The Brute and The Broke
Adventurers from the dungeon came out near Babel here and there.
"Hm?"
Her wolf ears twitched as her amber eyes lifted from her snack. Sunlight caught in her grey hair, but it didn't soften her. She was attractive, yes—but the way she stood erased that fact almost immediately.
Built. Steady. Dangerous.
Her light green adventurer's gear fit tight for movement, not display. Muscle showed through it, functional and hard-earned. A few adventurers glanced her way out of habit, then looked away on instinct.
Beauty noticed. Brute remembered.
Raska, the wolf girl, looked up from the bench near the Babel square as her eyes landed on a familiar boy entering the handler's office.
Caught him!
She rose from the seat and approached.
Known as the Silent Fist among a few adventurers from her circle, she wasn't an amateur but a veteran.
Adventurers were usually inside the dungeon at this time of day, but some were not. She knew this boy well enough to wait for him after their last meeting ended with him running away.
Finally…
Ever since the fourteenth floor incident, the boy became her responsibility to look after… or rather keep a close eye on.
That day she wall slammed him to recruit him into her party for floor fourteen expedition. That time, he wasn't intimidating. Not even close.
But that day something shifted.
Then last time she realized, he isn't the same boy she used force to recruit anymore.
He beat a Level 2 within seconds.
It had been days. But the scene was still fresh in her mind.
That made her more cautious than ever.
There he is.
The office was small—wooden floors, a counter dividing the space, shelves lined with sorted materials. A reception area near the entrance. The transaction counter further in.
She stopped just inside the doorway.
"What the hell? It's clearly more valuable than that! Cut me some slack!"
"But it was damaged. I can't give you more than 4700 valis."
On the table, a few damaged Wall Shadow finger blades and several rarer drops.
How many did he kill to get this much? That thought made her stop from getting closer.
"Please? I'll throw in a compliment. Your beard looks... very beard-like today."
"No."
"I risked my life for these. Well, I risk my life for breakfast too, but still."
"None of my business."
"Last time you gave me double the price. Remember?"
"That was for good-shaped drops. Not these scraps."
"Please?"
"If you are desperate, then why did you damage them?"
"Oh come on, old man! I was ambushed! Not my fault I'm a Wall Shadow magnet. They see me and think 'easy prey.'"
"Then you should've run instead of mangling my merchandise."
"I did run! While fighting! It's called strategic merchandising!"
"It's called stupidity."
Her mouth twitched in disbelief.
That's when she realized…
"He didn't change at all."
The words left her lips before she realized it.
She crossed the reception area toward the counter.
"You're loud."
The boy turned.
Eyes wide.
"Raska?!"
"Yeah. Still me."
"Oh good, you found me. I was starting to think I'd have a peaceful day."
She didn't wait to argue. Closed the distance.
"Eek—!"
He backed up instinctively, spine hitting the counter.
Her hands came up.
His eyes widened further. He leaned back as much as the counter allowed.
"Oh come on. Not again—"
Her hands stopped mid-motion.
Frozen.
Her ears stiffened. Her gaze dropped to her own hands.
…I'm doing it again.
He blinked once. Then—
"Oh, another wall slam?" he said lightly. "What is it this time—Floor 20? At least say you like me first so I can die happy."
"Shut up!"
Her hands dropped.
She turned her face away sharply, jaw tight.
Heat bloomed across her cheeks—enough for her to feel it.
Not enough for him to notice.
"Boy," the handler snapped, pointing at the damaged drops without looking. "Are you selling those or not?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Forty-seven hundred for my dignity and several near-death experiences. I'm basically running a charity here."
The handler swept the blades away without ceremony. "If you're done flirting, move. You're in the way."
She stepped back.
Too fast.
Her boot caught the edge of a supply crate.
She didn't stumble—but it was close.
"…damn it."