The streetlights in this part of New Tokyo didn't flicker, they didn't need to. Nothing around this part of the city ran on charm. Everything ran on money, leverage, and the kind of quiet that came from people agreeing not to notice each other.
Barascuda kept his pace steady, hands in his pockets, eyes moving in a lazy sweep that wasn't lazy at all. Two men on the corner smoking. A delivery van parked precariously around a corner and a camera mounted high on a broken lampost.
He noticed everything in his surroundings, while looking like he couldn't give a single care about what was going on in the world. That was just his nature, observant but lowkey. Right now his current destination was a bookstore.
He took the long route towards it, embracing the dark side of the city. The dichotemy of the city always astonished Barascuda. On one side was ceaseless ambition and and a city of dreams. Yet if you just turned a corner, the dark underbelly of the city would emerge.
The bookstore sat between a closed clinic and a vacant noodle place that never seemed open, its sign dim and deliberately uninviting. HELLIA'S was the name plastered on top of the store. There was no neon gimmick, or invasive advertisement. Just the raw and emotional feeling of a traditional bookstore. It's what made him love the store so much. He stopped a few steps short, exhaled once, then lifted his right hand and dragged two fingers across his face like he was wiping away sweat. The air around his skin turned cold.
A silver smog rolled out from the motion, thin as breath on glass, and for a heartbeat it covered his nose, his cheeks, his brow—then sank in as if his face had swallowed it.
The transformation was dramatic.
His jawline softened followed by his cheekbones as they shifted from their current form. Next were his eyes, which took on a shape that didn't belong to the same person who'd been walking down the street a second ago. A face that could pass through crowds without sticking in anyone's memory. Foreign enough to be a blur, familiar enough to be ignored. Mercury Mask, he hated using it. Not because it hurt, but because it reminded him of older days, when changing his face was the easiest part of the job. He flexed his jaw once, felt the new proportions settle, then walked the rest of the way to the door and pushed inside.
A bell chimed, soft and polite. The air in Hellia's was warmer than outside, carrying the dusty, comforting smell of paper that had been touched by too many hands. The shelves were packed tight, aisles narrow in a way that encouraged people not to linger unless they knew where they were going. A woman in her 30's stood behind the counter, wiping the same spot of wood with the same cloth she'd been using for years.
Hellia looked up, her green eyes sharpening for half a second, before her expression relaxed into something that almost resembled a smile.
"Bernard," she said, voice calm.
Barascuda didn't correct her, it was one of his many names. But for some odd reason, she always chose to use this one.
"Evening," he replied. "You're open late."
"I'm always open," she said. "The city just forgets I exist."
"Must be nice."
Hellia set the cloth down. Her dark brown hair was pinned back, neat, and her sleeves rolled to the elbow like she was preparing to do real work at any moment.
Her gaze slid over him. "You're walking heavier."
Barascuda glanced down, as if his boots might have betrayed him.
"Long night," he said.
Hellia's eyes narrowed with the mild disapproval of a woman who didn't care for polite versions. "Trouble?"
Barascuda's mouth twitched. "Depends how you define trouble."
"I define it as you showing up with Mercury on your face."
He gave a quiet sigh, then shrugged as if the topic bored him. "It's a precaution."
Hellia let the silence sit for a beat, then nodded toward the back. "Same room."
"Thank you."
"And Bernard," she added, voice smoother now, the way a blade could be smooth. "Try not to bring brutes into my shop."
Barascuda's eyes flicked to hers. He held the look for a second, then tipped his head, thinking about the last time he had invited someone here.
A small chuckle left his lips "I'll try."
He moved through the store without looking at the books. Past the fiction aisle. Past a wall of old hunter manuals and past the staff only sign that was meant to stop normal people and invite everyone else. The back room wasn't large. It wasn't luxurious, just clean, quiet, and warded enough that casual listening skills and cheap surveillance wouldn't work.He closed the door behind him and locked it, then leaned against the wall for a moment. The tension in his shoulders didn't leave, but it loosened. Barascuda stared at the floor for a few seconds. Then, with the reluctance of a man admitting a headache might not go away on its own, he pulled out his phone.
One message sat at the top of his mind like a stone in his shoe. A black-market beginner gate. Mireglass Tunnels. A kid—no, not a kid. A girl with a mask, a mouth, and the kind of stubbornness that got people killed had walked into an F-rated instance solo.
She'd walked out. That alone was unusual, enough. To be honest he didn't expect someone that young to show up at his sidegig in the first place. Yet alone bring the most unusual news. What she'd said along the way was shocking. The way she put it across, with the same casual tone someone might use to complain about the weather.
'A D-rank, inside an F-rank gate.'
Barascuda ran the scenario through his head again, slow and deliberate.
Could she be lying?
It was possible, but he'd seen the cores. And the way her hands shook when she thought no one was watching. Liars didn't tremble like that...no they trembled differently.He unlocked his phone, scrolled to a secure contact, and tapped the name.
Red.
He didn't like relying on people. He liked it even less when it happened to be annoying people he knew like this one. But they were the best fit for the job so he typed anyway.
Barascuda: You awake?
The reply came a few seconds later.
Red: It's after ten. Of course I'm awake. What did you break?
Barascuda exhaled through his nose.
Barascuda: Nothing. I need you to look into something.
Red: That's how it always starts.
Barascuda: It's simple nothing crazy. Just Mireglass Tunnels a beginner dungeon. One of my clients reported a D-rank variant inside.
There was a pause long enough to suggest Red had stopped talking and was thinking. Then a response arrived.
Red: A D-rank inside Mireglass?
Red: Are you sure you didn't take a nap and wake up in a different decade?
Barascuda stared at the screen.
Barascuda: I saw the output log and the cores. I'm sure.
Red: That shouldn't happen, unless an overload or worse is happening. Could this be an instance of a dungeon mutation. I thought the rumours of them in America were only rumours.
Barascuda: I'm aware it shouldn't be. But I don't think the client is lying, she went into the dungeon alone and said she faced it.
Red: This could be quite serious then.
Barascuda: Yes that's why I messaged you.
Red: Well damn. It's hard to believe that you let a beginner walk into Mireglass alone, and now you're telling me the gate coughed up a D-rank?
Barascuda's jaw tightened.
Barascuda: I didn't let her. Infact I gave her adequate warning. She did what people do, who am I to stop her.
Another pause.
Then Red's next message arrived like a needle.
Red: This feels familiar you messaging me like this.
Red: Tell me it isn't the Faceless Hunter Gray poking gates again. Haha.
The room went very still.
Barascuda didn't move. He just stared at the words until they lost their shape, then gained it back.
He typed slowly, thumbs deliberate.
Barascuda: You know I don't go by that name anymore.
Barascuda: And I left those days behind.
A response came quickly, almost too quickly.
Red: Yeah... yeah I get it. You no longer do that line of work. Yadayada ya.
Barascuda's mouth twitched, humourless. This is why he hated conversing with this person. They were irksome in ways that he didn't know were possible.
It was best to end conversations with these types as early as possible.
Barascuda: Check the gate. Please.
Barascuda: If there are signs of overload, corruption, or output drift, I need to know. And do it quietly.
Red: You're no fun. But sure I'll do it. If you think it's overloaded then there must be something going on.
Barascuda locked his phone and set it down.
The quiet returned. He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.
Kura.
A mouthy newbie. She'd walked into Mireglass like it was nothing and she'd walked out beating both an F and D rank. If what she said was believed to be true, she was definitely a talent. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Great," he muttered to the empty room. "I give one orphaned idiot a discount and the universe gives me a mystery."
'Maybe a little investigation into her background wouldn't hurt.'
A soft knock came at the door, interrupting his thouguhts.
"Bernard," Hellia called, using the name like a reminder. "Tea."
Barascuda exhaled once, then stood. When he opened the door, Hellia was holding a cup like she already knew he'd be too stubborn to ask. She set it on the table inside without stepping over the threshold. Her gaze flicked to his face, then down to his hands.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said.
"I'm not," he replied.
"You are," she corrected. "It's just that your kind of loud is quieter than most people's quiet."
Barascuda didn't thank her for the tea.
Instead, he gave a small nod. "Noted."
Teasing him and not getting the wanted response Hellia left, door closing with a quiet click. Barascuda stared at the tea for a second, then finally drank. It tasted like warmth.
'The last 24 hours have been very busy', he thought.