Morgan arrived at the Engineering Building and opened the door. "Hey, George! I'm here…" Her voice trailed off as she looked to the side. "Whoa."

To her right, George was kneeling by a strange machine that hadn't been there previously. It possessed the familiar bipedal shape of a bicycle but it also had engine parts attached to it. The frame was colored purple and there was a piece of brown leather where the seat usually was.

George stood up and took off the safety mask he was wearing. He then turned to face her. "Hey! Glad you could make it." He noticed that Morgan's gaze directed at the machine he was monitoring. "Oh, curious, aren'tcha?"

"I've never seen anything like that before," Morgan admitted. "What is it?"

"This is an orbal bike." The chubby boy put his hand on the leather seat. "You may have guessed it, but it's basically a bicycle powered by orbal energy. I picked it up from the Roer Institute of Technology a while back. Angie, Towa, and Crow have been helping me put it together ever since."

Morgan then remembered their conversation over the ARCUS. "So this is that side project you were talking about…"

"Sure is." He took off his gloves. "I'll get the deliveries ready in a sec. How's your morning been so far?"

"Demoralizing." Morgan's shoulders sulked. "I kept losing to Crow in a children's card game."

"Oh, were you playing Blade with him?"he guessed.

"Yup," she affirmed. "Got any tips on how to beat him?"

"Hmm…"George thought to himself for a bit. "I guess...be a kid?"

"What does that mean?" Morgan tilted her head in confusion.

"I mean, you've probably seen him around playing Blade with some boys, right?" he said. "From what I've seen, he loses on purpose."

"Seriously?" The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"Well, luck of the draw also has something to do with it," George admitted, "but he plays for the love of the game, and you can't exactly have fun playing if you're the one who keeps winning."

Morgan snorted. "He sure has a lot of fun winning against me."

"Eh, agree to disagree on this one, but I think the fact that you keep losing to him proves he thinks you're worth playing seriously against." He shrugged his shoulders. "Could go either way. He's always been a tough nut to crack."

"How DID you and him meet anyways?" Morgan wondered. "You guys seem like complete opposites, and he couldn't be any more different from Towa if he tried…"

"That's a story for another time." George carefully placed a set of bags onto one of the tables and handed Morgan a sheet of paper. "Now, some of these things are kind of fragile, so you might want to make multiple trips to make things easier. I want you to hand these over to these locations…"

The first delivery took Morgan to the home ec room where the Cooking Club was situated. She sought out the head of the club, a second year by the name of Nicholas, and handed him an orbal scale.

"Yep, that's the orbal scale I asked George to fix, all right," Nicholas affirmed. "I don't know how he works so fast. I'd be really lost without him."

"George is definitely talented," Morgan agreed. "But I am curious: is there a difference between this scale and other scales?"

"I take it you've used analog scales before, then?" the second year asked. "Well, these orbal scales provide more accurate and miniscule measurements, and if you weigh a container full of ingredients, it'll even subtract the container's weight for you."

"Sounds pretty handy," she remarked.

"It certainly is." Nicholas bent over and cupped his chin. "Say, pardon me for asking, but you don't happen to have an interest in cooking by any chance, do you?"

"I've...had some experience with it in the past." A bead of uneasy sweat dropped from Morgan's forehead. "Nothing I do ever seems to turn out right, though."

"Well, you know what they say: practice makes perfect." Nicholas straightened himself. "If you want to try improving yourself, you're always welcome to join the Cooking Club. Of course, I say club, but it's really just a two-person team now." The club's leader pointed to the only other person in the home ec room, a pudgy girl wearing the Class I uniform with blond hair tied into curly twintails. At the moment, she was humming to herself and tossing whatever she could find into a giant pot.

As much as Morgan would have liked to try her hand at cooking again, she was sure that the club wasn't ready for her creations, so she politely declined. She had another job to do anyways.

The second delivery stop just so happened to be right next door in the music room, which was fortunate since the next item to be delivered was a rather weighty orbal record player. The door was closed, but Morgan could hear the sound of a violin playing as she neared closer. Turning the door handle quietly so she wouldn't disturb the people inside, she poked her head in to find Elliot playing in front of three other students, likely the rest of the Wind Orchestra.

As she scanned the rest of the room, her gaze was met by Instructor Mary, who was observing from one of the desks. She walked over to the door to meet her. "Why, hello there." She lowered her voice. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, Instructor." Morgan pointed to the record player beside her. "Did you happen to have sent a record player to the Engineering Club recently?"

"As a matter of fact, I have!" the instructor responded. "Has it been fixed already?" Instructor Mary opened the door wider to take a look. "Ah, and there it is! Would you like me to help you with that?"

"That would be great, actually." Together, they lifted the device from the ground and carried it over to one of the cabinets in the corner of the music room. Soon after the record player was set down, Elliot finished playing his tune. The other students applauded him. Now that Morgan had a better look at them, she identified a bespectacled boy from Class IV carrying a violin, a green-haired girl from Class III holding a flute, and a blonde girl wearing the Class II uniform with no instrument in her hands. Morgan hypothesized that she was either a vocalist or a pianist.

Regardless, Morgan joined in the applause. "Sounding good, Elliot!"

Elliot took notice of her and flashed a grin, looking more at ease than she'd ever seen him before.

The third stop on Morgan's delivery run led her to Le Sage, the local boutique in Trista. Le Sage was actually a clothing store that got its start back in Heimdallr but in recent years grew big enough to open several smaller locations across the empire. As such, the store in Trista was smaller than what Morgan was used to, but it still carried most of the same goods from the capital. Of course, since students were required to wear their uniforms every day, Morgan found little need to shop for clothes anyways, so she rarely ever set foot into the boutique.

As soon as she entered, Morgan was greeted with the sight of two students arguing in front of a clothing rack. Both were wearing the green Thors uniforms given to commoners, but aside from that they weren't anything alike. The one causing the most commotion was the shorter of the two, a girl with yellow-green hair who spoke with a thick, country accent. The other student, meanwhile, was a boy with light-orange hair who appeared more exasperated than anything.

For the moment, Morgan paid no attention to the pair of students and went straight to the receptionist. "Excuse me," she asked the receptionist, "I'm looking for Julia?"

The receptionist smiled and raised her hand. "That would be me. How can I help you today?"

"I'm here to drop off a cash register…" It was when she hoisted the orbal cash register onto the reception desk that she realized that there was already one stationed for use on the back counter. "Uh, I thought you needed a replacement."

"Oh, don't worry. You're at the right place," Julia assured her. "We always try to have at least two working machines at all times. The one we're using right now is our spare. It's always a good idea to be prepared, right?"

"Well, I can't argue with that," Morgan agreed. "Now, where would you like me to put this?"

"I can take that off of you." Julia put her hands around the cash register and lifted it up. Contrary to her slim figure, she was able to lift it just fine. "Becky! Can you take over the register for a moment? I need to put this in the back."

Upon hearing her name, the green-haired girl broke off from her argument and saluted. "Okay! Leave it tae me!"

With her delivery finished, Morgan figured it was time for her leave, but just as she turned around, she was stopped by the accented voice. "Oy! You!"

Morgan instinctively turned around to find the girl named Becky leaning close to her face. Slightly startled, she threw up both of her hands. "Whoa! Yes, hello! Welcome to my personal space! Can I help you?"

Becky continued to silently scrutinize her until at last she spoke. "Hey, you wouldnae happen tae be from that Class VII, would ye?"

"Uh…" Morgan was slightly confused by the question, since her uniform should have already given that away. But more importantly, she was interested in the girl's accent; for some reason, she felt she had heard it somewhere before…

The male student in the room walked over and sighed. "Becky, you been here for nearly two months now. I'm sure you would have known that she was in Class VII from her uniform alone."

Becky looked at the male student and growled. "Oh, shut yer trap, Hugo! I was jus' gonnae ask if she was part of that group that went to Celdic!"

'Celdic?' Now that she mentioned it, Becky's accent did resemble the ones that some of the locals in Celdic used. Morgan specifically remembered there was one local with an accent who Group A briefly conversed with. "Yeah, I went there last month for a field study. Are you from Celdic?"

Becky put her hands on her hips and huffed. "Aye, and darn proud of it too! Didjae happen tae meet a merchant named Lymon? He's the one runnin' the produce stall."

Morgan nodded. "I think I have. Tall, brown hair, same accent as you?"

Becky's face broke into a toothy grin. "Yassss, that's him alright! I'm his daughter, Becky!"

"Wow. It really is a small world, isn't it?" Morgan chuckled. "Say, how's everything been there?"

The grin disappeared from Becky's face. "Not as well as ye may be hopin'. The military police managed tae git lots o' juicy info from their investigatin', but they cannae change the duke's mind without special requests from the Chancellor 'imself. Privilege of bein' one of the Four Houses and all that. Manager Otto's tried tae appeal tae them higher-ups in Bareahard, but the mos' we got was a rotation in the provincial guard."

Morgan winced. "Gee, that doesn't sound good at all."

Becky tried her best to smile again. "Ah, but at least there's progress, eh? Celdic's agriculture is essential tae the empire, so I'm sure the Chancellor won't take this lyin' down. He'll set things straight soon, an' we have Class VII to thank for exposin' them frauds!" Becky then placed her hand on Morgan's shoulders. "My daddy told me tae pass along this message: 'If ye ever find yerself in Celdic again, stop by my stall an' enjoy some discounts! We're grateful for yer efforts!'"

"Ahahaha…" Morgan scratched her cheek. "That sounds nice. I'll be sure to let the others know. But before that…" She pointed to the reception desk. "I think you're friend is trying to take over your job."

Becky turned her head to find Hugo inspecting the cash register. Letting out a shout, she stormed over to the reception desk. "Darn it, Hugo! Git ye hands off the counter!"

Hugo raised his hands so she could see them. "I haven't touched a single thing. Besides, if you were so concerned about your job, you shouldn't have left the reception desk empty."

"Sh-Shut it! Don't come intae my shop and start telling me how tae dae my job!"

"And don't you think you talk just a tad too much? It decreases your selling efficiency and leads to a poor time to money ratio."

Morgan decided that now was a better time than ever to get out of the boutique before it became a verbal war zone.

The final stop on her errand run led her to Micht's Pawn Shop. Of all the shops in Trista, it was the one located furthest away from the main central hub, so it wasn't a place people would normally stumble into without good reason. Admittedly, Morgan never found a need to ever pay the place a visit, even on a whim, so she was marching into unknown territory. From what little information she did hear via word of mouth, it was a place that carried odd trinkets and wares that couldn't be found anywhere else, though occasionally there would be some high-quality items on display as well.

Indeed, when Morgan entered the pawn shop carrying the final delivery in her hands, she wasn't surprised to find that the layout reminded her of a well-kept storage room. Glass-top display cabinets such as those found in jewelry stores were lined up against the walls, but instead of gemstones and necklaces, there were antique orbments, boxes with assorted quartzes, and accessories, among other miscellaneous things. Sitting near the back behind a wooden counter was a graying man reading a book, who Morgan presumed to be the eponymous Micht. Behind the shopkeeper was a zone roped off from the public with bookshelves displaying various books and newspapers alongside some preserved foods and bottles that, judging from the labels, contained wine.

As she drew nearer, the shopkeeper looked up from his book and spoke in a gruff voice, "You got some business here, kid, or are you just window shoppin'?"

"Uh, I'm here for business," Morgan replied. "I'm here to deliver something from the Engineering Club…"

"Oh, George fixed that thing already?" He closed his book and leaned forward. "Well, aren't ya gonna do your deliverin'?"

Morgan was already starting to become annoyed with the shopkeeper's attitude, but regardless she placed an antique orbal lamp onto the wooden counter. Micht set his book down and took a moment to inspect the lamp. "The kid does nice work," he said as he flipped the lamp upside down. "But honestly, who'd have thought an item'd break right after I paid for it? I swear, why does being a pawnbroker hafta be such a pain sometimes?"

"The lamp does seem pretty old," Morgan remarked. "Though I'm guessing this means it didn't originally belong to you?"

Micht shook his head. "Nope. Really, the only things that belong to me are some of the curios I paid for in the back." He pointed his thumb to the foodstuffs and books behind him. "Everything else you see here was brought by someone looking to exchange it for something else, and that was probably brought here for the same reason."

Hearing this surprised Morgan. None of the information she heard about the shop had mentioned this part. "Really? So you barter instead of spend money?"

The shopkeeper looked at her oddly. "You seriously never been to a pawn shop before?" he asked somewhat accusingly.

"N-No." She shook her head.

Micht exuded a sigh. "Basically, you kids can think of this place as an exchange shop. Anything you don't need can be brought here to exchange for other things. The stuff you give becomes part of the collection, another random person brings whatever they have to exchange for that, rinse and repeat. Occasionally, I'll throw out some of my own curios into the market; those can be bought with money. Which ones? Whichever ones I feel like. I change them up sometimes, so if you don't see anything you like, come back later."

"So it basically is just bartering with some added extras," Morgan summarized. "Never thought shops like these were still a thing."

"Well, it is a dying trade, after all; can't say I blame you," Micht relented. "Anyway, thanks for the delivery and all that. So, if you're not gonna buy anything then...yeah. See ya." He reclined into his chair and opened his book once more.

"A-Anytime…" With no other incentive to stay, Morgan immediately turned around and started walking to the exit. Micht was certainly a departure from the other shopkeepers in Trista, but there was something else about him that made her feel uneasy besides his personality. The odd looks he shot at her, the ways in which he seemed to scrutinize her knowledge...it was almost as if he was secretly judging her.

After leaving the pawn shop, Morgan made her way back to the Engineering Building, where she filled George in on everything that had transpired. He thanked her again for a job well done and, as always, offered some recompense in the form of orbment or quartz upgrades. Today, however, she declined his offer; with how hard George seemed to be working on fine-tuning the orbal bike, she figured that he would want as much time with it as possible, so she left as quickly as she had arrived.

Morgan didn't manage to walk three steps away from the Engineering Building before her ARCUS started ringing.

"Wow, I'm really becoming popular again, aren't I?" she joked to herself as she opened her orbment. "Hello?"

"Hey, Morgan? It's Rean," her classmate responded. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"I was running some errands for George," she said. "Actually, I just finished. Did you need something?"

"I'm calling to see if you're free right now," he explained. "I'm about to head over to the old schoolhouse soon."

"Ah, that explains it." Morgan had almost forgotten that they were due for a follow-up investigation this month. "Did you receive another investigation request?"

"Yeah. I plan on starting in about half an hour or so. Think you can make it?"

"Not a problem. Have you contacted anyone else yet?"

"The other members of Group A plus Elliot," Rean said. "That totals to six people. Everyone gave their okays, but really, it's Elliot who we're waiting on. He's still finishing up his orchestra practice."

"Gotcha. I'll see you then." Morgan closed her ARCUS and took a deep breath. "This free day's already become more eventful than last month's, hasn't it?" she asked herself. "Well, it's not like this is any tougher than what I've been through in the past." She clapped the palms of her hands onto her cheeks. "Okay! Time to get back to work!"

Author's note: Hello all. First off, I'm still alive. Second, I underestimated the amount of things this years that would keep me occupied IRL, which forced me to put writing this story on the backburner for convenience's sake. But I'm back now, and I'm hoping to make up for my absence. Third, I changed the rating of the story from K+ to T to fit the actual rating of the game. I don't plan to change my writing style anytime soon, but in the chance that the game delves into more colorful language, I'll at least be prepared.
Once again, sorry for the long wait. To those of you who are still sticking with this story, thank you.

*A few minutes earlier*

As the delivery girl left his shop and disappeared from his sight, Micht put down his book and reached his hand below the counter for one of his file cabinets hidden from public view. Pulling it open contained an archive of previous issues of the Imperial Chronicle. Carefully scanning the contents, he pulled out one dating back to the February of this year and opened it to a certain page.

"So that was the so-called Vermillion Deliverer, huh?"

The Vermillion Deliverer. That was the unofficial title given to the person who appeared in Heimdallr after the Assault on the Imperial Guilds forced all the bracer guilds in the city to close down. Following the resolution of the incident in late months of S1202, the government had tried to recompense the sudden loss of extra hands in the city by inserting some government-funded volunteers into the now vacant guild buildings. Naturally, this didn't sit well with the citizens, since all they were doing was basically getting rid of the bracers and replacing them with their own agents, so those plans ended up getting scrapped. After all, pressure from the government and the provinces was part of the reason the bracer guilds shut down in the first place; what difference would a few of their stand-ins make?

It was around that time that the rumors first started to arise. On the west side of the capital in the Kunst district, there was a purple-colored mailbox with a tear-shaped insignia painted on it located behind the Vermillion Ziegel apartment complex. If you were to fill out a letter of correspondence similar to the work order forms at the bracer guild, in less than a day's time someone would contact you via orbment to either discuss details or redirect you to someone who was better suited for the task. It wasn't as efficient as it could have been, since requests had grown sparse after the bracer guild left and all the requests seemed to be done by the same person, but regardless this person managed to garner a favorable reputation for creating an interconnected network among the capital's populace through good, honest work. Eventually, the name "Vermillion Deliverer" was coined as a nickname after the location of the mailbox.

And the Deliverer was repeatedly identified as a young woman with neck-length black hair and a scar travelling diagonally up her face.

"Word in the capital played her up as some sort of all-knowing problem solver," Micht muttered to himself. "She definitely looks the part, but she's still a kid, no two ways about it." He rubbed his chin. "Though I guess this explains why all the reports said she was currently 'on leave'."

Just this past February, a notice was put on the mailbox saying that the Deliverer would be 'on leave' starting the following month and all future activities would cease until further notice. Speculation ran wild for a while to figure out why this was the case, but those who knew the Deliverer personally kept mum out of respect for her privacy. Thus, the buzz surrounding the Vermillion Deliverer receded as quietly as it appeared.

And now here she was again, doing the same old delivery jobs in a brand new environment.

"Well, credit where credit's due: she made it over a year with no signs of slowing down." Micht folded the newspaper and put it back into its file cabinet. "You can't go that far without knowing a few tricks. Makes you wonder what goes on in that head of hers…"

"Achoo!"

Morgan recoiled at the sudden sneeze. "Huh. I wonder why that happened. I hope I'm not getting allergies…"

Shrugging it off, she gathered the rest of her equipment and left the dormitory. The next destination: whatever it was the old schoolhouse had to offer next.