Ahrie and Daiki regrouped, shaking their pouches.
Clink. Clink.
"Ten bronze coins," Ahrie muttered, peeking inside.
Daiki snorted.
They ducked into a restaurant. One bronze a meal.
Plates hit the table, steam curling up.
Daiki was already halfway through his food. "Not bad."
Ahrie chewed fast, face flat.
They smirked, wiped their mouths, and left.
The inn came next. Three bronze coins a room, one night.
Keys exchanged, footsteps back onto the street.
Both checked their pouches.
Already half gone.
"...Fuck me," Ahrie muttered.
Daiki yanked his pouch strings tight. " We won't last a week."
Ahrie kicked a stone hard, watching it skitter.let out a long breath. "We need a job. Fast."
Ahrie's mind flashed back.
The healer at the fog village
Something about… a healer's license.
"Fuck."
He spun on his heel, bolting for the HQ. The doors were nearly shut.
The receptionist stood outside, tugging them closed.
Ahrie slammed his palm against the wood.
BAM.
She jolted, spun and snapped a right straight at his face.
Ahrie tilted back just in time—the fist cut air past his cheek.
Panting, he locked eyes with her. "Healer's… license…"
She scowled, chest rising and failing.
"Fuck off."
Ahrie froze. This was the same girl? Inside, all smiles and sunshine.
Out here… freaking gangster.
"Can you at least tell me whe—"
She cut him off, pointing at the sky.
The last streak of orange vanished, night swallowing the horizon.
She scoffed, turned away.
"Stupid kid… wasting seconds of my rest." She spat on the dirt and walked off.
Ahrie just stood there, stunned. Then shoved his pockets and trudged back to the inn while cursing the receptionist.
Morning came.
Ahrie dragged himself back to the HQ.
And there she was again—the receptionist.
All smiles. Acting cute. Not a single ounce of the street-thug version she was yesterday.
"Hi~ how are you? What do you need?" she asked, tilting her head.
Ahrie just stared at her, face twisted in confusion.
"…Healer's license."
"Ohh, a healer's license!" she chirped. "That's on the second floor."
He walked away.
Second floor.
A hallway.
Then a room with a wooden plaque : Healer's License.
He pushed the door open.
Medium-sized. Rows of couches. At the far end, a desk with a human examiner sitting behind it.
Another figure lingered in the back, shadowed.
Two people were already in line.
A man in a mage robe glanced over. "Here for the healer's license?"
Ahrie gave a short nod.
"Ok. just follow that line." the man pointed
Ahrie stepped over and took his place, hands shoved deep in his pockets, waiting.
"What's your healing skill?" the examiner asked the first in line.
The girl fidgeted. "I-uh… I can produce a healing light…"
"I see. So?"
"So…?" she repeated, nervous.
The examiner slammed the desk with his palm
BAM
"Say the full goddamn skill!"
She flinched. "Y-yes! I can produce a healing light… that can burn skin if exposed for too long."
"Interesting." The examiner scribbled it down on a scroll, eyes glinting. "Ever burned a person before?"
Her voice cracked. "No, sir…"
"Do you want to?" He leaned in, locking onto her eyes.
"N-no."
"Argh. What a bummer." The examiner tossed his pen and scroll aside, spun on his heels—then sucker punched the person standing behind him.
Thud
Ahrie squinted, jaw hanging. "...Da fuck…?"
The examiner turned back around like nothing happened. "Demonstrate."
The girl hesitantly raised her hands. A glow boomed, soft and golden.
The healing light spread over the person's bruised jaw and swelling cheek, easing the damage. She stopped quickly, careful not to push it further. No burning happened.
The examiner's smile vanished. "Tch."
He waved his hand toward the couches. "Wait there."
Then his eyes flicked to the next in line. "Next."
The second in line stepped forward, stiff as a board.
"Skill?" the examiner barked.
"I can create a slime-like substance to heal and af—"
The examiner's face twisted. "Ugghh… what the diggy-ass skill is that?"
He whipped out a thin needle and jabbed it into the arm of the poor bastard behind him.
Prick
"Demonstrate."
The guy grimaced, summoned a gooey blob, and smeared it over the wound.
The tiny poke sealed.
The examiner leaned back, unimpressed. "Okaaay, that's about it. Wait on the couch."
He shooed him off with lazy fingers, then suddenly roared: "NEEEXT!"
Ahrie stepped up.
"Skill?" The examiner asked.
"I can heal… through punching," he said flatly.
The examiner froze. Quill mid-scratch. Slowly, his head lifted—eyes glinting with manic hunger.
"Stand up," he snapped at the person behind him.
The poor bastard hesitated. Too slow. The examiner lunged and beat him half to death—fist, elbows, boots… each blow cracking through the silence.
Thud
Crack
Thump
Blood dripped onto the floor. The person groaned, barely conscious.
The examiner's wild gaze snapped back to Ahrie. "Heal. Heal!"
Ahrie stared down at the mangled mess. "...This Lunatic" he clenched his fist and drove it into the person's chest.
Crack
The room gasped. But right under the punch, bruises shrank, bones straightened.
Every wound mended—except for the fresh swelling from Ahrie's hit.
The examiner crouched low, inspecting the person. "Ohhh… he's healing alright…"
Then he shot upright, grinning ear to ear. "Hey… be my on-call assistant."
Ahrie squinted. "Yeah… nope."
"150 bronze coins per job."
Ahrie's ear twitched. His head turned slow. "...what work?"
"We get deployed when shit goes down—wars, monsters subjugations, anything that bleeds and begs to live. What do you say?"
"200 bronze coins…" Ahrie muttered.
"250" the examiner replied
Ahrie slapped his hand.
Smack
"I'm in."
"Great. Wait on the couch while we make your license."
After a few minutes, the examiner came back.
"Here's your license," he said, handling them out.
He leaned on the desk, voice dropping low, heavy.
"In this place… running solo or tagging with a group don't mean shit. You need a Link. Small, big—doesn't matter. Back in the early days, dumbasses went out without healers. Guess what happened? Mass graves. Whole squads gone overnight."
Tap
He rapped the desk with his knuckle.
"So the Guilds got smart. Sat down, made a rule : every Link needs at least one healer, preferably two. No exceptions. From then on… Healers skyrocketed. Everyone wanted one, and every greedy prick started calling themselves a healer."
He snorted.
"Half of 'em couldn't fix a paper cut. But they got hired, and got paid. Worse—some slipped their whole team through checkpoints by faking it."
His eyes narrowed, mean.
"That's why healer licenses were born. Proof you're the real deal.
He shoved a plain ring into each of their palms.
"Guilds are bigger now, rules are not as strict. But if you wanna step onto a bigger stage, past this backwater edge of the capital? A license is essential."
"These are your healer IDs. Don't lose 'em. Or you're fucked."