It is around noon, and Orario hums with life. The air feels warm, carrying the mingled scents of roasted meat and dust. Sunlight glints off tiled roofs and into my eyes.
The main street is a blur of color and sound—vendors shouting prices, labourers moving to and fro and children running through the crowd, only some of them stealing. Babel looms in the distance, giving me a creepy feeling as always.
I am donning my armor, belt, and knife, adjusting the straps until the fit feels right. Beside them lies a small pouch and a pair of worn leather gloves—apparently, I'd be grateful for them when extracting magic stones from monster corpses. The gloves smell faintly of oil and herbs, clearly treated to resist blood.
"Come on, repeat it once more."
Following me, there is also a very annoying person.
"I promise I will not go deeper than the first floor."
"And don't you forget it," Naaza drawls as we move through the crowded street, tail flicking lazily.
"Do I really look retarded or desperate enough to not respect basic safety measures?"
"You don't," she says, tone clipped, "but I've seen many who didn't—and then let a bulging bag of potions trick them into thinking they won't die if things go wrong." Her voice sharpens slightly. "And also, there's no 'if'. Eventually, things will go wrong in the Dungeon, no matter how careful you are. So saying 'I'll try my best' and half-assing it afterward is a pitfall I don't want you falling into."
I'm sure she speaks from experience, but I keep my mouth shut and only nod, pointedly not glancing at her prosthetic hand.
"Why do I feel the urge to smack you?"
"Because you're a violent brute that should be arrested for abuse."
"Har har har. You literally asked for 'the most realistic training session I can give you' yesterday. You don't get to complain."
Indeed I did. This is my third day as part of the Miach Familia. The first one was spent listening to the basics of potioneering from Miach himself and doing simple drills under Naaza's watchful eye—more to gauge my level of combat ability than to train it. Unsurprisingly, it was low. But my body, at least, was well-conditioned.
Back on Earth, I used to get free lodging, free meals, supplements, and a gym membership from my local sports club in exchange for playing for them. To keep those benefits, I trained at least six times a week, even while juggling university work. A few months of jiu-jitsu and a friend who knew kickboxing meant I wasn't completely useless in a fight—though stabbing something with a knife was still new territory.
The slightly enhanced senses granted by the Falna only helped.
So, naturally, I decided to ask for the highest possible difficulty during training on the second day. Suffice it to say, I now owed Naaza two health potions.
"Yeah, can't argue with that," I say with mock solemnity. "And don't worry. Despite my prowess, I will allow the Goliath to live another day..."
"Uh huh."
"...and limit myself to the first floor."
"How merciful."
She is being annoying, yes—but I understand her reasons. She didn't mention it, and I didn't ask, but I know the loss of her arm left a deep mark. Not just physical, but one that burrowed somewhere far uglier. Having a Familia member—because I don't think we could be called friends yet—descend into the very place that haunts her must be tearing at old wounds. Enough, in fact, that she's escorting me all the way to Babel herself.
I wouldn't be surprised if she's waiting when I come back up. After all, my existence alone forces her to remember her own failure and fragility—to face the fact that no, she didn't "get better" over the years, and people still suffer because of what she couldn't do.
The second part doesn't really apply to me because nobody is forcing me to do anything, and Miach clearly doesn't care, but it's true that I'll be diving into the Dungeon to earn money that'll eventually go toward fixing her mistake. And she can't even supervise me to make sure I don't die trying.
That sort of contradiction—between her morality and her scars—creates friction. And I'm the one who has to deal with the snarky chientrope it produces.
I'll have to keep that in mind. I don't need her breaking down on me. Her PTSD already hints at a fragile balance, so a bit of preemptive care should go a long way. Maybe even some exposure therapy, eventually.
The short-term fix is simpler: kill things, get money, buy good food. Most people underestimate how much a proper meal can do for morale.
And speaking of food… I can't help but notice a familiar sight through the crowd—one particular stall, manned by a petite, black-haired girl.
"Potato puffs! Only fifty valis! Take them while they're still hot!" she shouts with infectious enthusiasm.
"Want one?" I ask Naaza. She takes in the smell, ears twitching slightly.
"Only fifty valis… Sure, why not."
"We'll take two, Lady Hestia," I say as we make our way to the front of the stall.
"Of course, sir! Two fresh potato puffs coming right uuupp—wait! How do you know my name!?" she blurts out, fumbling the tongs and napkins in surprise. Her wide blue eyes flick between us until they land on Naaza, and a lightbulb practically pops above her head.
"No way! You're the child Miach was bragging about yesterday!"
"Haha, that must be me. Nice to meet you," I say.
"Nice to meet you too! You too, Naaza—it's good to see you!" she chirps, her energy bouncing right back. "You two are so cute! Ahh, that lucky Miach. I'm happy for him but… I want a child of my own too! I've already asked so many people, but none of them want to join my Familia…"
Her cheerful tone fades near the end, but her hands keep moving automatically—wrapping two potato puffs with practiced speed, snatching the hundred-valis coin from my hand, and handing over the steaming food with a bittersweet smile.
"Ah, I wouldn't worry about that, Lady Hestia. You're an awesome goddess. I'm sure you'll find someone perfect eventually. You just need to keep on searching."
"Y-you really mean it?" Her words get stuck in her throat as her eyes begin to tear up.
Of course I mean it. You think I'd try lying to a god?
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou…"
Unexpectedly, I find myself squeezed into a hug by the crying girl. She's… spreading snot all over me.
I can hear Naaza snickering beside me, and the only thing I can do is throw her my flattest look. She only laughs harder.
---
"Make sure you buy more potato puffs when coming out of the dungeon!" the overly enthusiastic goddess shouts as we depart, and we wave back in turn.
The following minute is blissfully silent, but eventually…
"So that's your type, huh? Didn't see that coming."
"Naz, I swear…"
"We can invite her over for dinner, you know? Sure, she'll have to pay for her food, but other than that—go get'er, tiger."
"Naaza…"
"Don't worry, I believe in you." She gives me a lazy wink. "Don't let anyone tell you you're a frog wanting to eat the divine swan. All that matters is that you believe in yourself."
"You're literally throwing stones from a glass house."
"Stones? They're accolades, silly. I'm honestly impressed with your good taste in women. Sure, she might be short, but have you seen those things? That blue string must be woven from orichalcum."
"…"