After all this information, Ace realized he now held a ticket that allowed him to travel to distant lands. The card he received during his registration had become an unexpected advantage—not something he had actively sought, but a direct result of embarking on this path full of surprises.
When he asked whether he could begin accepting requests right away, the staff member's eyes widened. Though surprised, she stayed silent, but Emilia's swift outcry came first. Her face showed genuine concern and frustration as she shouted, her voice sharp and emotional:
"What are you saying?! Haven't you used up all your magical energy?! You took a serious hit from that man, and you're barely standing! Are you really thinking of taking on a request in this state?! Please, Mr. Ace, take care of yourself—don't be so reckless!"
Her words came straight from the heart, filled with sincere, almost childlike worry, as if she saw in him someone dear, she couldn't bear to see harmed. Ace remained silent, eyes lowered to the floor, his face marked by regret and embarrassment, as though her words had awakened a sense of responsibility, he had nearly neglected.
Emilia sighed deeply, then added after a brief pause:
"Besides, adventurers aren't allowed to take on requests on the same day they register."
Upon hearing this, Ace turned toward the staff member, who confirmed Emilia's words in a firm, official tone:
"That's correct. New adventurers may begin accepting requests starting the morning after their registration date. The first day is reserved for rest and familiarization with the systems and guidelines."
Her words were final, leaving no room for argument. Ace understood he had to wait—just one day. Still, he couldn't ignore the sense of urgency weighing on him, reminding him to resume his journey quickly. Yet, he didn't allow himself to sink into negativity or stagnation. He smiled lightly—a smile more of gratitude than joy—and offered sincere thanks to the staff member who had helped him.
Then, he turned and walked with steady steps, heading toward the stairs to leave the guild. But just before he reached the stairwell, Emilia called out to him in a low, firm voice, asking him to accompany her through the visitors' exit instead, hoping to avoid passing through the main hall below, where tensions were still high and the atmosphere charged.
Ace understood her intention and nodded in agreement. Once they stepped outside into the fresh air, he turned to Emilia and told her in a casual tone, though with a hint of hidden seriousness, that he intended to browse some shops—tool shops, crafting workshops, and even those dealing in exotic item exchanges.
Emilia inquired not out of curiosity or intrusion, but from a sincere desire to help. She gently asked what kind of items he was looking for. In response, Ace remained silent—not because he was unwilling to answer, but because he genuinely didn't know how to explain what he was searching for. He lacked the precise technical vocabulary and couldn't describe the issues using specific terms. All he knew was that some of the wires had melted under extreme heat, causing a partial failure in the engines. This malfunction led to an additional load on the remaining engines, which had likely sustained damage as well—perhaps more than he could even repair.
He stood there, caught between confusion and resolve, feeling as though the ground beneath him was shifting slowly. Deep down, he believed he would find a way to fix his ship, that there was still hope—no matter how faint—that he could fly again. Yet now, standing in that moment, he found himself steeped in doubt. Did he truly know what he needed? Even if he suddenly had all the resources, could he repair it? Did he have enough knowledge? These questions echoed in his mind like a voice in a barren canyon, with no clear answers in sight. And yet, he was not ready to give up.
Then, amid the darkness veiling his spirit, he felt something faint… a small flicker of light. Perhaps it was hope—fragile as a candle resisting a stormy night—but it was enough to awaken something dormant within him. That feeling was tied to the mysterious force, the alluring concept he had yet to fully comprehend: magic energy. It seemed to hold within it possibilities beyond his imagination.
With eyes gleaming from deep contemplation, he wondered whether that person had traveled among the stars using this energy. If that were true—and if he himself possessed the same power—then maybe, just maybe, he could learn to harness it, to control it, to direct it as he wished. To travel. To cross planetary barriers. To find her.
After all this reflection, he returned to the moment where a response was owed to the young girl, who was still waiting for his words. He thanked her with sincerity that came from his heart, not just his tongue. With a warm, gentle voice free of pretense, he explained that he wasn't sure—not about what he wanted, nor about what he might find. Then, trying to inject a hint of hope into his tone, he added that for now, he simply wished to spend his time in town gathering as much knowledge and information as he could.
Emilia understood, her lips curving into a small smile that bloomed like a flower challenging the morning chill. She nodded quietly and told him, with a voice filled with warmth and reassurance, that she would await his return. He smiled back and asked her not to worry if he was late, as he intended to visit as many places as possible—to search, to inquire, to investigate. She told him not to overexert himself and mentioned that she would head to the market to buy ingredients for a delicious dinner—to restore his energy and prepare him for his first mission the next day.
And so, they both set out together toward the market. At a fork in the road, they parted ways. Emilia walked confidently toward the vegetable and meat section, moving among the vendors, selecting only the finest produce, their leaves still glistening with droplets of water, and choosing the tenderest cuts of meat with an experienced eye. She knew how to bargain—gently when the seller was honest and offered quality worth the price, and firmly when she sensed deceit.
As for Ace, he headed toward shops that sold tools and peculiar items with unknown names and purposes. Some were crowded with oddly shaped objects, others filled with tools that looked centuries old. He wandered for hours, entering and exiting shops, asking questions, examining every detail with sharp eyes.
He continued his search well into the night. The sky darkened, the air grew colder, and the streets became quieter. When his body could no longer bear the weight of his steps, he decided to return. Upon arriving home, he was greeted at the door by Emilia, wearing a simple cotton apron damp with steam rising from the dishes she had just finished preparing. Her hair was hastily tied back, with rebellious strands casting shadows over her flushed cheeks, warmed by the kitchen heat.
In that moment, her figure seemed to emit a soft light—not from the flickering candles, but from something within her, something difficult to explain or define.
Ace paused, his expression clouded with confusion. He wondered silently—was fatigue distorting his perception? Was his vision so blurred that he imagined such a strange glow? Or did the girl truly possess a special aura, a radiance that didn't belong to this place or time? He blinked several times, and with each blink, the glow faded gradually, as if it had never been there. Still, whether real or imagined, it felt as though that light was made just for her—as if she had been born to wear it.
He climbed the stairs slowly, and upon entering the upper level, he was met with an unexpected sight. The wooden table was covered from edge to edge with plates and bowls, each dish brimming with vibrant food, their aromas invading the senses and reviving the appetite.
Colors danced before his eyes—from the lively green of vegetables to the golden crisp of meat, to the warm soup still sending up waves of steam like gentle tides.
Emilia stood proudly beside the table, chin slightly raised, hands on her slender hips. In that pose, she looked like a seasoned chef presenting her masterpiece to a panel of judges. Her features radiated confidence, and her smile carried a spark of challenge as she said with spirited enthusiasm:
"I prepared this meal with great care—a balance between restoring energy and accelerating physical recovery."
Ace could only thank her shyly; his tone filled with gratitude and hesitation. Then, gazing at the sheer amount of food, he added:
"You must've spent a lot of money on all this…"
Emilia waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought itself and replied firmly yet kindly:
"Forget the money. Health is priceless, and the body cannot be replaced with gold."
They sat together at the table and began eating in a comfortable silence. Only the sound of utensils and dishes filled the room. Then Emilia broke the quiet with a simple question:
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
A moment of hesitation passed before he answered. A trace of quiet sorrow appeared on his face, as if concealing a deep disappointment. He replied softly:
"No… I didn't find anything close to what I needed."
As he swallowed another bite, he suddenly looked at her and asked a question that seemed unrelated—yet it had emerged from long hours of reflection:
"Do you think adventurers—or those they call sorcerers—have the ability to fly? I mean… using magical energy?"
Emilia raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, but she didn't laugh or mock him. Instead, she gently placed her hands on the table and replied thoughtfully:
"Actually… I think so. I haven't seen it with my own eyes, but I've heard that some sorcerers can fly. But it's not quite how you imagine. Most of them use the wind element, which allows them to lift their bodies using air currents. But that's not real flight in the strictest sense—it's more of external assistance from the element itself."
She paused briefly, then continued with a more focused tone:
"As for those who fly using their staffs, that's something different. Somehow, they channel their magical energy into the staff, making it float off the ground. Of course, they ride it to fly. I can imagine that some of them have mastered lifting their own bodies directly using the same principle, without any tools. But I don't understand why this isn't more common. Most likely, flying is an extremely rare skill, learned only by a few sorcerers—those who have dedicated their lives to understanding this level of energy control. As for adventurers, they usually lack that kind of specialization—their energies are mostly geared toward combat, not soaring through the air."
Her answer, though imaginative, was grounded in logic. It didn't offer a direct solution to the confusion burning in his mind, but it served a greater purpose in that moment. It opened new doors of possibility and pushed his thoughts toward paths he had never considered.
It awakened in him a strange sense of what might be possible—of finding a way out of his crisis, somehow, even if the path wasn't yet clear. Her words were like a faint light in a long tunnel, suggesting that a way existed, and that he needed only to run toward it with all his strength—because time was not on his side. Every moment that passed seemed to subtract from his chances of success.
When they finished eating and cleaned the dishes, Emilia began gently extinguishing the candles one by one. There was no need for questions, and Ace felt no urge to ask why she was ending the night so early. Her hand moved softly over each flame, quieting them as if she were silencing the noise of the entire day.
Although her face showed no signs of weariness, Ace understood without being told—she wanted to end this day so he could rest early. She knew that tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new chapter in his journey.
Later, Ace took a warm bath that seemed to wash away all the exhaustion of the day. As he emerged, Emilia, holding a candle, reminded him in a warm yet firm tone to get deep, restful sleep if he truly intended to embark on his first mission the next morning.
She also told him that she had prepared new clothes for him—different from what he had worn before. They were adventurer's garments, fit for someone about to begin his first quest. Clothes that would present him in a more respectable and compelling light. She believed, as her words made clear, that appearance mattered as much as spirit. He had to look like a real adventurer—not just someone pretending. He had to convince others that he had what it took, even if he didn't yet. A strong impression could make all the difference—it could open doors or close them.
After that, they exchanged simple words—words that carried more meaning than they appeared to. They wished each other a peaceful night, and then the doors closed.