(Sara POV)
It's been a few months since I started working at the daycare where the working class of this city leaves their children for the day. Ryuta initially set up this establishment, and the city has been implementing and funding it ever since.
Three months since I decided to put down the bow and arrow, at least for now.
I still remember how hesitant I was at first—trading in leather armor for aprons, swapping the chaos of adventuring for the noise of children's laughter. Back then, it felt like stepping into a world I didn't belong in. But now… I'm not so sure anymore.
The days are loud, messy, and exhausting in a completely different way than quests from a guild ever were. There are tantrums instead of monsters—snot instead of blood. And yet, somehow, this has been the most healing place I've ever known.
Every scraped knee I clean, every hand I hold, every small voice that calls my name—it reminds me I'm still here, that I can still do something even if it's just cleaning up after highly energetic toddlers.
Today's been one of the kids' most energetic days. A few of the older ones invented a game that somehow mixes tag and an imaginary dragon invasion. I had to rescue three plushies from a "burning building" made of pillows before lunch.
Right now, I'm in the middle of prepping snacks: neatly sliced fruit, a couple of sweet buns, and some milk tea for the staff. I've gotten pretty good at organizing the trays without spilling everything.
"Miss Sara, Miss Sara!" A little girl tugged at my apron. "Can I give the snack to Emil today?"
"Of course," I smiled, handing her a small tray. "But walk carefully, alright? You don't want to spill juice on his drawing again."
She giggled and scampered off like I'd just handed her a legendary treasure.
As I wiped down the last tray and set out the cups for milk tea, the front door creaked open. A pair of mothers entered, chatting casually as they waited to pick up their children. I wasn't eavesdropping—at least, not on purpose—but voices carry easily in the main hall, especially when you're standing near the counter.
"…and I'm telling you, it's that same man—Ryuta, the one who helped set this place up back then. I saw him coming out of the old estate the other day," one whispered, her voice a mix of gossip and dread. "You know, the one everyone says is cursed?"
The other woman gasped. "Oh, that place? I heard people go in and don't come back out. They say it's haunted. And he's just living there?"
"Not only that," the first lowered her voice even further, "but someone saw him walking through the shopping district with a little girl—real small, maybe four or five. Filthy clothes, bare feet, looked like she hadn't bathed in days. People say she might be a… you know… a personal slave."
"A child?" the second muttered, scandalized. "Ugh. He always gave me strange vibes. Too polite at times. And I heard he's a regular at the brothel. And those eyes of his…"
They trailed off when they noticed me glance over. I didn't say anything. Just kept slicing the last apple.
Rumors like those have followed Ryuta for years. People love to poke their noses where they don't belong, especially when it comes to someone like him—someone who doesn't play by the rules they expect.
He's not perfect. Gods know he can be discreet with his work. But I know from personal experience that he's not the man they paint him to be. Not even close.
Besides, I find it hard to take anyone seriously when all they see is this uncooperative and selfish genius.
Still, those words echoed in my mind long after the mothers left. The haunted house, the little girl… a personal slave? It nagged at me.
It was my day off, and for once, the weather in Sharia was kind—sunlight spilling gently across the cobbled streets, the air warm without being stifling. The kind of day that made you want to linger, to breathe a little slower.
I'd meant to go straight to the grocer and head back. Simple errands. Fruit, some fresh tea leaves if the stall by the fountain still had the good kind. But as always, the market had a way of pulling me in. Colors, sounds, smells—grilled skewers, roasted nuts, steam rising from sweet buns, and the clamor of merchants outdoing each other in persuasion.
I had just finished picking out a bundle of green onions when I noticed her.
Long black hair. Slim frame. A smooth, white mask covering her face.
Silent Seven Stars.
That was the name people used in hushed voices. I'd heard it a dozen times from parents gossiping while waiting for their kids—Sharia's "reclusive genius," an inventor and researcher almost as highly valued as Ryuta. But more importantly… she was said to be Ryuta's closest collaborator.
She was standing before a stall selling spices, which were rather expensive, so most people would buy them in the smallest amounts. But given hers and Ryuta's contributions to the city, she might just be able to afford anything sold on this market.
I don't know what possessed me, but I stepped forward.
"Excuse me," I said softly. "Are you… a friend of Ryuta's?"
She turned slowly. No surprise in her movement, just a pause. Then a cool voice from behind the mask: "...You're not the first to ask me that today."
That caught me off guard. "Really?"
She nodded faintly. "Though 'friend' is a complicated word. I don't use it unless I mean it."
"Fair enough." I gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry if that was rude. I just… work at the daycare he helped start. I've heard a bit about you, is all."
Her head tilted slightly, a gesture I couldn't read. "You're Miss Sara?"
I blinked. "He mentioned me?"
"Your name was dropped once or twice with another friend of ours."
I hesitated. The way she said it made me think it wasn't Ryuta who mentioned me.
"Was it about something… good?"
"I didn't say it wasn't."
There was a dry edge to her tone—not unkind, just blunt. It made me feel like I could relax around her.
For a moment, I thought she knew about my background from Ryuta, but she said that it was someone else. I haven't told anyone about the things that happened to me, nor what they led me to do, and I would personally like to keep that for now.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping," I said. "I was just curious. People talk about you and him a lot."
She hesitated. "That's rarely a good sign. But then again, it's unavoidable."
"It's not all bad," I said quickly. "Though, to be fair, most of them are too intimidated to say anything clearly."
She turned back to the stall and looked at a small pot with a yellow powder. She called out to the vendor, asking him to give her the spices she requested. She didn't just buy the yellow one; she purchased five different ones.
"You cook?"
"Not exactly," she said. "I prefer specific seasonings to my meals, which is difficult with some of the prices that the school isn't willing to spend on enough."
I blinked. "Right. That makes more sense."
When she paid and stepped away, I found myself walking alongside her without thinking. "Would you… maybe want to walk the market with me? I still have some errands. Unless you're busy."
She paused, as if weighing the social risk, then gave a small nod.
And just like that, we walked.
It started quiet—comments about the crowd, the smell of roasted chestnuts, how sticky the street tiles were from spilled fruit syrup. I told her where to find the best buns (second stall after the fountain, not the one with the flashy signs), and she listened with a kind of attentive stillness that made me feel oddly seen.
"So," I said after we picked up some rice cakes, "you and Ryuta… work together often?"
"Yes. His mana pool is efficient. He can sustain my research without problem, which I can't do on my own."
I tried to parse that. "So… you trust him?"
She gave a tiny nod. "I do. He's frustratingly independent. But capable. I can't really imagine working with just anyone else."
I smiled. "You sound like you've written him a performance review."
She glanced at me. "You sound like someone who wants to ask more than she's letting on."
I laughed—soft, a little embarrassed. "Guilty. I just… I don't know. He's been the one who introduced me to my new life here in Sharia. And I'm trying to figure out more about what kind of he is."
Nanahoshi slowed her steps. "You want to know who he really is. Not the version people talk about."
I nodded. "Exactly."
She didn't respond right away. Then, voice low, she said, "He's thoughtful, but not in the usual sense. Sometimes he struggles to notice things. When he does notice, he rarely speaks up unless prompted and often filters his responses."
"That sounds… frustrating."
"It can be. But it also means that when he does say something real, it matters."
We turned a corner, passing a flower stall where a little girl was holding a small white flower. I watched her laugh as she tried to hold it upright with both hands.
"Do you think he's lonely?" I asked, not knowing what answer I was expecting.
She was quiet for a beat. "I think… he doesn't know how not to be. It's just that finding people without ulterior motives is hard when your name holds value."
That hit deeper than I expected. I looked down at the bags in my arms. "He saved me, you know? I don't mean just from danger. He… showed up when I had nothing left. Without him... I don't know where I would be."
Nanahoshi didn't say anything for a while. Just walked beside me, step by step.
Eventually, she spoke again—soft, but deliberate. "Do you care about him?"
My heart skipped. "I… think so? Maybe more than I understand. Maybe I'm scared to find out."
Even to this day, I can't tell if my feelings are simply gratitude for being saved a total of three times in a single day, or genuine ones of developing… affection. But it's even more difficult to figure out when I can't muster the courage to get in contact with him to begin with.
At times like these, I miss Susanne. She always had one or two pieces of advice to share.
"You don't strike me as the scared type."
I smiled faintly. "I'm not so sure myself. But feelings are harder to swing at than monsters."
That made her pause. Then, to my surprise, a sound like a quiet chuckle came from behind the mask.
"I'll remember that."
We stopped at the edge of the market. She adjusted the strap of her bag, then said, "If you want clarity… I could arrange something. Ryuta usually checks up on me whenever he comes back from his trips. I can maybe send you a message and perhaps get a meeting with him."
I blinked. "You'd do that?"
"I think he'd be better for it. And I think you're asking not just for yourself. He does act weird lately."
I looked at her—this strange, analytical woman with a mask and a mind sharp as glass—and for a moment, I felt like I'd made an unexpected friend.
"Thank you," I said.
She didn't look back as she stepped away, but her voice carried over her shoulder. "Don't waste the opportunity when it comes, though."
And then she was gone—vanished into the tide of shoppers, just another silhouette swallowed by Sharia's streets.
Something meaningful had shifted.
But as I turned to leave, that nagging whisper of rumor crept back. The haunted house. The child. The stories I'd almost let slip past.
I shook my head. There'd be time to ask about those things later. For now… I had better things to do.
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