faint shifting of one person already beginning to wake.

Ryuji was sitting up halfway in his bed, rubbing his eyes with one hand, hair a complete mess as he tried to orient himself. He squinted toward the doorway when Shunjiro entered.

“…Morning,” Ryuji muttered, voice rough.

“Morning,” Shunjiro replied, stepping inside. “Breakfast’s ready.”

Ryuji nodded slowly, still waking up, his gaze drifting toward the other beds.

More specifically toward Tetsuo.

Tetsuo lay completely unmoving.

Flat on his back.

Arms slightly spread.

Breathing deep.

Unbothered by the world.

Shunjiro crossed his arms, staring down at him for a moment. “He’s still out?”

Ryuji let out a small breath, already sounding tired of the situation. “He hasn’t moved.”

Shunjiro stepped closer to the bed, leaning slightly over Tetsuo. “Tetsuo.”

Nothing.

Not even a twitch.

“Tetsuo,” he repeated, a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

Ryuji swung his legs off the bed, now fully awake enough to participate. “You’re not gonna wake him like that.”

Shunjiro glanced back. “Oh yeah?”

Ryuji nodded, standing and walking over. “Watch.”

He reached down and grabbed Tetsuo’s shoulder, giving him a firm shake. “Hey. Wake up.”

Tetsuo’s head rolled slightly to the side.

A low, barely audible sound left him.

Then silence again.

Shunjiro stared. “…No way.”

Ryuji frowned, clearly annoyed now. “He’s like a rock.”

Tetsuo inhaled deeply then rolled slightly onto his side, pulling part of his blanket with him like none of it mattered.

Ryuji stared at him in disbelief.

The two of them looked at each other for half a second. 

Shunjiro let out a slow breath, then cracked his neck slightly as he looked down at Tetsuo again, who remained completely unbothered by everything happening around him. There was something almost impressive about it, the way he could ignore the world so thoroughly.

“Alright,” Shunjiro said, rolling his shoulders. “We’re done being nice.”

Ryuji nodded immediately. “Yeah. Way past that.”

Without another word, Shunjiro grabbed one of Tetsuo’s arms while Ryuji took the other. They pulled.

Nothing.

Tetsuo didn’t even budge.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ryuji muttered.

Shunjiro adjusted his grip. “On three.”

Ryuji nodded. “One… two-”

They yanked.

Tetsuo’s upper body lifted slightly off the bed then dropped right back down like dead weight.

A low, annoyed groan left him, but his eyes didn’t open.

“That’s not normal,” Shunjiro said flatly.

Ryuji ran a hand through his hair, already frustrated. “He’s not even trying to wake up.”

Shunjiro stepped back for a second, thinking. Then his eyes shifted. “Tetsuo.”

No response.

“Itsuki made breakfast.”

Nothing.

“…There’s a lot of food.”

A pause.

Tetsuo’s fingers twitched.

Ryuji’s eyes lit up slightly. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

Shunjiro leaned down again, voice firmer now. “And we’re about to eat all of it if you don’t get up.”

This time Tetsuo’s eyes cracked open. Barely.

“…Don’t,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

Shunjiro grinned. “Then get up.”

Another second passed.

Then Tetsuo slowly pushed himself upright, his movements heavy, reluctant, like gravity had doubled overnight. His hair stuck out in every direction, and his expression looked like he hadn’t fully returned to the world yet.

“…I was awake,” he lied.

Ryuji stared at him. “No you weren’t.”

Tetsuo ignored him, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up with a stretch that cracked half his body at once. “Let’s go before you guys actually eat everything.”

Shunjiro shook his head, laughing lightly as he turned toward the door. “Unbelievable.”

The three of them made their way back down the hallway, the sounds of the kitchen growing clearer again as they approached. The warmth, the smell of food, it all hit at once.

And when they stepped inside someone was already sitting at the table.

Aiko Hanabi.

She sat casually in one of the chairs, legs crossed slightly, resting her chin against her hand as if she had been there the entire time. There was no sign of her entering. No footsteps. No door opening.

She simply… was there.

Shunjiro blinked. “You weren’t here a second ago.”

Aiko smiled faintly. “Now I am.”

Ryuji frowned, looking around the room. “You didn’t even walk in.”

“I didn’t need to.”

Yoshinori glanced over at her from his seat, eyes narrowing slightly as he observed her. “What did you even swap with?”

Aiko tilted her head just slightly, the corner of her lips lifting into a small, knowing smirk. “That’s a secret.”

Yoshinori studied her for a moment longer, clearly running through possibilities but Aiko said nothing more. She simply sat there, entirely at ease with the mystery she left behind.

Tetsuo didn’t question it.

He had already taken a seat.

“Food,” he said, completely focused.

Itsuki turned from the counter, carrying the last of the plates over, setting them down in front of everyone one by one. The table filled quickly, the warmth of the meal spreading outward, pulling the group together naturally.

Shunjiro took his seat.

Ryuji followed.

And just like that everyone was there.

They didn’t wait long.

The moment Itsuki finished setting everything down, the stillness broke naturally as hands reached forward, plates shifted, and the quiet rhythm of eating replaced the earlier calm. The warmth of the food settled in quickly, grounding in a way that only something simple and familiar could. For a while, no one rushed the conversation. It was enough just to sit there, to eat, to exist without urgency pressing at their backs.

Aiko, however, didn’t follow the same rhythm. She reached for a glass first, lifting it in one hand as if she intended to pour something properly. For a brief moment, it almost looked like she was going to match the tone of the morning.

Then she paused.

Her eyes flicked toward the cabinet.

Without standing, without even turning fully, her fingers shifted slightly and in the next instant, the glass in her hand was gone.

In its place was a bottle of wine.

It hadn’t been opened.

It hadn’t even been near her.

But now it rested casually in her grip as if it had always been there.

Aiko glanced at it, then at the empty space where the glass had been, completely unbothered.

“I don’t need the glass,” she said, tilting the bottle slightly. “This works.”

Shunjiro blinked. “You just- When did you imbue energy into the wine bottle?”

Yoshinori didn’t even let him finish. His gaze had already sharpened. “Are you seriously drinking before training?”

Aiko didn’t hesitate. She brought the bottle up, taking a slow sip like it was the most normal thing in the world, then lowered it again with a faint, satisfied expression.

“The food will sober me up,” she said simply.

Yoshinori stared at her for a second, clearly unimpressed. “That’s not how that works.”

“It works for me.”

Ryuji leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. “She’s used to it,” he said, picking up his utensil again. “Drunk hag lifestyle.”

There was no warning.

Aiko’s leg moved under the table.

A sharp kick connected cleanly with Ryuji’s shin.

He flinched instantly, nearly choking on his food as he jerked forward. “-What was that for?!”

Aiko didn’t even look at him. She took another sip from the bottle, completely composed. “Watch your mouth.”

Ryuji winced, rubbing his leg. “You’re proving my point.”

Tetsuo, who had been fully focused on eating up until that moment, finally glanced up, chewing slowly as he took in the situation. His eyes shifted from Aiko to Ryuji, then back again.

“You don’t wanna mess with someone like her,” he said casually. “She could swap a boulder over your head and crush you before you even realize what happened.”

There was no drama in his tone. Just fact.

Aiko’s lips curled slightly as she lowered the bottle, clearly pleased. “See?” she said, nodding once toward him. “The big guy gets it.”

Tetsuo gave a small shrug and went right back to eating.

Ryuji muttered something under his breath but didn’t push it any further, clearly deciding the risk wasn’t worth it.

Yoshinori exhaled quietly, shaking his head just slightly before returning to his meal.

Shunjiro leaned back in his chair, watching all of it unfold with a faint grin, the tension of earlier days feeling further and further away with every passing second.

And at the center of it all, Itsuki sat quietly, observing, a soft smile resting on her lips as the conversation flowed naturally around her.

By the time the last bites were taken, the table had fallen into that quiet, satisfied stillness that only came after a good meal. Plates were nearly empty, the warmth of the food lingering in their bodies, softening the edges of the morning and settling into something comfortable. Chairs shifted slightly as everyone leaned back, the earlier noise of conversation fading into a more relaxed calm.

One by one, they spoke.

“Thanks, Itsuki.”

“That was really good.”

“You always make it better than anyone else.”

Even Tetsuo gave a small nod as he pushed his plate forward, which, coming from him, carried more weight than most would realize.

Itsuki stood near the table, gathering a few dishes, her movements as composed as ever. On the surface, nothing about her changed. Her expression stayed soft, polite, the same gentle calm she always carried with her.

But inside, something warmed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t overwhelming.

Just a quiet, steady kind of happiness that settled deep in her chest.

Cooking had always been another way of caring for them, of doing something she could offer without stepping into danger, without needing to prove anything. Seeing them eat, seeing them relaxed, seeing them like this, that alone was enough.

But the compliments… Those were different.

She would never say it out loud, never let it show in any obvious way, but she held onto them more than she let on. Each simple “thank you,” each offhand comment about how good it was, each bit of appreciation, it stayed with her. It mattered.

More than it should have. More than she would ever admit.

Her fingers paused briefly on one of the plates before she continued cleaning, her small smile lingering just a fraction longer than usual.

Around her, the others began to move again, the stillness breaking as the day started to take shape. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor as they stood, stretching, resetting, shifting back into motion.

The warmth of breakfast lingered with them even as the moment came to an end. Plates were cleared, chairs slid back into place, and the quiet comfort of the dorm slowly gave way to motion again. No one rushed it. There was no urgency pushing them forward, no looming pressure demanding immediate action. Instead, they moved at an easy pace, gathering what they needed, stretching off the last bits of sleep, letting the morning settle fully into their bodies.

Three weeks had passed since Itsuki woke up.

Three weeks of recovery. Of routine. Of training that pushed just enough without breaking them again. They hadn’t taken a single quest in that time. Not because they couldn’t but because they didn’t need to. Not yet. The weight of Dungeon Valley had taken time to fade, and for once, they had allowed themselves that time.

But now that stillness had run its course.

The air felt different as they stepped outside, the Kingdom of Radiance already alive around them. Sunlight spilled across the streets, catching on gold-lined rooftops and reflecting in warm, familiar hues. Merchants called out from their stalls, the scent of food drifting through the air, the distant hum of movement reminding them that the world had never stopped, only they had.

Shunjiro walked at the front, hands tucked loosely at his sides, his gaze forward but his thoughts already shifting. There was a quiet focus in him now, something more grounded than before. The break had done its job.

Behind him, the others followed naturally.

Yoshinori walked with his usual calm. Aiko moved with an easy confidence, completely unbothered, as if the idea of returning to work was just another form of entertainment. Ryuji stretched his arms as they walked, already looking like he was itching for something to do. Tetsuo yawned once, lazily, but kept pace without complaint.

And Itsuki walked among them. Awake. Steady. Present.

The memory of her stillness, of the quiet fear that had filled the dorm not long ago, felt distant now but not forgotten. It lingered just enough to remind them what it meant to have her here again.

They didn’t speak much on the way.

They didn’t need to.

The decision had already been made.

The guild hall came into view soon after, its large structure standing firm at the center of activity. Adventurers moved in and out constantly, armor clinking, voices overlapping, energy filling the space before they even stepped inside.

And just like that they were back.

Illumina moved through the hall, the familiar noise washing over them as they stepped into the main floor. Conversations overlapped, boots echoed against the stone, and the constant movement of adventurers gave the space a steady, living rhythm. It hadn’t changed.

But they had.

They slowed as they approached the center of the room.

Then stopped in front of the quest board.

Sheets of parchment overlapped one another in uneven layers, requests pinned, torn, replaced, updated. Ink varied from rushed scribbles to clean, official script. Some jobs were simple: escort duties, supply runs, low-tier monster clearing. Others were marked with heavier ink, reinforced corners, and higher rewards, danger written between the lines.

No one reached out immediately.

They read.

Carefully.

Ryuji leaned in slightly, scanning a cluster of mid-tier requests. “These look normal again,” he muttered. “No more ‘we might die for no reason’ type stuff.”

Aiko tilted her head, eyes bouncing quickly from one posting to the next. “Normal doesn’t sound very fun.”

“That’s because you like things exploding,” Ryuji added calmly.

She grinned. “And you don’t?”

He didn’t answer, but the faintest smirk tugged at his expression.

Yoshinori stepped closer to the center of the board, eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the structure rather than the jobs themselves.

“Notice the markings,” he said.

Shunjiro glanced over. “What about them?”

“The ink color. The stamps. The corner seals.” Yoshinori gestured subtly. “These aren’t just random postings. They’re categorized by guild priority and internal evaluation.”

Itsuki leaned in beside Shunjiro, following Yoshinori’s line of sight. “Evaluation… of us?”

“Of everyone,” Yoshinori corrected. “Every active squad is tracked. Performance, mission difficulty, completion efficiency, adaptability… it’s all recorded.”

Tetsuo raised a brow. “You’re saying we’ve got a score somewhere?”

“More than a score,” Yoshinori said. “A ledger.”

That word lingered.

Shunjiro’s eyes shifted back to the board, but he wasn’t really reading it anymore.

“A ledger…” he repeated quietly.

He imagined it for a moment, everything they’d done written down somewhere. The dungeon. The risks they took. The mistakes. The victories.

Sylleth.

A faint unease mixed with curiosity.

“What do you think ours looks like?” he asked.

Aiko perked up immediately. “Oh, I want to see that.”

Ryuji chuckled. “Probably says ‘don’t let these idiots near anything above their rank.’”

Tetsuo shrugged lightly. “Or ‘surprisingly still alive.’”

Itsuki smiled faintly at that, but her eyes drifted back to Shunjiro. She could see it, the curiosity wasn’t casual.

It mattered to him.

“You want to check, don’t you?” she asked softly.

He hesitated for half a second.

Then nodded.

“…Yeah.”

Yoshinori glanced toward the back offices of the guild hall. “Those records wouldn’t be public. You’d need permission.”

“From who?” Tetsuo asked.

“Whoever’s assigned to oversee us,” Yoshinori replied. “Most likely a guild officer.”

Aiko crossed her arms, thinking. “You think they’ll just let us see it?”

“Probably not,” Ryuji said.

Shunjiro exhaled lightly. “Still… I want to know.”

Itsuki stepped forward slightly, standing beside him rather than behind. “Then let’s ask.”

He glanced at her. “You sure?”

She nodded but there was a quiet determination behind it.

“If we’re going to move forward,” she said, “we should understand where we stand.”

That settled it.

Shunjiro straightened slightly, something more focused settling into his posture. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Tetsuo waved a hand lazily. “We’ll hold the board down while you’re gone.”

Aiko grinned. “Try not to get kicked out.”

Ryuji added, “Or do. Could be interesting.”

Yoshinori gave a small nod. “Pay attention to how they respond. That’ll tell us more than the ledger itself.”

Shunjiro smirked faintly. “Got it.”

He turned.

Itsuki moved with him.

Together, they stepped away from the quest board, heading toward the quieter section of the guild hall where decisions were made, records were kept, and answers, if given at all, were rarely simple.

The decision didn’t take long.

Shunjiro and Itsuki approached the back of the guild hall, where the noise of the main floor softened into a quieter, more controlled atmosphere. Fewer people moved through this section, mostly officials, record keepers, and higher-ranking adventurers who had business beyond simple quest selection.

A man stood behind a long counter, sorting through a stack of documents. His posture was straight, his expression neutral, the kind of person who saw everything and reacted to very little.

Shunjiro stepped forward. “Excuse me.”

The man glanced up briefly. “State your business.”

Shunjiro hesitated for a fraction of a second, then spoke clearly. “We’re from Illumina. We wanted to request access to our guild ledger.”

The official’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, then shifted to Itsuki beside him.

“…Illumina,” he repeated, as if confirming something in his mind.

He set the papers down.

“Your rank?”

“C-rank,” Shunjiro answered.

Another pause.

Then, unexpectedly, the man nodded.

“Follow me.”

Shunjiro blinked once, slightly surprised at how easily that went, but didn’t question it. He and Itsuki exchanged a quick glance before stepping behind the counter.

They were led down a narrow hallway lined with doors and shelves, the air growing cooler and quieter the deeper they went. Eventually, the official stopped in front of a large wooden door and pushed it open.

Inside were rows upon rows of shelves filling the room.

Folders. Ledgers. Stacks of bound parchment organized with near-perfect precision. Some were thin, barely more than a few pages. Others were thick enough to require reinforced bindings, their spines worn from years of additions.

Shunjiro’s eyes widened slightly. “…All of this…?”

“Guild records,” the official replied simply. “Every registered group. Every mission. Every evaluation.”

Itsuki stepped in beside him, her gaze moving across the room, taking in the sheer scale of it.

It wasn’t just records.

It was history.

“Come,” the official said, already walking.

They followed him through the rows.

As they moved deeper, small labels appeared along the shelves.

D Rank.

Then further to C Rank.

But before they reached it, Shunjiro’s eyes caught something else.

Another section.

Marked clearly.

S Rank.

Next to it, SS Rank.

And further down, SSS Rank.

He slowed without realizing it.

The ledgers in those sections were…

Massive.

Thick, layered, reinforced with heavier bindings. Some looked less like folders and more like entire volumes. The weight of them alone made it clear, they held years, maybe decades, of experience.

Shunjiro stared for a moment longer than he meant to.

“…That’s insane,” he murmured under his breath.

Itsuki followed his gaze.

Her eyes softened slightly. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

He let out a quiet breath, not denying it. “…What the top guild’s ledger looks like.”

His eyes stayed on the SSS section.

For a second, his imagination ran ahead of him.

A ledger so large it wouldn’t fit on a shelf.

Something bigger than the room itself.

Stacked with countless pages.

Endless missions.

Endless growth.

A record of something far beyond where they stood now.

He huffed quietly, shaking his head at himself. “…Probably ridiculous.”

Itsuki let out a small laugh beside him. “You’re already thinking that far ahead.”

He glanced at her.

A faint smile formed.

“…Yeah.”

She looked back at the shelves, then at him. “Then let’s make sure ours gets there one day.”

Something about the way she said it made it feel less like a dream and more like a promise.

The official cleared his throat lightly, drawing their attention back. “This way.”

They reached the C-rank section.

Compared to the others, the ledgers here were smaller. Thinner. Less worn. Still growing.

The official ran a finger along the spines before stopping.

“Illumina.”

He pulled the folder free and handed it to them.

Shunjiro took it carefully.

It wasn’t heavy.

But it felt important.

They stepped aside, moving to a nearby table.

For a second, he just held it.

Then slowly opened it.

Pages.

Ten of them.

That was all.

But every page mattered.

Every mission they had taken.

Every quest completed.

Every detail from Dungeon Valley.

Even the Shadow Elf Dungeon.

Documented.

Written cleanly in ink.

Real.

Shunjiro flipped through the pages slowly, eyes scanning each line, each note. He recognized moments instantly, the way things were described, the way events were broken down into structured observations.

“…This is crazy,” he said quietly.

Itsuki leaned in beside him, reading over his shoulder.

“It’s everything,” she murmured.

At the end of one page, a separate note caught his eye.

The handwriting was different.

Sharper.

More direct.

Kaito.

Short evaluations.

Observations on their decisions.

Strengths.

Weaknesses.

Moments where they adapted.

Moments where they almost failed.

Shunjiro stopped on one of them, reading it more carefully than the others.

He didn’t speak.

But something shifted in his expression.

Itsuki noticed.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

He shook his head slightly, but a small smile formed.

“…He was watching closer than I thought.”

She looked at the notes herself.

Then smiled faintly.

“He still is.”

Shunjiro exhaled, leaning back slightly in his chair, the open ledger resting in his hands.

Ten pages.

That was their entire story so far.

And yet it felt bigger than that.

“…We’re really doing this,” he said quietly.

Itsuki turned her head toward him.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was soft but certain.

“We are.”

He closed the ledger gently, holding it for just a moment longer before setting it back down on the table.

The official stepped away the moment another presence entered the room.

Footsteps firm and measured echoed softly against the stone floor as a higher-ranked individual approached from the far end of the archive. The air shifted subtly, the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need to announce itself.

The official gave Shunjiro and Itsuki a brief glance.

“Stay here,” he said. “Do not touch anything beyond your assigned section. I’ll return shortly.”

Shunjiro nodded. “Understood.”

The official moved off to speak with the newcomer, their voices lowering into a quiet exchange somewhere between the shelves.

For a moment there was silence.

Then Shunjiro slowly turned his head toward Itsuki.

She was already looking at him.

She didn’t need to ask.

Didn’t need to say anything.

She knew that look.

Itsuki exhaled softly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “…You’re going to do something you’re not supposed to.”

Shunjiro scratched the back of his head, grinning slightly. “Just… a quick look.”

Her eyes flicked toward the far sections of the room, the ones they had passed earlier.

The ones marked with heavier ranks.

“This is a bad idea,” she said.

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

A pause.

Then she stepped forward anyway.

“…Make it fast.”

That was all the permission he needed.

They moved quickly, footsteps light against the floor as they slipped past the C-rank section and deeper into the archive. The shelves grew heavier the further they went, larger bindings, thicker spines, older material.

SSS Rank.

Even standing in front of that section felt different.

The ledgers here weren’t just records.

They were legacies.

Shunjiro reached out slowly, scanning the names engraved along the spines until one caught his eye.

“Squad 8.”

He grabbed it.

And immediately felt the weight.

“…This thing is insane,” he muttered, adjusting his grip as he pulled it free. It was far heavier than anything in the C-rank section, dense, packed, as if it carried more than just paper.

Itsuki stepped closer, glancing toward the hallway behind them. “Hurry.”

They moved to a nearby table, and Shunjiro set the ledger down with a soft thud.

For a second, he just stared at it.

Then opened it.

Page after page filled the inside.

Neat documentation but on a completely different scale than theirs.

Quests listed in clean, structured detail.

From B-rank to SSS-rank

Shunjiro’s eyes lingered on those entries longer than the rest.

“…SSS-ranked missions…” he murmured. “There’s so many.”

Itsuki leaned in beside him, her expression tightening slightly. “Those aren’t normal missions.”

“No,” he said quietly. “They’re not.”

SSS-ranked operations weren’t just difficult.

They were rare.

The kind of assignments that involved entire regions. Political conflicts. Wars between territories. Things that shaped continents, not just cities.

He flipped through more pages, faster now.

And then he noticed it.

“…This isn’t like ours.”

Itsuki looked closer. “What do you mean?”

“The format,” he said, tapping lightly against one of the entries. “It’s different. The way it’s written. The structure.”

He flipped back a few pages, comparing.

“They’re not operating under one system,” he realized. “These missions… they’re from different continents.”

Itsuki’s eyes widened slightly.

“They’re not tied to one place,” she said.

Shunjiro nodded.

“That means they move freely. No restrictions. No assigned region.” His grip on the page tightened slightly. “They go wherever they’re needed.”

He leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet breath.

“…How strong do you have to be for that?”

Itsuki didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

They both knew.

His eyes drifted back to the title on the cover.

“Squad 8…”

A faint frown crossed his face.

“You think it’s eight people?” he asked.

“Probably,” Itsuki replied.

Shunjiro looked back down at the pages.

Eight people.

And this…

This was what they’d done.

“…Eight monsters,” he muttered.

Itsuki nudged his arm lightly. “Shunjiro.”

He blinked, snapping back.

“Right. Right.”

He flipped toward the back of the ledger quickly, fingers moving faster now as a quiet urgency settled in. The official wouldn’t be gone long.

“Just one more thing,” he said under his breath.

The final pages came into view.

Summaries.

Evaluations.

Leadership notes.

And then a name.

Shunjiro froze.

His hand stopped mid-turn.

The world seemed to narrow to a single line of ink.

Itsuki noticed immediately.

“…Shunjiro?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes were locked on the page.

The name stared back at him.

Clear.

Unmistakable.

Takeshi Tenzai – EX Rank.