The Bronze Dagger Guildhall was uncharacteristically quiet when they returned.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of gold and lilac. A few early-returning adventurers milled around the notice board or nursed drinks near the bar. Jarn, the guildmaster, was in his usual spot—feet on the counter, asleep with a half-eaten sandwich perched precariously on his chest.
Keiji nudged the door open with his shoulder and limped in.
Rina kicked it wide behind him and held up the slime core like a trophy. "Ladies and gentlemen—your reigning slime-squashing champions have returned!"
Mira followed, looking exhausted but triumphant. Bark trailed in last, silent as ever, but carrying the cracked monocle from the Slime Monarch balanced on the tip of his sword like a bizarre battle souvenir.
Jarn snorted awake and nearly choked on his sandwich. "Whuzzat? You actually survived?"
"Survived and leveled," Rina said, slamming the glowing slime core down on the bar with theatrical flair. "This beauty's going straight into the party fund!"
"The what fund?" Keiji asked, eyebrow raised.
"The party fund!" Mira chimed in, setting her bag down with a soft thud. "Technically for group supplies and emergencies, but mostly for drinks and questionable fashion choices."
"That explains everything about this guild," Keiji muttered, but couldn't quite hide his smile.
One hour later, the tavern section of the guildhall was alive with celebration.
Jarn had cracked open a barrel of spiced mead that smelled like cinnamon and bad decisions. Someone had produced a lute from gods-know-where. Mira, who apparently transformed into a soprano after two drinks, stood on a bench performing a shockingly bawdy ballad about a knight and a sentient scarecrow that made Keiji's ears burn.
Rina had already declared it a festival in Keiji's honor and forced him to wear a flower crown that kept sliding down over his left ear.
"I didn't do anything special," he protested, nudging it back up for the fifth time.
"You body-checked a boss slime," Rina said with a mock-salute. "We stan fearless slime-fathers in this house."
"Please stop trying to make that title stick."
"Too late. Dad of the Bronze Dagger. You'll get a plaque and everything."
Keiji muttered something unintelligible and took a long drink from his cup of cider. It was strong and clove-scented and maybe just a little too easy to enjoy.
Mira flopped down beside him, her feet kicked up on the bench. "You seem... less freaked out than when you first showed up."
"I got slimed six times and nearly flattened by royal jelly. I think my trauma receptors are permanently numbed."
"You handled yourself well," she said, more sincerely now. "A lot of newbies get scared, or freeze up. But you didn't."
Keiji swirled the cider in his mug, watching the amber liquid catch the lantern light. "Not bravery. I've just seen worse... meetings."
She laughed softly. "You keep saying you're just a 'retired guy,' but I'm starting to think you're some kind of emotional juggernaut."
"I was middle management for two decades. The last guy I worked for thought screaming was an acceptable leadership style and Mondays were optional torture days."
Mira leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. "Well... you're a better leader than most I've met here. You don't tell people what to do, you just do the right thing and somehow we all follow. That's rare."
Keiji blinked, taken off guard by the sudden earnestness. "Thanks," he said after a beat. "But I'm not a leader. I'm just trying not to die in a world I don't understand."
She smiled. "Sometimes that's exactly what leadership is."
Across the room, Bark was arm-wrestling a half-orc twice his size and winning without so much as blinking. Rina was betting coins she definitely didn't have. Jarn was asleep again—this time with a mug balanced precariously on his forehead.
The lute player had transitioned to a song that sounded suspiciously like a drunken pirate chant about cabbage-based romance.
Keiji took another sip and let himself relax, just a little.
Later that night, after the singing had died down and most of the guild had either passed out or wandered off to their rooms, Keiji found himself on the rooftop.
He sat on a crooked beam, legs dangling, watching the moon peek between clouds. The stars here were different than the ones he knew—brighter, stranger patterns—but somehow still comforting.
The night was quiet except for the occasional drunken hiccup from below and the distant hooting of what he hoped was an owl and not something with tentacles.
He heard soft footsteps behind him.
Mira appeared, carrying two steaming mugs of warm cider. She handed one to him and sat beside him on the beam without speaking for a while.
Finally, she said, "You know... this world's not easy. Most people who wake up here panic. Or break. Or become someone else entirely."
Keiji looked at her, curious. "And what about you?"
She sipped her cider, staring out at the twinkling lights of the town below. "I... didn't panic. But I definitely tried to be someone else. Smarter. Stronger. Meaner. I figured if I acted like a big-deal mage, eventually I'd become one."
"And did you?"
"I still can't cast fire without setting my sleeves on fire, so..." She shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on her face.
Keiji chuckled.
She glanced sideways at him. "But you? You're not pretending to be anything. You're just... here. Being a grumpy old guy with a stick who somehow keeps us all alive."
He raised his mug. "Grumpy sticks are underappreciated in fantasy literature."
They clinked mugs in quiet agreement.
After a comfortable pause, she added, "If you ever need a real weapon... I know a guy who specializes in enchanted arms for beginners."
"Oh, I'll die with this stick. We've bonded now."
"Honestly, that's the most dadcore thing you could say."
Back inside, the last of the candles flickered low. Bark was already curled up on a bench, using his sword as a body pillow—somehow making cold steel look comfortable. Rina was sprawled out across three chairs, muttering something suspiciously coherent about cabbages leading a revolution against goldfish.
Keiji tiptoed past them toward the stairs that led to the sleeping quarters.
"Night, Pops," Rina mumbled without opening her eyes.
"Still not my name."
"Sure, sure. Sleep tight, Dad."
He sighed.
But there was a small smile on his face as he climbed the stairs.
[End of Chapter 1]