Finn stood there. Dead inside.
Everyone in the guild muttered horrendous things about him—some out loud, some just loud enough to be painful. It was like being slowly shredded by passive-aggressive gossip.
He had survived demons. Delivered a cursed talking head. Got drop-kicked by a chicken. And for what?
Absolutely nothing.
A part of him wanted to just walk out. Walk into the sunset and never look back.
But he couldn't exactly do that now—not with three girls following him around like emotionally damaged Dokémonenes.
The other half of him? Yeah, that part wanted to trip Ardin and beat the smug off his stupid, punchable face. But that wouldn't exactly help the whole "not being hated by everyone" situation.
And then—because of course—Ardin turned dramatically to the receptionist and declared, "Now, where is my compensation for the trauma brought upon me and my noble name?"
