"I've never seen anything like them."
"I'm from... far away," I say vaguely.
"Clearly." She keeps staring at me, waiting for more.
I shift uncomfortably. "It's, uh... complicated."
"Hmm." She studies me for a moment longer, then seems to decide something. "You're not from around here. You don't know how things work. You nearly died to a kid with a knife. And now you're here, at my father's forge." She pauses. "Why?"
"Your father?"
"The blacksmith. The guy who just kicked you out." She smirks slightly. "So why were you bothering him?"
I hesitate, then figure there's no point in lying. "I need a weapon. But I don't have money. So I was looking for work."
"A weapon." She raises an eyebrow. "Planning to start adventuring?"
"Something like that."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Then she sighs.
"Fine," she says.
"Fine?" I repeat.
"I need help," she says, sounding almost annoyed about admitting it. "I'm heading out to collect ore and metal scraps. It's heavy work, and I usually have to make multiple trips. If you want to earn some money, you can carry stuff for me."
I blink. "Really?"
"Don't get excited," she says quickly. "You'll be a pack mule. A slave, basically. Hauling heavy shit while I do the actual important work. And if you slack off or complain, I'm leaving you wherever we are. Got it?"
"Got it," I say, maybe a bit too eagerly.
She rolls her eyes. "Great. Another desperate idiot." But then she mutters, more to herself than to me, "At least this one had the sense to run from that brat."
I should probably be offended by being called an idiot. But honestly, I'm just relieved to have found a way to earn money.
And also—I can't help but notice—she's hot. Really hot.
The rough attitude, the soot-smudged face, the curves barely contained by practical work clothes. It's a good combination.
Not that I should be thinking about that. I need to focus on the mission. Get money. Buy a weapon. Get the sword. Survive.
But still.
"So what's your name?" she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Oh. Uh, Kaito," I say. "Kaito Yamada."
Fuck! I gave her my real name.
"Kaito," she repeats, testing the name. "Weird name."
"You could say that."
"Right." She wipes her hand on her apron and then extends it toward me. "I'm Renna. Renna Forgeheart."
I reach out and take her hand.
Her grip is firm. Strong. Slightly callused from years of forge work. Her hand is smaller than mine but feels solid, capable.
We shake.
And then I make a mistake.
My eyes drift down.
Just for a second. Just a brief glance at her chest, which is right there at eye level because we're the same height and her shirt is still pulled tight and—
"Eyes up here, Kaito."
I snap my gaze back up to her face.
She's glaring at me again. But there's a faint blush on her cheeks now, barely visible under the soot.
"S-sorry," I stammer.
"You're going to be a problem, aren't you?" she says, but there's no real venom in it. Just exasperation.
"I'll try not to be."
"Uh-huh." She pulls her hand back and crosses her arms again. "We leave in an hour. Be back here by then. And try not to run into anyone else on your way out. Or stare at them."
"Right. Yeah. Got it."
She turns and heads back into the forge, her ponytail swinging behind her.
I stand there for a moment, watching her go. Watching the sway of her hips, the way her pants hug her curves, the confident stride.
Then I shake my head and force myself to look away.
Focus, Kaito. Focus.
One step at a time. Earn money. Get a weapon. Survive the rabbit. Get the sword.
That's the plan.
And if the plan involves working with a hot blacksmith's daughter who caught me staring at her chest twice in the first five minutes of meeting her...
Well.
Let's see what happens.