The gutters held.
They'd tested the line twice at dawn—palming the downspout, listening to the water's throat, feeling the brace settle like a promise. The storm crouched in the western sky and made the light thin; the house stood ready to take it.
Trixie chalked a little cloud beside the day's plan:
— F3 probe: predawn muster— Morning loop only (home before stones get slick)— Inside afternoon (gear, kit, map)
She added two small boxes next to "house 4g" and "party 6g," to color as coin arrived. Her tail tapped once, then stilled dutifully.
"Breath first," Taro said, rolling his shoulders as the saying became a daily mantra and reminder to help steady them and avoid greed. "Then coin."
They warmed up on the stair: Armor Steps—step, exhale, settle—until the body remembered it didn't need to argue with weight. Ten clean sets on the home bag under the new hook: Guard Melt flick-flick in one breath, then off; Snap Step I in slippers, not steel—form, not proof. Trixie mirrored with a buckler parry ladder (high-mid-low), then a neat Shield Shoulder that moved him exactly one brick and no more.
Recognized Training (home):Martial God's Champion — Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.Technique Progress: Snap Step I timing (+);
Guard Melt I (→ 92%).Team Passive: Call-and-Breath I (progress → 85%).
He tied her buckler strap one notch snugger; she smoothed his face guard wrap with precise fingers. Neither apologized for the small domestic touch. Or the small smiles and lingering eyes on each other.
"Loop," he said. "Back before the sky changes its mind."
"Understood," she said, slipping into the porter harness like it had been made for her and maybe always had been.
The dungeon breathed its cool, metallic patience.
They ran arch → well elbow → den flank the way you trace a familiar word: clear, steady, no flourishes. Wolves tried a high finish at his shoulder; Weave Engine connected his head with his feet and gave the answer the body had learned too well to forget, especially when it took out the wolves in less than three hits. A warg pair tested Trixie's high-low feint; Buckler Guard I took the top clean, steel rang, and her low riposte wrote a neat line across a joint. She slid back behind his shoulder before blood remembered to complain.
At the alchemist's bench, a goblin's eyes stuck to his own work. Counter-Tempo III stole the flow of battle and the goblin was unaware he had even fallen only to never awaken again. Trixie clipped 8 phials to her harness and made sure they stayed steady and uncracked as they collected them from a few goblins in the lab. He liked the efficiency she had gained, their team work, her drop pick up, and the speed they could clear enemies and the floors. A quick glance told them how well the other was appreciated as they cleared the floor and scared away a few foes.
They didn't chase. They stayed boring, without heroics.
Combat Adaptation Registered:Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.Trixie — Riposte (Concept → 72%).Call-and-BreathI (progress → 88%).
Rain began to tick as they stepped back into daylight.
Kelda waved them forward and counted like she meant to teach numbers manners. "Dire pelts, two—twenty-four. Wolves, twelve—thirty-six. Ears and fangs—twelve. Phials—eight. Tokens—eighty. That's one gold, fifty-nine silver. Now go home. Stones get ideas when wet."
"Yes, ma'am," Trixie said, pleased to have earned the right to be dismissed.
They bought lamp oil and onions (six silver), and ran the last blocks under a sky that had decided to keep its promise.
Inside, the house felt like it had chosen to keep them.
Trixie tied a makeshift apron and laid out onions, root veg, and the good dried meat they'd saved. The knife's cadence was honest. She seared with a small authority; steam lifted broth and pepper into the room. Taro swept and set: oiled mitts, hung damp kit, wiped pauldrons, put the face guard where his hand would find it without thinking. They moved around each other easily—shoulders brushing, an "excuse me" that was also a smile.
He stole a taste and pretended to stagger. "Astounding. Better than saints."
She bumped him with the buckler rim in mock offense. "Salted exactly," she declared, and he agreed because he had no desire to survive on the wrong side of her stew. Or her food prep knife.
They ate at the crate-table under the clean window while the storm shouldered the walls in a friendly way. Plans and numbers came out where warm bowls had been:
"Probe aims?" she asked.
"Door discipline," he said. "No heroics. Breath before doors."
"Coin bars," she said, tapping chalk boxes. "House 4g, party 6g."
He nodded. "We'll make boring decisions until those boxes are colored."
"Good," she said, and took a long breath like the idea had a taste she liked.
They talked a third member—crafter-fighter who could repair in the field, or a spear who knew leather and buckles. They agreed to postpone any new bond until the house ledger stopped looking like a dare.
Her tribe came up the way good stories do: by accident, then on purpose. Family lines. Work pride. The way labor was shared in camps and caravans. She hesitated, then said it.
"In my clan, courting is… practical," she admitted, cheeks warming. "Feet matter. We walk. We carry. A woman walking a man's back to care for him—then the man tending her feet, honoring them—those are vows we… understand. If he—if they—kiss the toes and the soles, it's a… declaration. Of intent." Her ears colored. "It's old. We don't make a spectacle. We just… know."
He felt heat rise under the face guard wrap and pretended the stew steam had found him. The back-walking the night before; the gratitude kiss to her foot—he'd meant thanks and respect and something else he hadn't named out loud.
She saw him remember and hurried: "I didn't mean— I only—"
He put the bowl down. Leaned forward. Kissed her, gentle and sure.
It wasn't long or complicated. Just warm, and accurate, and exactly the right length to stop her from apologizing for something he wanted.
"May I?" he asked, softer than the rain. "Your feet."
Her breath hitched; she nodded; fingers tucked hair behind one ear like she was setting a ribbon in the right place. She slipped off boots and socks. The storm gave them privacy with its steady drum.
He warmed a cloth, wiped rain-dust and day from her soles. A little oil in the palm; thumbs pressed along arches; fingers rolled the ball; he eased tendons with slow, sure lines. He worked like a craftsman who didn't want to hurry past any useful truth.
"Thank you for carrying us," he said without looking away. "Every step."
He kissed each toe, light and reverent; then the tops and the soles—gratitude made visible, tradition answered without flinching.
"I'd gladly court you," he said, steady. "I'm a man who only knows hard work and keeps a soft spot for his people. If your way is the right way to say it, I'll say it right—so I can keep you in my life."
Her breath came out like someone had set down a pack. "Yes," she said, like a bell with no doubt inside it. She laughed—a small, bright sound that lived behind her eyes—and leaned across the crate to hug him. The second kiss was longer and still decent, the kind that signed a paper everyone already knew they'd agreed to.
Bond Passive Unlocked — Heartbeat Sync I: While adjacent and guarding one another, minor Ki steadiness & morale boost (flavor effect; short decay when separated).
They let the storm speak for a while after that. He massaged a little longer because she liked it; she leaned her cheek on her forearm and watched his hands with a look he filed under important forever. Her toes popped and cracked a bit back into a formation she didn't realize they were tired of. He then kissed each pad once more as he finished them. Making her blush as he showed her he enjoyed her courtship. Her tail wagged slowly behind her, her ears ticked up as he massaged and enjoyed the feeling of her smooth and soft feet with the slightly rougher pads on the ball, pads of her toes, and her heels, showing she had a little more dog blood in her than he realized, with thicker skin at those areas. But they made them unique in a fun and interesting way that made him enjoy her all the more. He grinned as he enjoyed her soft coos to a good rub on a sore tendon, and her small grunts to a tiny giving muscle that was stubborn before it surrendered. All during the rain with the best entertainment they could afford.
They cleaned up without ceremony after the massage. He washed; she dried; he put the pot back in its place like a man who respected future stew. They sketched tomorrow's probe kit: wedges, chalk, rope lengths, phial carrier, lantern oil, whistles, a strip of cloth for door seams. "No Surge overuse," he wrote. "Guard Melt for seams." "Niya's signals," she added, tapping the slate.
By the window, the training bag swayed once, then decided to be still.
A knock at the door—two short, one long. A guild runner, hair stuck to his head from rain, held up a chalk slip under the eave: F3 probe confirmed. Monk lead requested, first light. He grinned at the face guard wrap and ran for the next stoop.
They banked the hearth. She checked the gutter line one more time with the satisfied squint of a woman who liked it when plans kept promises. The house breathed with them—old wood, new steam, steady rain.
He pulled the blanket; she slid in and set her bare feet carefully against his shins as if placing something valuable in a safe place.
"Tomorrow," she whispered.
"Together," he said.
With a quick but deeper meaning kiss goodnight, they settled in together.
The storm tapped time for sleep.
Status — Taro
Class: Monk I
Title: Martial God's Champion (SSS)
HP: 700 base (10× END 70) → 1200 effective (END 120 during combat/training)
Ki: 63
Base Stats (Ch.11 → post-Ch.12 day)
STR: 68 → 72
END: 66 → 70
AGI: 64 → 68
SPIRIT: 45 → 49
MIND: 42 → 46
LUCK: 41 → 45
Ki: 59 → 63
Effective Physicals (SSS +50 active)STR 122 | END 120 | AGI 118
New/Updated
Blessed Growth: +2 all (home drills) +2 all (morning loop).
Snap Step I: cleaner breath-led micro-lunge; better AGI→Power conversion (timing +).
Guard Melt I: refinement ↑.
Call-and-Breath I: progress → 88%.
Bond Passive — Heartbeat Sync I (with Trixie): minor Ki steadiness & morale while adjacent/guarding.
Team: Call-and-Breath I, Cover Call I (with Trixie).
Trixie — Notes
Buckler Guard I (steady), Riposte (Concept → 72%); porter knots tidy; stew excellence confirmed.
Ledger
Start (Ch.11 end): 4g 36s
Morning turn-in: +1g 59→ 5g 95sStaples (oil + onions): −6s → 5g 89s
End purse (no other spends): ~5g 89s
Probe Kit (packed)Wedges, chalk, 2× rope (long/short), phial carrier, lantern & oil, whistles, seam cloth, spare strap, hand salve.
Planner — Predawn (F3 Probe)
Light breath ladder only (no load).
Monk lead at gate; Niya's signal review en route.
Door discipline; no Surge overuse; Guard Melt for seams.
"Breath before doors."