Ryo Kanzaki's words still hung in the air.
"I swear on my sword—he'll regret this."
The guild hall remained silent.
Then—
The doors opened.
Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Shinji stepped inside.
This time, there was no confusion. No whispers. No disbelief.
Only weight.
The air itself seemed to sink as he crossed the threshold, boots echoing once against the stone floor. The presence he carried was different now—not sharp like before, not oppressive by force, but dense, like something ancient had decided to occupy the same space as everyone else.
No one moved.
The Escarba Party froze where they sat. Ryo's mouth opened slightly, the rest of his threat dying unfinished in his throat.
Shinji did not look at them.
He walked straight past their table.
Each step felt deliberate. Unhurried.
The guild receptionist stiffened as Shinji approached the counter. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself upright.
"Y–yes?" she managed.
Shinji placed a hand on the counter.
"I want to register," he said.
Her quill hovered. "R-register… as?"
"A solo party."
The words landed harder than any shout.
The receptionist's eyes widened. "I—I'm sorry. Only S-rank adventurers are permitted to register as solo parties."
The statement was automatic. Guild law. Tradition.
Shinji nodded once.
Before he could respond, a voice came from behind him.
"Then join us."
Shinji turned.
The adventurers he had saved stood a few paces back—their gear worn, their expressions uncertain but sincere. The woman who had spoken stepped forward, hands clenched at her sides.
"We're short a member," she said. "And you already saved our lives. Twice, if we're counting the dungeon."
Another nodded quickly. "We'd be honored."
The guild hall stirred. Murmurs rippled outward.
Join… them?
Ryo's chair scraped back sharply.
"You think he can just—"
The pressure spiked.
Not enough to crush.
Enough to silence.
Ryo froze mid-step, breath hitching as his legs refused to obey him again.
Shinji did not look back.
His eyes remained on the adventurers in front of him.
"I don't plan to stay long," he said.
The woman swallowed. "That's fine."
A beat.
Shinji turned back to the receptionist.
"Temporary registration," he said. "Five members."
The receptionist stared at him for a long second… then nodded rapidly, quill scratching across parchment.
"P-party name?"
Shinji paused.
Just for a moment.
Then—
"Unregistered," he said.
The quill stopped.
"…Excuse me?"
"For now," Shinji added.
The receptionist wrote it down with shaking hands.
Behind him, the Escarba Party watched in silence as the world moved forward—without them.
Part Two: Unregistered
The quill scratched.
That sound—small, ordinary—felt strangely loud in the guild hall.
"Temporary registration complete," the receptionist said, voice thin. "Five members. Party… Unregistered."
She slid the parchment forward with both hands, like offering something sacred.
Shinji glanced at it. Didn't take it yet.
Behind him, the new adventurers stood straighter than before. Not proud—steady. As if they'd already decided that whatever came next, they'd face it together.
Ryo Kanzaki's nails dug into his palms.
"Unregistered?" he scoffed, forcing his voice to carry. "You think that name means anything? You think hiding behind nobodies makes you untouchable?"
Shinji finally turned his head.
Just enough.
Ryo flinched.
Shinji's eyes were calm. Too calm. Not empty—settled, like something that had already decided the outcome long before this moment.
"I didn't choose the name to hide," Shinji said. "I chose it because I don't care."
That landed harder than any insult.
A low murmur rippled through the hall.
"He's not denying it…"
"He's not even defending himself…"
Ryo took a step forward despite himself. "You think you're above us now? You died in that dungeon. We carried on. We survived."
Shinji's gaze drifted past him—to the table. To the plates. To the empty space where his seat had once been.
"You survived," Shinji agreed.
The word wasn't bitter.
That was worse.
"I didn't."
Silence fell again.
Not forced.
Earned.
The tank of the Escarba Party—Daichi—shifted uncomfortably. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes stayed on the floor.
Akira, the mage, adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers, already calculating possibilities he couldn't solve.
Yuna hadn't moved at all.
Her hands were clasped so tightly in front of her that her knuckles had gone white. She stared at Shinji's back, lips trembling, as if one word might break something forever.
Shinji turned away.
He reached out and took the parchment.
The receptionist let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"Your initial rank will be evaluated during your next quest," she said quickly. "You'll be restricted to—"
"That's fine," Shinji said.
He handed the parchment to the woman from the new party.
"You're the leader," he said simply.
Her eyes widened. "M-me?"
"You spoke first," Shinji replied. "That's enough."
She swallowed, then nodded.
"Then—then welcome," she said, voice shaking but sincere. "I'm Kaede. Archer."
One by one, the others followed.
"Toru. Spear."
"Mina. Alchemy."
"Ren. Shield."
Each name grounded the moment further in reality.
Shinji inclined his head once.
"Shinji."
That was all he gave them.
Ryo laughed harshly. "You think this ends here? You think the guild won't notice? You think the city won't—"
Shinji stopped.
The doors were already open. Light spilled across the stone floor, outlining his silhouette.
He didn't turn around immediately.
When he did, it wasn't anger that met them.
It was distance.
His gaze swept the table once — the Escarba Party, seated together, smaller than they remembered being.
"Today," Shinji said, voice calm, unraised, "I stopped arguing with weakness."
Ryo's breath caught.
Shinji's eyes lingered on him just long enough.
"You're beneath me now."
No aura surged.
No pressure followed.
The words alone were enough.
Shinji turned back and stepped into the light.
The doors closed.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The Escarba Party remained seated in the guild hall, finally understanding something far worse than hatred—
They were no longer part of his story.
Part Three: The Weight of a Name
The doors closed behind Shinji.
The sound echoed longer than it should have.
For several seconds, no one inside the guild hall moved. Even the clatter of mugs had stopped, as if the building itself was listening.
Then the noise returned—slowly, cautiously.
Whispers crept back into existence.
"Did you hear that…?"
"He said they were beneath him."
"That wasn't arrogance. That was… fact."
Ryo Kanzaki stood rigid, staring at the doors as if they might open again. His jaw was clenched so tight it trembled.
"He's bluffing," he muttered.
No one answered.
Daichi shifted in his seat, armor creaking. "Ryo… that pressure earlier—"
"It was a trick," Ryo snapped. "Some cursed item. Some illusion."
Akira adjusted his glasses, eyes distant. "No."
Ryo turned sharply. "What did you say?"
Akira hesitated, then spoke quietly. "Illusions don't do that. They don't stop intent. When you tried to draw your sword… it wasn't fear that stopped you."
He swallowed.
"It was rejection."
The word sat heavy on the table.
Yuna's hands trembled in her lap.
She hadn't heard most of the argument. Her ears still rang with Shinji's voice—calm, distant, unchanged by anger.
Long time, Yuna.
That was all he'd given her.
Not forgiveness.
Not hatred.
Just acknowledgement.
And somehow, that hurt more.
"He didn't even ask why," she whispered.
No one responded.
Outside, sunlight washed over the guild steps.
Shinji stood there, unmoving, eyes lifted toward the sky. The city bustled around him—vendors calling out, guards shifting posts, adventurers laughing as if nothing had changed.
But something had.
Kaede hesitated behind him. "Shinji… are you alright?"
He exhaled slowly.
"They're smaller than I remembered," he said.
That was all.
Ren frowned. "Your old party?"
"Yes."
Toru scratched the back of his neck. "You don't sound angry."
"I'm not."
Mina glanced back at the guild doors. "Then why does it feel like something just… ended?"
Shinji started walking.
"Because it did."
They followed him into the street.
As they moved through the city, heads turned. Some people stared openly now. Others whispered behind hands. A few adventurers stepped aside instinctively, unsure why their bodies reacted before their minds did.
A guard at the gate stiffened as Shinji passed.
Beyond the walls, the road stretched toward the forest—the direction of the dungeon.
Shinji slowed.
For just a moment, he felt it.
A faint pulse.
Like something far away had noticed him.
Not the whisper.
Not yet.
But attention.
Shinji's fingers brushed the hilt of Azure at his side.
"Kaede," he said.
"Yes?"
"Next quest," he continued, eyes fixed on the horizon, "I choose the destination."
She nodded without hesitation. "Where to?"
Shinji's gaze sharpened.
"Somewhere demons don't expect to be hunted."
The wind stirred.
Far beyond the city, deep underground, something ancient shifted—its feeding interrupted for the first time in a very long while.
Part Four: Steam and Silence
The city softened as the sun lowered.
Stone streets warmed by daylight gave off faint heat, and the air filled with the smell of oil, grilled meat, and broth simmering somewhere deeper in the district. The tension Shinji had carried out of the guild hall loosened—not gone, but uncoiled just enough to breathe.
Kaede stopped near a narrow street lit by hanging lanterns.
"Food," she said, pointing. "Before anything else."
Toru let out a relieved laugh. "I thought you were going to march us straight back into the forest."
"Tomorrow," Kaede said. "Today, we eat."
The ramen shop was small. Too small for privacy. Steam fogged the windows, and the cook barely looked up as they entered.
"Five," Kaede said.
They squeezed around a counter.
Shinji sat at the end.
The clatter of bowls, the hiss of broth poured over noodles—it all felt strangely loud to him. Familiar, but distant, like a memory he hadn't realized he'd missed.
Ren leaned toward him. "You… you eat ramen?"
Shinji blinked once.
"Yes."
Ren nodded solemnly. "Good."
Toru snorted. "That was your concern?"
"It tells you a lot about a person," Ren replied seriously.
Mina stifled a laugh.
Bowls were placed down.
The steam rose, carrying the scent of pork, soy, and garlic. Shinji stared at it for a second too long.
Kaede noticed.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
He picked up his chopsticks. "I forgot what warm food smelled like."
No one spoke after that.
They ate.
Slowly at first. Then faster.
Toru talked with his mouth half-full about a job gone wrong involving slimes and a stolen boot. Mina complained about alchemists overpricing reagents. Ren listened more than he spoke, nodding at odd intervals.
Someone—Shinji wasn't sure who—made a bad joke.
He didn't laugh.
But the corner of his mouth twitched.
Kaede noticed that too.
Night fell by the time they stepped back onto the street.
Lanterns glowed now. Laughter spilled from taverns. Music drifted faintly through open windows. The city felt alive in a way the dungeon never could.
Then Kaede stopped.
"…Right."
The others looked at her.
"There's a problem," she admitted. "We didn't plan for five tonight."
Toru grimaced. "The inn we booked is full."
Ren scratched his cheek. "We could rotate shifts on the floor?"
Mina sighed. "I refuse."
They all turned to Shinji.
He shook his head lightly. "I can sleep outside."
Kaede's answer was immediate.
"No."
He already knew what she was thinking.
"I won't be staying," Shinji said calmly.
Kaede frowned. "What?"
"I planned to return," he continued. "There's a place beneath the city. Quiet. I can rest there."
None of them spoke.
Mina's expression darkened first. "You mean… alone?"
Shinji didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
"You just ate with us," Toru said carefully. "That counts as staying."
"It doesn't," Shinji replied.
Kaede stepped forward. Not blocking him — just there.
"You don't have to disappear every time the day ends," she said quietly.
"I'm not disappearing."
"You are," she said, firmer now. "You just don't call it that."
Silence stretched between them.
The city breathed around them.
Shinji's hand twitched at his side. He hadn't planned to explain himself. Hadn't planned to be asked.
"I don't sleep well," he said finally. "Not… here."
Kaede hesitated, then spoke more softly. "Then don't sleep. Just stay."
Mina nodded. "You can leave before dawn if you want."
Ren added, "No one's chaining you."
Toru scratched his head. "We're bad at chains anyway."
That earned a small huff of breath from Mina.
Almost a laugh.
Shinji looked away.
He could already feel the pull — the quiet depth of the underworld calling him back. Cold. Still. Familiar.
Safe.
"…I'll stay," he said at last. "For tonight."
Kaede exhaled, relief she didn't try to hide. "I have a place. It's small."
"I'll take the floor," Shinji said immediately.
She opened her mouth to argue — then stopped.
"…Alright."
The decision was made quietly.
The others returned to the inn.
At the crossroads where the streets split, Mina stopped and turned. "You sure you'll be fine?"
Shinji nodded once. "I don't need much."
Toru clapped his hands together. "Then tomorrow, same time. Same place."
Ren gave Shinji a short bow. "Thank you. For today."
One by one, they left—boots fading into the glow of lanterns and laughter spilling from tavern doors.
Soon, only two remained.
Kaede adjusted the strap of her quiver, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. "My place is this way," she said, pointing down a quieter street.
Shinji followed without comment.
The city at night felt different when you walked alone with someone. The noise softened. Conversations behind walls blurred into background hum. Lantern light stretched their shadows long across the stone.
Kaede tried first.
"So… you've been adventuring a long time?"
"Yes."
"…Before the dungeon?"
"Yes."
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "You're not very talkative."
Shinji didn't deny it.
They walked a little farther.
"Do you always fight like that?" she asked. "I mean—calm. Like nothing can touch you."
Shinji's gaze stayed forward. "Things do touch me."
"Then why don't you react?"
He stopped walking.
Kaede froze, worried she'd pushed too far.
"Because," Shinji said, voice low, "if I let myself react to everything, I won't stop."
She understood enough not to ask more.
They resumed walking.
Kaede glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You don't have to explain yourself," she said gently. "I was just… curious."
"I know."
That answer surprised her.
Her home was modest, tucked between taller buildings, lantern hanging above the door. She unlocked it, then paused, suddenly aware of how quiet it was.
"Floor's fine," Shinji said before she could speak. "I won't stay long."
She nodded. "I figured."
Inside, she lit the lantern. The room filled with soft amber light.
Shinji set Azure carefully against the wall, like placing something alive to rest. He sat on the floor instead of lying down, back against the wall, arms resting loosely at his sides.
Kaede watched him for a moment.
"You don't have to disappear," she said softly. "But… you don't have to stay either."
He met her gaze briefly.
"That's fair."
She lay down on the bed, turning onto her side. "Goodnight, Shinji."
"…Goodnight."
The lantern dimmed.
Outside, the city breathed.
Inside, Shinji remained awake — guarded, distant — but present.
For tonight, that was enough.