Aren stepped into the guild headquarters, the heavy glass doors giving a soft hiss as they shut behind him. The interior opened into a modestly sized lobby, sparsely lit with ceiling lights that shimmered faintly overhead. Scuffed tile floors, a pair of beaten-down couches, and a cracked vending machine completed the ambiance. A thick layer of lived-in mundanity clung to the air.
At the front stood a long reception desk, behind which sat a familiar figure. From the memories tucked away in this body, Aren immediately recognized him.
Vick.
A D-rank adventurer turned front desk jockey. Black hair combed back with zero enthusiasm, sharp black eyes dulled by routine, and a dark, slightly wrinkled suit paired with a white undershirt. Reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose completed the look—like a bored accountant trapped in a fantasy setting.
"...Aren?" Vick said, blinking hard and nearly dropping the cheap smartphone he'd been scrolling with one hand. The chair beneath him squeaked as he straightened.
"Holy crap, is that you, man?" he added, adjusting his glasses with the sort of disbelief reserved for seeing a ghost—or someone who survived a job they shouldn't have.
Aren gave a half-shrug and wandered up to the desk, leaning on its scratched wooden surface with casual ease. He tried to look natural. Sociable, even. An impossible task for someone whose idea of friendly conversation involved scythes and soul collection.
"Any work for me to do, Vick?" he asked, his voice just upbeat enough to pass as 'normal.'
Vick raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not convinced. He pushed off the counter and let his chair glide smoothly along the oversized L-shaped desk, wheels squeaking as it shifted positions.
"Well," he said slowly, tapping a few buttons on an ancient-looking tablet embedded into the desk surface. "Before you ghosted us, the boss had you lined up for a few E-rank dungeons…"
He scratched the back of his head, his other hand already steering his chair again. This time, it rolled back to the front, stopping directly in front of Aren.
"But now there's only one left that's still under your jurisdiction." He pulled a faded manila folder from a stack and handed it over.
Inside: dungeon paperwork stamped with the guild's golden insignia. The front page listed dungeon coordinates, expected monster ranks, known anomalies, and a confirmation from the guildmaster authorizing it under the Rising Gold Guild's management.
"As usual," Vick added, casually picking his phone back up from the floor, "you get a twenty percent share of whatever you haul out of the place."
His voice was matter-of-fact, the kind of tone that said this was standard business—even if the building was nearly empty and half the city was still smoldering outside.
The lobby remained eerily quiet—no clattering boots, no hunter chatter, no background spellcasting. Just silence and soft hums from vents.
"Should I tell the boss you're picking this up? He's out at the moment—but yeah, he's been real eager to chat about your whole disappearing act." Vick asked, resting his chin on his forearm like this was the tenth weirdest thing to happen this week. Probably was.
Aren's expression twitched into something resembling a smile. Internally, though, he was calculating.
Twenty percent?
That… sounded reasonable. Right?
That should be good enough to live comfortably for the meantime, right? he thought, vaguely aware he had no real understanding of how mortal wages, rent, or economic systems worked.
He rolled the paperwork up and slid it neatly into the inside pocket of his thrift-store coat. Turning on his heel, he gave Vick a lazy wave.
"Yeah, easy enough. Just tell the boss I'll work a hundred times harder," he said casually, striding toward the exit without a hint of urgency.
Vick barely blinked, already thumbing through his phone again as though the interaction hadn't just left him with a dozen new questions.
Then—he paused.
Brows furrowed. His eyes lifted toward the door that now swung shut behind Aren.
"…Did he just leave without grabbing his hunter gear…?" he muttered aloud, voice equal parts confusion and concern.
Vick opened his mouth to say something… then closed it. Not his problem, technically.
Vick stared at the closed door a moment longer. Then sighed, muttering.
"I should really update his life insurance file."