A Day to Breathe
By the time I made it back to my room, the adrenaline was completely gone.
Just exhaustion.
I closed the half-broken door behind me and leaned against it for a moment.
Quiet.
Safe.
I looked at the little corner I'd turned into my collection—a burnt-out candle, a magic stone that barely glowed anymore. Both useless. Both things I kept anyway.
Keepsakes from a life I was still figuring out how to live.
I added one more.
A rock.
Just a rock I picked up from the 4th Floor pantry before I left.
No glow. No value. No reason.
…Stupid.
But I kept it anyway.
…Actually, that already sounded like me.
I sat down heavily and pulled out my pouch. Time to count everything properly—not just the wings, but the whole haul from today.
Blue Latheon Wings — 2,000 valis.
The random herbs I didn't even bother naming — 4,500.
War Shadows… two of them. Two magic stones — 1,250 each. That's 2,500 total.
One finger blade — 2,750.
And the handler's payout — 300 valis.
I added it all up twice, just to be sure.
12,050 valis.
Then I added it up a third time because the number felt too good to be true.
Still 12,050.
Math doesn't lie. Just me, apparently, when pricing Blue Latheon Wings.
I stared at the number for a long moment.
Not rich. Not safe.
But not desperate either.
Enough to breathe. Enough to delay. Enough to make bad decisions feel reasonable.
Which was… dangerous.
I closed the pouch and set it aside carefully.
Bread and street food? I could go lazy mode for ten days easy.
If I went to Mama Mia every day? Five days. No sweat.
If I went to Mama Mia twice a day?
…Okay, that's just financially irresponsible.
But tempting.
I exhaled slowly, letting myself feel the weight lift just a little.
"But…"
Shopping.
Tomorrow, maybe.
New clothes so I don't look suspicious anymore?
…Or a sword?
My hand drifted to the broken one beside me. The blade caught what little light there was—half gone, the edge worn down to nothing in places.
"Might break any time."
Her words echoed in my head.
Nah.
I've never discarded something before it was completely unusable. Not tools. Not clothes. Not even toothpaste—roll it like a scroll? Or cut it open and you get three more days.
I stared at the sword.
It still worked.
Barely.
"…Tomorrow," I muttered, more to convince myself than anything.
I lay back on the thin bedroll, staring at the ceiling.
The candle didn't light. The magic stone didn't glow much. The rock just sat there in my collection of pointless things.
And somehow, that felt right.
Sleep came slower than usual, but it came.
The next day arrived without ceremony.
No warmth. Just cold.
Early morning light crept through the cracks in the walls, thin and pale.
I was already awake.
Old habits.
I'd always been an early riser—back home, back before all this. That hadn't changed.
I sat up slowly, feeling every bruise from yesterday's War Shadow fight settle into my bones.
Stretch. Check surroundings. Count exits.
New habits layered on top of old ones.
…Yeah.
I was really starting to adjust to this place.
I looked around the room with fresh eyes. Abandoned ruin or not, dust was dust. And dust attracted things. Bad things.
"I should clean this more thoroughly," I muttered to no one.
So I did.
I didn't rush. Swept the corners. Wiped the stone slabs. Moved debris away from the walls where things could hide.
Slow. Methodical.
No heroics.
Just maintenance.
The kind of work that didn't require thinking—just doing. My mind drifted while my hands worked. Back to yesterday. Back to pale ash hair and a transaction I definitely fumbled.
Time slipped by without me noticing.
When I finally stopped, my arms were sore and my back ached in new places.
I checked the light coming through the cracks.
Three hours.
…Seriously?
I fought two War Shadows in under twenty minutes yesterday.
Cleaning took three hours.
Priorities: clearly excellent.
I exhaled and straightened up, surveying my work.
The place didn't look welcoming. The stone was still cold, the walls still cracked, the ceiling still questionable.
But it looked mine.
My collection of useless objects. My three hours of cleaning. My financial mistakes carefully counted in a pouch.
Yeah.
This was definitely mine.