In that moment, Ace felt the sting of guilt. He had touched a wound she had not yet healed—not once, but twice. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words came out hesitant, incomplete. Emilia sensed it and smiled with quiet strength, as if to reassure him. Then, in a firm voice, she said:
"There's no need to feel guilty, Mister Ace. Some memories hurt, but they make us stronger."
And with that, the conversation ended, leaving behind a silence richer than words. Emilia quickly changed the subject, her cheerful tone returning as she said:
"Let's not dwell on that. You need to eat now—you've got tests ahead, and it wouldn't be wise to face them on an empty stomach."
Ace didn't ask what those tests were. Though curiosity tugged at him, he chose instead to preserve the quiet between them, rather than risk reopening another wound.
Later, Emilia brought new clothes—a simple outfit suited for a novice adventurer, free of heavy armor or excessive embellishments. She looked at him and said:
"The clothes you're wearing are fine, but clothing often reflects much about the person wearing it—not just their actions. These adventurer's garments will give a good impression of you as someone eager to enter the field."
Ace understood what she meant. People often fail to recognize someone's true worth, so creating a first impression through outward appearance is something one can use to shape initial perceptions. Such considerations are always important when applying for a position anywhere. Though there is a fundamental difference between applying for a job and registering as a beginner adventurer, there's no harm in presenting oneself appropriately. Ace thanked Emilia for providing him with a different set of clothes and changed into the new outfit. Emilia then appeared visibly proud of her tailoring skills, her expression reflecting satisfaction.
After that, the two left the house. Ace took nothing with him except the dagger hanging from his belt. After she locked the door, he asked her if accompanying him would interfere with her work. She reassured him there was no need to worry, as she always chose the day after her shopping trip to be her day off.
And so, the two of them set off toward the Adventurers' Guild. Emilia led the way. At that moment, Ace noticed something different about her steps. She seemed somewhat hesitant—an uncertainty that hadn't been present the previous day, when she had walked the path with obvious energy. He realized it wasn't just fatigue or distraction. The place they were headed likely held old memories, ones she perhaps didn't wish to recall—or maybe she feared confronting them. He remained silent, despite wanting to ask if she was alright, or even offer to go alone.
Still, he respected her decision, knowing she was no longer a small child in need of protection or special emotional consideration, but rather a young woman with a mature resolve. After a brief walk, they arrived at a large building with three floors, vastly different in appearance from the surrounding structures. Its design was a blend of simplicity and grandeur—its walls made of solid stone, reinforced with sturdy timber. The building looked like a piece of adventuring history, a silent witness to countless tales.
In front of the door, Emilia closed her eyes and placed her hands over her chest. She inhaled as deeply as she could, as if summoning courage from within. When she opened her eyes, she exhaled slowly, and her gaze shone with renewed determination. She looked at Ace and gave a slight nod, signaling him to walk with her. He didn't need much convincing, especially as he saw that spark in her eyes—one that only deepened his admiration for her.
Upon entering, they were greeted by a vast hall filled with noise and chatter. The wooden walls reflected the lights, and the floorboards bore the marks of many footsteps. On the left side, a large bar stretched out, resembling a small tavern, its tables scattered with wooden plates and cups filled with various drinks.
Adventurers crowded around the tables, engaged in loud conversations, roaring with laughter, and passionately recounting their stories—each one trying to be the hero of a tale not easily forgotten. In one corner, an old man with a white beard sat talking to a group of young men and women, who listened with fascination—some smiling in disbelief, others laughing as if half of what he said was impossible.
On the other side, a small child was enthusiastically speaking to a large bearded man, waving his little hands in animated gestures while the man watched with amused interest, nodding thoughtfully.
At the center of the hall stood a long desk made of dark wood, its surface polished to a shine that reflected the light from the ceiling and wall lamps. Behind it, a group of women in uniform sat, their hands swiftly moving between papers and typewriters, the rhythmic tapping blending with the scent of ink and paper—a fragrance that told stories of contracts between the guild and its adventurers. Their strict, professional demeanor starkly contrasted with the chaos of the adventurers around them.
To the right, a massive board covered nearly the entire wall, filled with hundreds of paper notices. The papers were a curious mix—some new with vibrant colors, others aged and weathered. In front of the board, a group of adventurers gathered, some cautiously examining the notices, others whispering among themselves. A few reached out to pull a request from the board before heading to the staff desk to complete the necessary paperwork. At that moment, Ace's curious gaze lingered on the board, prompting Emilia to softly explain:
"That's the quest board. Adventurers choose missions based on their skills and rank, then take the request to the staff for processing."
After saying that, the two walked toward the long desk. Suddenly, a loud voice rang out, calling Emilia's name with surprise and clarity, as if it had been waiting for her return for a very long time. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The hall fell into sudden silence—conversations, shouts, and laughter all ceased. Even the hands reaching for papers stopped midair. Everyone paused their food and drink. It was as though a shockwave of silence had erupted throughout the room.
Many adventurers stood up abruptly, eyes wide and mouths agape, balanced between smiles and disbelief. In a blink, dozens of adventurers surrounded the pair, their voices overlapping with enthusiastic greetings. Emilia's presence wasn't just another guest—it was the return of someone deeply missed; someone whose presence evoked the memory of lost souls.
"Emilia!" one of them called out excitedly, while another laughed and said, "We haven't seen you here in years!"
They remembered her well—the little girl who used to visit the guild occasionally, walking with tiny steps beside her parents, her eyes filled with both innocence and determination. She faced seasoned adventurers without fear and spoke with a confidence uncharacteristic of her age.
To them, she wasn't just a child—she was a living reminder of her parents, who were both respected and loved among the guild members. They had never expected her to return, now fully grown, with the same bold spirit in her eyes. Amid all the excitement, Emilia maintained her composure, trying to contain the flood of attention.
Suddenly, as if winds had shifted the room's mood, their joyful expressions turned cautious—some even suspicious—when they noticed the young man standing beside their beloved Emilia. His presence seemed to upset the balance of the moment. Silence returned as they stared at him with wary eyes, until a gruff voice broke through from a broad-shouldered man with furrowed brows:
"Who are you, boy?"
Emilia felt a flicker of concern, but she masked it behind a confident smile and quickly answered:
"He's a traveler. He wants to register as a new adventurer."
A short pause followed, during which the adventurer's exchanged looks. Then, laughter erupted—some quiet, others loud—but all carried the same tone: pure mockery. Emilia's cheeks flushed with anger, her fists clenching as she raised her voice, sharper than usual:
"I'm not joking! I'm being serious!"
Still, her words did nothing to stop the laughter. In fact, they only provoked a new wave of snide smiles and biting remarks. One tall man with a scruffy beard looked Ace up and down before muttering dismissively:
"Just a common traveler. Doesn't look strong or skilled. And he wants to be an adventurer?"
Another chuckled as he pointed to the simple dagger at Ace's waist:
"What's that little knife for? Cutting bread?"
Amid the ridicule, a muscular man stepped forward, larger than the rest, his face marked by scars. His voice was rough as he spoke, but what stood out most was how he placed his heavy hand on Ace's shoulder, pressing down as if to deliver a message: You don't belong here.
"Listen, kid," he said in a low, warning tone. "You'd better find another line of work if you want to stay alive. Adventuring isn't for reckless dreams or childish hobbies—it's a world full of danger."
Ace didn't respond. He took a slow breath, absorbing the situation. He understood exactly how they saw him—just an ordinary young man, without scars to prove his past or muscles to show strength. Compared to them—men and women shaped by hardship—he seemed completely out of place.
Even so, he wasn't about to let himself be looked down on or treated as worthless. He had his own reasons for choosing this path, even if only temporarily. Reasons that required him to find a job—one that paid well, regardless of the risks.
He lifted his head, his eyes glowing with unmistakable resolve. He didn't offer explanations or seek approval. Slowly, he raised his hand and firmly removed the man's hand from his shoulder, then looked him in the eye with a cold stare, and said quietly, but firmly:
"Please, don't meddle in what doesn't concern you."