Anya, Suspicion, and a Question
The smell of roasted meat hung thick in the air, grease popping softly over the hearth. Mugs clinked. Laughter rolled low and lazy across the tavern—warm, heavy, comfortable.
"You still have more of those shiny coins, nya?"
A fork scraped against a plate somewhere behind me.
My shoulders tightened.
Not fear.
Reflex.
Anya leaned over a nearby table, ears flicking once, tail swaying behind her. Her eyes caught the firelight and reflected it—sharp, playful, interested. Way too interested.
She was supposed to be wiping down the surface.
She wasn't.
"N-n-no…!" I said too fast. "Only one. Just one. I found it inside the Dungeon."
The words came out clipped, like I'd tripped over them.
Heat crept up my neck as a few heads turned.
Her tail stopped swaying.
Just for a second.
Then resumed, slower, like she was deciding something.
"Dungeon?" Runoa asked from another table, voice casual, collecting empty plates. "You look scrawny."
Chloe didn't even look up from her tray. "Solo?"
"No Familia?" someone added from a nearby table, half-listening, half-not.
A smirk.
The questions overlapped like background noise. No accusation. No pressure.
Just Orario doing what Orario did—measuring.
Great.
Way more dangerous than goblins.
Each question felt like a hand reaching into my pockets, checking what I had, what I didn't, where I fit in the city's brutal hierarchy.
Nowhere.
That's where I fit.
"…Is that a crime?" I asked.
The words came out quieter than I meant.
The fire cracked, loud in the pause.
"No," Syr said gently.
She stood in front of the counter, hands folded, smile soft in a way that made the light feel warmer. Like she was smoothing the air itself.
"But it is hard."
The tension in my shoulders eased half a notch.
Not gone.
Just... acknowledged.
Ryuu stood near the kitchen entrance, arms crossed, posture straight. Her eyes didn't move much—but when they did, they missed nothing.
She hadn't said a word.
Somehow that was worse than if she had.
A mug was lifted. Set down. Life crept back in around us.
Mama Mia
Crack.
The sound punched through the tavern.
Wood split.
The counter jolted, plates rattling, mugs hopping an inch off the surface. A clean fracture ran through the thick slab like it had simply decided to stop being whole.
Silence followed.
Hard. Immediate.
The kind that made your lungs forget how to work.
Someone sucked in a breath and forgot to let it out.
Then she was there.
Mama Mia.
Behind the counter.
Towering. Broad. Solid. The kind of presence that made the floor feel smaller, the ceiling lower, the walls closer.
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
Anya, Chloe, and Runoa scattered from their tables in three different directions, each producing a different pitch of panicked "EEEEEK," abandoning trays and cloths as they retreated like startled cats.
Even Syr moved from the counter.
Only Ryuu remained still.
"You got death wish," Mama Mia said flatly, looking straight at me, "coming back here after eating without paying."
Her voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Each word landed like a hammer on stone—final, immovable, certain.
"I—I brought—"
My hand moved before my brain caught up.
I lifted the coin pouch, holding it out like an offering to something ancient, sacred, and easily offended. The leather felt rough in my palm. Too light. Way too light.
My arm trembled.
Not much.
Enough.
The pouch made a soft sound as it shifted.
"Eat," she interrupted. "Then pay. For both."
No anger.
No threat.
Just… a rule.
Carved into the universe itself.
"B-but I paid!" I blurted. "That 100 yen—"
I covered my mouth before the word fully left it.
This isn't a Japanese maid café!!!
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Mama Mia squinted.
Her eyes sharpened.
Not suspicious.
Curious.
Dangerously curious.
"A hundred yen what?"
The question hung in the air.
"…Eeekk—no, nothing."
My voice cracked.
The fire popped again, too loud.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to run, to vanish, to undo the last five seconds of my life.
She stared at me for half a second longer.
Long enough for my soul to consider vacating.
Long enough for the room to hold its breath.
Then she turned away.
Just like that.
Dismissed.
The tavern exhaled.
Sound rushed back in—chairs scraping, mugs clinking, someone laughing too loudly like they'd been holding it in. The fire crackled again, grease hissed, conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
Not loud. Not visible. Just… shifted.
Anya's ears were still perked, angled toward me even as she pretended to resume wiping tables.
Syr's smile hadn't quite returned to full warmth.
And Ryuu—
Ryuu was looking at me now.
Actually looking.
Then she turned away, expression unchanged, and disappeared into the kitchen.
I picked up my food, heat seeping into my fingers.
The weight of it felt wrong.
Too heavy.
Not the food.
The attention.
I'm fine.
…Right?
The meat was still warm. The bread still soft.
---
I ate my fill for the first time after came to this world yesterday.
The coin stayed on the counter.
Not claimed.
Not questioned.
Just… there.
Cold metal against warm wood.
I swallowed, shoulders slowly lowering.
Okay.
Paid.
Like a functioning member of society.
But suddenly, I couldn't tell if I'd just survived something—
Or walked straight into a trap I didn't understand yet.
---
After the crowd dies down...
"Mama Mia?"
Syr's voice came from the kitchen. Soft. Careful.
"What?"
Mama Mia didn't turn from the counter.
"So... do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"Ask. And quick. Then finish the dishes."
Syr hesitated.
Just for a breath.
"Why do you go harder on him?"
Mama Mia stilled on the spot.
Silence.
Water dripped somewhere in the back.
Then resumed her work, slow, deliberate.
"You sure you want answers?" Her voice was flat. Almost amused. "I'm sure you already know."
Syr's expression didn't change.
Her mouth quirked.
Her eyes... glinted silver for a flash of a second.
Then she smiled—soft, gentle, perfectly Syr.
"I suppose I do."
Mama Mia glanced back over her shoulder.
Held her gaze for one long moment.
Then turned back to her work.
"Get back to the dishes, Syr."
"Of course."
Syr's footsteps faded inside the kitchen.
Light. Even.
Unhurried.
***