D/D Chapter 9: Pay With Your Name.

Author's note: Hey, it's me again! Although it's been some time, I'm back with another chapter. The reason for the delay is that I had my semester finals, so I had to take some time off to study in hopes of passing (spoiler: I'm not, so no praying for an academic comeback right now). But I won't bore you with the details of my life—let's get down to business!

I've seen a lot of suggestions about the Al x Ais ship, and honestly, I like the idea, but I also enjoy the other ships as well. So, as a lazy author usually does, I'm going to write scenes with all the girls and see which dynamic you guys like more.

As for the direction of the story, I plan on following canon roughly (with some OC content, so not 100% canon) until the Xenos arc. After that, the story will feature a lot of heavy OC content. I've got a ton of crazy stuff planned, and I'm excited about writing it! So, bear with me if you find the story a bit slow or boring until then—I'm working on the build-up.

Well, enough talking for now. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Be sure to leave plenty of reviews, as reading your reactions to my work is what I love most about writing a story.

Thanks for your patience, and see you in the next chapter!

"Speech."

"thoughts."

Al awoke with a groggy groan, an itch beneath his sullied bandages pulling him from the depths of sleep. His muscles ached like they'd been wrung dry, each shift of his body bringing with it a fresh reminder of the chaos from the night before. The weight of it all still lingered—blood, pain, and the sharp edge of survival that left its mark on both his mind and body.

Dim morning light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling, thin beams painting faint stripes on the floor. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to make out the figures of Hestia and Bell.

Both were seated at the table. Bell sat stiffly with his head down, his face obscured as he stared at his untouched plate. Hestia sat across from him, her eyes fixed on Bell with a gaze far too sharp for the early hour.

Al noticed it immediately—the weight in the air, thick and palpable. His eyes narrowed. "Why's he like that? He looks like a kid who took a scolding."

He swung his legs off the bed slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in his muscles. His feet touched the cold floor, and he braced himself as he stood, stretching his arms overhead.

"Morning," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

No response. Bell didn't even glance at him, his eyes still locked on his plate as if it held the meaning of life.

Al's brow raised slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. That's weird."

Hestia, however, wasn't ignoring him. Her gaze snapped toward him, and she answered with a short, stern, "Morning."

Her voice had a bite to it—not anger, but the kind of firmness that came right before a lecture. She glanced at Bell, then back at Al, her eyes sharp, expectant, like she was waiting for something.

Al stretched his arms again and shuffled toward the table, grabbing a piece of bread from the center. He tore into it with a grunt, breaking the silence with his usual bluntness.

"We'll need to take some time to recover. No dungeon dives for a bit." He bit off another chunk of bread. "Also, we need better healing supplies. The ones we've been using are basic at best."

As he spoke, Al caught Hestia's gaze. She wasn't listening in the usual casual way; this time, her attention was sharp, unblinking, as if she had been waiting for him to say something all along.

Al was startled by the intensity of her gaze. "Oi, what's with the staring?" he asked, shifting slightly in his seat, his tone laced with unease.

Her silence lingered, her focus briefly flicking to Bell before returning to Al, her expression unreadable. The tension thickened, the air growing heavier with each passing second.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, she crossed her arms. Her stance firmed, and her tone was as sharp as her gaze. "I already know why Bell came home injured last night," she began, her words deliberate. Her eyes bore into Al as she continued, "But you—"

Abruptly, she slammed her hands onto the table with a loud BANG, leaning forward with enough force to make Bell flinch.

"—what in the world happened to you?!"

Bell's head snapped up, his wide eyes darting nervously between Al and Hestia.

Al, however, didn't even flinch. Instead, he casually tore another piece of bread from the loaf in his hand and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with deliberate slowness. His lazy demeanor was almost comical in the face of Hestia's outrage.

"Got into a bar fight," he said simply, swallowing his bite. His gaze briefly wandered as he recalled the one-sided brawl he endured and the fleeting satisfaction of landing a single hit.

"A bar fight?!" Hestia's voice rose in pitch, caught between fury and disbelief. Her hands remained firmly planted on the table as her wide blue eyes bore into him.

"A bar fight," Al repeated, tearing yet another chunk of bread and chewing like nothing was amiss.

Hestia's face twisted in exasperation. "A bar fight?! When?! Where?! And why in all the heavens would you—" She cut herself off, throwing her hands in the air before planting them on her hips. "You know what, no. I don't even need to ask. It's you. Of course it's you!"

Al glanced up from his bread, one brow twitching upward, his tone as relaxed as ever. "Well, I did start it."

Hestia froze, her eyes narrowing as she took in his disheveled state. "You... You were barely able to stand last night. What did you fight?! A damn Minotaur?!"

Al smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "Funny you should mention that—"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Hestia's cold, piercing glare cut through his words like a blade. Al's smirk vanished instantly, replaced by an expression that betrayed his realization—this was not the time for humor.

Bell, who had been quietly absorbing the tension until then, slowly lifted his head. The mention of the bar fight pulled him from his thoughts, his expression stiff with disbelief.

"…W-Who did you fight, Al?" he asked hesitantly, his voice soft and almost pleading. It sounded as though he already had an idea but was desperately hoping he was wrong.

Al didn't respond right away. Instead, he casually took another bite of bread, his chewing slow and maddeningly calm.

"Oi," he muttered after a moment, leaning back in his chair to stretch. He flicked his fingers toward the butter. "Pass that."

Bell didn't move, his eyes locked on Al with a tense gaze. His breathing hitched, his thoughts racing. "Don't say it. Don't say it," he repeated in his mind, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Bell."

"H-Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure." Bell scrambled to grab the butter, his hands stiff and mechanical as he handed it over.

Al took it without a word, spread it on his bread with an irritating amount of nonchalance, and finally spoke.

"Who did I fight?" He paused deliberately, letting the question hang in the air. Then, without looking up, he said it. "It was that werewolf."

Bell froze.

"No way."

The thought hit him like a crashing wave. "The werewolf... from the Loki Familia?!" His mind raced, the memory of sharp eyes and mocking laughter flooding back. "Why would Al pick a fight with someone like that?!"

Bell's gaze dropped to his plate, his mind swirling with confusion and disbelief. He could still hear the werewolf's taunting laughter, the way those words had cut through him like a knife. But Al… Al had taken it differently, hadn't he? He hadn't seemed nearly as affected as Bell had.

So why?

Bell glanced back at Al. He wasn't looking at him, his focus entirely on his food. The scrape of the butter knife against the bread was the only sound Al made, offering no explanation or justification. Just calm, deliberate chewing.

Then it clicked.

"He fought him for me?"

The realization hit Bell like a spark in the dark, sudden and warm. His eyes widened as a lightness filled his chest, unfamiliar but comforting. It wasn't relief exactly, but something close—a weight he hadn't realized he carried was finally gone.

A small smile tugged at Bell's lips, unbidden but steady. He didn't bother to hide it, letting the warmth linger. His fingers gripped his fork again, his head tilting slightly down, his hair falling just enough to veil his expression.

Al's chewing slowed, his eyes flicking toward Bell. "What're you smiling about?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity.

Bell shook his head, his smile not fading. "Nothing," he replied, his voice softer and lighter than it had been all morning.

Al squinted at him, his gaze skeptical but ultimately uninterested. "Weirdo…" he muttered before turning his attention back to his bread.

Hestia, meanwhile, let out a long, exaggerated sigh, rubbing her temples with both hands. "A child who rushes headfirst into the dungeon over some insults, and another who gets into bar fights over the same thing. What am I supposed to do with you two?!" she groaned, her voice heavy with exasperation.

Al leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk. "Well, at least we're not boring?," he quipped, his grin equal parts shameless and smug.

Her hands dropped to her sides as she shot him a flat, deadpan stare. Silence followed, heavy and unmoving. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to explode all over again. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set tight, both Bell and Al braced themselves.

But then her lips twitched. Her eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks puffing slightly like she was physically holding something back. Her shoulders trembled once. Twice. She let out a sharp breath through her nose, and then, against her will, a short, tired laugh escaped her.

"Damn it," Hestia muttered, dragging a hand down her face as if trying to wipe away her smile. "Don't think for a second that means you're off the hook."

Her words only made it worse. The small laugh she'd let slip spread like wildfire. Bell cracked first, letting out a snicker that quickly turned into a full-on chuckle. Al followed suit with a low, lazy laugh, his grin widening with satisfaction. Hestia shook her head, a helpless, breathy laugh escaping her as she gave up on trying to stay mad.

The warmth slowly returned to the room, like the sun peeking through after a storm.

Hestia settled into her seat with a weary sigh, still shaking her head in mock defeat. Al leaned back in his chair, his grin fading to something calmer as he chewed on the last bit of bread.

Bell glanced between the two of them, his gaze lingering on Al. The quiet was no longer heavy with tension — just calm, easy stillness. It felt safe. Safer than before.

Sensing the right moment, Bell took a deep breath, finally mustering the courage to voice the question that had been nagging at him all night. His voice was careful but laced with curiosity.

"Al… about your magic. What is it?"

Al turned to him, his fingers tapping lightly on the table as he thought through his response. "Oh, that?" he began, his tone shifting to something more serious. "It's called Aspectus Noctis."

He paused, letting the name linger in the air before continuing. "It's a curse-type magic, tied to different aspects of the night," he explained, scratching the back of his head. His gaze drifted upward, as though he were still piecing it all together. "Right now, I've only got the Aspect of Slumber. Makes things fall asleep—or at least, that's how I understand it."

He turned his palm upward, studying it as his fingers slowly curled and uncurled. "The weird thing is… it doesn't seem to have a chant."

Hestia's eyes lit up with curiosity as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "That's unusual," she murmured, "Most magic has a chant or some kind of incantation. Hmm…" She tilted her head, her brows knitting together as she fell into thought. "You probably need to visualize your target falling asleep to activate it. Magic often depends on clear intent."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Al said with a nod, his gaze still fixed on his hand. "I'll need to test it out once I've recovered enough for another dungeon dive."

"No chant at all?!" Bell repeated, his voice rising with awe. His wide eyes sparkled, and he leaned forward, resting his arms eagerly on the table. "That's so cool! You don't even have to say anything? You can just think it, and it works?!"

Al blinked at the enthusiasm, his lips curling into a faint grin. "Heh, I guess it is kinda neat when you put it that way." His grin widened slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his tone casual but amused. "Definitely handy."

Bell nodded quickly, his excitement bubbling over. His gaze grew distant, as if he were imagining what it would feel like to have magic of his own. "I'd love to have something like that someday. Something strong… something cool like yours."

"Give it time," Al said, his voice a bit firmer but not unkind. "If you keep pushing, it'll happen." He pointed lazily at Bell with a flick of his hand, his grin softening. "You strike me as the stubborn type."

Bell blinked in surprise before a sheepish grin spread across his face. "Y-Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

Encouraged, he glanced at Al, his eyes more focused. "Hey, um, about your magic… do you think you'll get more Aspects?"

Al raised an eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand. "No clue," he admitted with a shrug. "But I figure if I stick around long enough, I'll find out."

A comfortable silence followed, the kind that didn't feel the need to be filled. They all sat in the moment, content to let the conversation settle.

But then, something shifted.

Hestia's fingers, which had been idly drumming on the table, suddenly stilled. Her gaze dropped, her smile fading ever so slightly as her eyes grew distant. Al noticed immediately, the change pulling him from his relaxed posture. He frowned, trying to recall the last time he'd seen her so quiet—and then it hit him.

He remembered her hesitating the night before, lingering as though there was something on her mind she couldn't bring herself to say.

"Hey," Al called softly, his tone shifting to something gentler but firm, like he was coaxing her from a memory. "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me last night?"

Hestia flinched at the question. Her face paled, and the warmth in the room drained away, replaced by a heavy tension that seemed to weigh on all of them.

"Y-yeah…" Hestia murmured, her voice low and hesitant. Her eyes flickered briefly to Bell before settling back on Al. "There is…" She hesitated, unsure how to continue.

Her gaze flickered once more to Bell before returning to Al. Then, with a sigh, she spoke again, her words soft and uncertain. "It's about the emergency Denatus yesterday…"

Al's brow furrowed. "Yeah, what about it?"

Hestia fidgeted nervously, her fingers tapping against the table's edge. She seemed to be searching for the right words, her usual cheerfulness replaced with clear unease. "W-well… it was Dian Cecht who called it…"

Al's patience began to thin as he crossed his arms, his tone sharpening. "And that's important because?"

Hestia winced, her nervous energy growing as she gathered her thoughts. "T-the Denatus was called to discuss… you. Or, more specifically, what your presence in Orario means."

Al leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with growing confusion. "What my presence means? What's that supposed to mean?" His brow furrowed further. He was a nobody—why would the gods gather for someone like him? No gods knew him except for Hestia and Dian Cecht. Wait...

Hestia let out a slow breath, gathering herself before launching into an explanation. "Nyx is feared by all gods, Al. She's one of the primordial deities—one we don't really talk about. She's the embodiment of night, but to us gods, she represents chaos and unpredictability. Anything tied to her, especially her curses, is considered… well, dangerous. Volatile. Unpredictable."

She paused, watching Al's unreadable face. "When it was revealed that someone had been cursed by Nyx, it set off alarms among the gods. They don't know who you are, specifically, but your presence here is proof that Nyx is roaming the Lower World."

Al's brow furrowed deeper. "So… what? They're scared of me because I'm cursed by Nyx?"

Hestia nodded slowly. "Exactly. They're terrified of what your curse might do—not just to you, but to the city and everyone in it. Nyx's curses are infamous for being… unpredictable at best. Catastrophic at worst. They don't see you, Al. They see a potential disaster waiting to happen."

Al leaned back, processing this, before scoffing. "So they're freaking out over what might happen. Not what has happened. Gods above…"

The tension in the room grew heavier as Hestia's voice grew more anxious. She looked away, nervously fiddling with her fingers. "I-It's worse than that, Al. T-they… they decided to treat this like a threat t-to Orario's safety. A serious o-one."

Al's expression hardened, his voice lowering dangerously. "What are you saying?"

Hestia took a deep breath, bracing herself before responding. "T-there's a city-wide manhunt. Y-you're the target…"

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Al's stomach dropped as he processed the gravity of her words.

Finally, Al spoke, his tone sharp and disbelieving. "A manhunt? You're telling me there's a city-wide manhunt, with me as the target, because they think I'm a threat to the city and its people? All because of a stupid curse?"

Hestia nodded reluctantly. "T-That's about it…"

The room fell silent. Al covered his face with his hands, his mind racing. The weight of everything crashing down on him was suffocating.

Bell hesitated, glancing between Al and Hestia, his voice uncertain but trying to make sense of it all. "I don't really know what your curse does Al... but if it were a threat to those around you, wouldn't I have noticed by now?"

Al lowered his hands and looked directly at Hestia, his face unreadable. His voice cut through the tension in the room, low and sharp. "That's right. Lady Hestia! You do know the details of my curse. Why didn't you speak up before they decided to put a target on my back?!"

Hestia flinched at the accusation, guilt flashing across her face. She hesitated, her voice small and faltering. "I—I didn't… because I didn't want them to judge you prematurely!"

Al's brows furrowed in confusion. His tone sharpened. "What do you mean?"

Hestia paused, taking a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts before speaking. "If I'd told them everything right away, they wouldn't have seen you for who you are. They would have just seen the curse. I didn't want them to make up their minds based on fear before they even had a chance to know you. I wanted them to see you, Al. You. Not just the curse you carry."

She looked away, her voice a whisper. "I thought… if I waited, maybe time would calm them down. They'd start to see the truth and understand you weren't the threat they imagined."

Al pressed his hand to his face again, the stress of the situation weighing heavily on him. He couldn't stay angry at Hestia—not when he understood her intentions. She had been trying to protect him, even if it meant hiding the truth from the other gods.

For all their apparent similarities to mortals, Al knew that the gods were beings beyond human comprehension. Fickle, unpredictable, and quick to judge. It was a bitter truth he'd learned firsthand, and while it stressed him out, he couldn't fault Hestia for wanting to shield him from that.

After a long pause, Al sighed and lowered his hand. "No use brooding over it, I guess," he muttered, though the tension still lingered in the room.

He turned to Hestia, his tone now resigned. "So, what's the plan?"

Hestia paused, gathering her thoughts. "We lay low for now. Let time do its job. If the truth comes out, well… hopefully the others will have calmed down by then."

There was a long silence before Al stood up slowly, his movements deliberate. He looked over at Bell, his voice firm. "Hey, go get dressed."

Bell blinked in confusion. "Huh? Where are we going?"

Hestia, a bit wary, added, "Yeah, where are you off to, Al?"

Al glanced at both of them, his tone resolute. "Even if we're not dungeon diving today, it doesn't mean we're free of responsibilities." He paused, his expression hardening slightly. "As much as I dislike that nosy barmaid, what Bell did last night was rude. Leaving her like that wasn't cool."

He turned his gaze to Bell. "We're going to the Hostess of Fertility to apologize—to Syr, and me for my fight."

Bell stood up abruptly, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "Oh, Syr..." His face paled as he remembered leaving her behind amidst the chaos.

Al continued, "Also, while we're out, I need to get some better healing supplies. The ones we used last night aren't cutting it. But we can't go to Dian Cecht's clinic, obviously. Do you know anywhere else?"

Hestia, after a brief moment of hesitation, responded, "There's a place called the Blue Pharmacy. It's run by one of my friends, Miach. You can find good supplies there." She glanced at him, her tone dropping slightly. "I've told a few close friends about you and the fact that you're cursed, but not the details. Miach is one of the few who knows you're the one they're looking for."

Bell, still pale and looking more uncomfortable by the second, stuttered, "I... I completely forgot about Syr." His guilt was evident as he realized just how thoughtless he had been.

Al patted him on the shoulder, his tone softening. "Well, now you remember. Let's make it right."

Al and Bell walked side by side through the bustling streets, making their way toward the Hostess of Fertility. The sounds of the city filled the air—laughter, chatter, the clatter of carts—but Al seemed lost in thought.

His gaze was distant, and the small Valis coin that he constantly chewed on caught Bell's attention once again. He'd seen Al do this countless times, but never truly understood why.

Bell hesitated, then spoke up. "Hey, Al... I've seen you chewing on that coin a lot. Why do you do that?"

Al glanced at him, the coin still in his mouth. He pulled it out slowly, rolling it between his fingers. "It's a keepsake," he said, his tone casual, though there was a deeper layer beneath. "A coin my father gave me. It's rare... doesn't get made anymore."

He paused, his fingers toying with the coin as he added quietly, "I chew on it when I'm stressed. Helps me calm down." He turned the coin in his hand, as if weighing the memories it carried.

Then, with a quick motion, he flipped the coin between his fingers, showing Bell the intricately detailed design of the head: an adventurer striking a dragon's eye. The image was powerful, simple, and striking. Bell squinted at it, recognition dawning on him.

"Wait... Is that Albert Waldstein? The Mercenary King?" Bell asked, his voice filled with surprise as he studied the coin closer.

Al nodded, his gaze steady but unbothered by the recognition. He had known Bell would recognize it; after all, the boy was a hero fanatic. "Yeah, that's him."

Bell's eyes widened. "I know the story. He struck the Black Dragon's eye, right? And after that, the dragon became known as the One-Eyed Black Dragon, The finale beast of the three great quests." His voice grew quieter, reverence creeping in as he recalled the tale. "It's said that after Waldstein died, the dragon's title changed forever."

At the mention of the One-Eyed Black Dragon, Al's expression shifted, his gaze darkening just slightly. It was subtle, but Bell noticed it—there was a shadow that crossed Al's face, a flicker of discomfort that quickly faded as he regained his usual neutral expression.

"Yeah. That's the story," Al said, his tone flat as he tucked the coin back into his pocket.

The sudden shift in his demeanor didn't go unnoticed. Bell, sensing the change, hesitated, unsure whether to press further. They walked in silence for a moment, with the weight of the conversation lingering between them.

Finally, Bell spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "You said your dad gave you that coin, but I've never heard you talk about him or your mom or... anything else about your family. What were they like?"

Al was caught off guard by the question, but it wasn't in a bad way. He slowed his pace slightly, glancing over at Bell, his expression thoughtful. "What brought this on?" he asked, his voice calm but curious.

Bell flushed slightly, his words stumbling over themselves as he spoke. "I—I don't know. I mean, I was raised by my grandpa, and I never knew my parents... I've been told my dad died in a monster attack, and my mom... she passed away from an illness." Bell shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the ground. "I guess... I've always wondered what it was like for someone who had parents around. Like you."

He paused, then added, his voice barely above a whisper, "And... I want to know more about you..."

Al's heart tightened as he processed Bell's words. He could feel the weight of Bell's loss, but it was different from his own. Bell had grown up without his parents, living with only stories and the memories of others. Al, on the other hand, had known his parents, but they had been taken from him too soon.

He didn't know the kind of loneliness Bell had lived with, but hearing Bell speak so openly about it resonated deeply with him. For the first time in a while, someone wanted to understand him, to learn about the parts of his life he usually kept hidden. A mix of sympathy and gratitude welled up inside him.

The silence between them lingered for a moment before Al spoke, his tone softer, more open than usual. "Sure," he said. "What do you want to know?"

Bell hesitated, glancing over at Al, his curiosity clear but tempered by uncertainty. After a few moments of deliberation, he asked quietly, "What... What were their names?"

Al paused, his gaze shifting to Bell as his mind wandered back to a time he hadn't revisited in years. It had been a long while since he'd spoken their names aloud.

A bittersweet warmth settled in his chest as memories flickered to life, and his gaze softened as he responded, his voice almost distant. "Their names?" he repeated, weighing the words carefully. "Adeline and Julian Alterias."

Bell nodded slowly, processing the names with quiet reverence. Hearing Al speak so calmly about his parents stirred something in him. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to have had parents who had cared for him, who had been there. The names Adeline and Julian felt warm to him—like they belonged to people who had been kind, loving.

"They seem like they were kind," Bell murmured gently, a soft smile crossing his face.

Al glanced at him, his expression softening further. A feeling that was both comforting and painful. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze ahead. "Mhm, they were. Anything else?"

Encouraged by Al's openness, Bell pressed on. "What did they look like?"

Al's gaze shifted upward. "My mother? She was beautiful—like, really beautiful. Long golden hair, sapphire-blue eyes, and fair skin. Her voice had this way of sounding like she was always about to sing."

His eyes flickered downward, his tone taking on a hint of dry humor. "My father? Well, he looked like me. Plain as hell. No golden hair, no sapphire eyes— Black hair black eyes, just average. Didn't get my looks from my mom, and honestly, I'm still a little salty about that."

Bell chuckled, and for a moment, they shared a quiet laugh together.

"How did they meet?" Bell asked again, pressing his luck.

Al's lips curled into a small, nostalgic smile as he thought back. "My mother worked in the royal archives of Rakia. She was a librarian—kept the ancient texts and records safe. My father... he was a guard stationed there. At least, that's what he was supposed to be doing. But half the time, he was getting drafted for Rakia's endless wars."

Bell's interest piqued at the mention of the archives. "The royal archives? That sounds like an important place. And your dad—he was a soldier?"

Al chuckled lightly, the irony evident in his tone. "Technically, yeah. But he hated it. He used to say it was a waste of time, fighting in wars for people who didn't care about anyone but themselves. But guarding the library? That was something he could get behind."

Bell leaned in, intrigued. "I guess that's where things started?"

Al's smile deepened as he remembered the story. "Yeah, my dad wasn't exactly the scholarly type. Books weren't his thing. But he'd show up at the library all the time, even when he wasn't supposed to be there. At first, my mom thought he was just slacking off. But then, she figured out why he kept coming."

Bell raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "I take it... he wasn't there for the books?"

Al's smile widened. "He wasn't there for the books. He was there for her. He'd bring her snacks, ask about books he had no real interest in, make excuses just to talk to her. He was pretty smooth, huh?"

Bell smiled. "So, he just kept trying?"

"Yep," Al said, his tone lightening. "Eventually, she gave in. One thing led to another, and well... here I am."

Bell laughed softly at the simplicity of it all. But there was a deeper respect in his voice as he asked, "And then they left Rakia?"

Al's expression shifted, his face growing more serious. "Yeah. My dad kept getting drafted, and my mom couldn't take it anymore. Watching him leave every time... not knowing if he'd come back. It wore her down. So, they decided to leave Rakia behind and move to a small village, far from the wars. They thought they could build a life there—away from all the chaos. That's where I come in."

Bell nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, but his curiosity wasn't satisfied yet. "What were they like? As people, I mean."

Al's pace slowed slightly, and his gaze softened as he considered the question. "My mother... she was kind. And smart—really smart. She'd read all kinds of books and always seemed to know the answer to everything. But she was also stern sometimes." A small smile tugged at his lips. "Whenever I was being lazy or stubborn, she'd hit me with some piece of wisdom. Something like, 'A sharp mind needs sharpening daily.' Stuff like that."

Bell chuckled. "Sounds like she was always teaching you something."

"Oh, she never stopped," Al said with a grin. "But she had her limits. When they moved to the village, she decided to try gardening. Let's just say... she didn't have a green thumb."

"Really?" Bell laughed. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"Yeah, her plants never stood a chance." Al's voice grew warmer as he spoke. "But she kept trying, even though everything she planted seemed to die. I think she just liked the idea of it."

Bell smiled at the image of Al's mother stubbornly tending to her doomed garden. "What about your dad?"

Al's expression grew more thoughtful. "My dad... he was different. Weird, even. He had this way of talking, using words and phrases that didn't make much sense to anyone else. His mannerisms, too—didn't make sense to anyone but him."

He paused, his voice softening as a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "But as a father, I couldn't have asked for more. He was... everything I needed, even if he didn't fit anyone else's idea of normal."

Bell's gaze softened. "Sounds like they both cared a lot."

"They did," Al said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of emotion. "They gave up everything to keep us safe. I just wish—"

He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he glanced to his side. Bell, who had been right there a second ago, was gone. Al blinked, twisting around to look for him.

"Bell?" he called, his tone laced with confusion. His eyes scanned the street, and it didn't take long to spot him several feet back, frozen in place like he'd seen a ghost.

Al's brow twitched in annoyance. "Oi!" he barked as he stomped toward him. "I'm spilling my soul here, and you're just—"

"W-wait!" Bell stammered, his voice shaky as he pointed toward something ahead of him. His eyes were locked on a nearby pole, wide with disbelief. "A-Al... you need to see this!"

The sudden fear in Bell's voice stopped Al in his tracks. His irritation melted into confusion. "What are you—" His words caught in his throat as he followed Bell's trembling finger.

There, plastered on a nearby wall, was a wanted poster.

The paper was weathered but freshly posted, the ink still sharp. The face on the poster was plain, almost nondescript, with dark hair and eyes that lacked any defining features. The figure had an unremarkable, everyday look—familiar but forgettable. It didn't look exactly like Al, but it was close enough that Al felt a cold pit form in his stomach.

His eyes darted across the poster, taking in every detail: the lazy lines of the sketch, the uninspired shading, the name notably absent. But none of that mattered because, at the bottom, bold and impossible to miss, was the bounty.

"Have you seen this individual? If so, report immediately to the Guild. Reward: 66.6 million valis."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Al squinted, tilting his head at the poster. His eyes shifted from it to Bell and back again. Slowly, he raised a hand and jabbed a thumb toward the crude sketch.

"This… is supposed to be me?"

Bell swallowed hard. "I mean, it doesn't really look like you, but…" His eyes shifted guiltily to the ground. "...Yeah, it's definitely you."

Al's head snapped back toward the poster, eyes narrowing at the crude likeness. His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned in closer, examining the rough details of the face.

"Dark hair, plain face, vague jawline…" He tilted his head. "They really skimped on the effort, huh?"

"Not really flattering, is it?" Bell muttered, still glancing around nervously.

Al leaned back, arms folded. "Sixty-six point six million valis?!" He let out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm offended and flattered at the same time. How does that even work?"

"Don't ask me," Bell muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes darted toward the nearest alleyway, scanning for any onlookers. "I think we should get moving before someone else—"

"You're not… thinking of ratting me out, are you?" Al asked, his voice sharp and cutting like the scrape of a whetstone.

Bell jolted like he'd been struck. "What?! No! Of course not!" His voice cracked, and his hands shot up like he'd been caught with stolen bread. His eyes flickered to the side, avoiding Al's gaze. "Why, why would?!"

Al raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Sixty-six point six million valis is a lot of money. Wouldn't blame you for being tempted."

Bell stammered, his words tumbling over one another. "I-I'd never! You're—you're part of the familia! I wouldn't sell out a friend for money!"

Al stared at him for a moment longer, his gaze skeptical. Bell's fidgeting didn't help his case. Finally, Al sighed and shook his head, deciding to let it drop.

"Relax, Bell. I was messing with you." He smirked faintly, though the tension in his shoulders remained. "Guess I'm just jumpy."

Bell exhaled shakily, visibly relieved. "Right. So… what do we do now?"

Al sighed, his tone dry. "What we always do, Bell. move before someone connects the dots."

Bell nodded quickly, and the two took off down the street, Al muttering under his breath about posters and bad timing, while Bell kept stealing nervous glances behind them.

The Hostess of Fertility, usually alive with the hum of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clatter of mugs, had fallen into an eerie silence. The absence of noise made the room feel hollow, amplifying every faint creak of the building's wooden frame.

Chairs sat neatly stacked on top of tables, their legs jutting upward like skeletal fingers, leaving the polished floor bare. Sunlight filtered weakly through the spotless windows, casting long shadows across the room. The usual scents of roasting meat and freshly baked bread were absent, replaced by the faint tang of cleaning supplies and the remnants of last night's spilled ale.

It was a moment suspended in time—the calm before the tavern would roar back to life.

In the midst of that stillness, Bell broke the quiet. He stood with his head bowed, his usual nervous energy absent. His voice, though soft, carried a surprising clarity.

"What I did yesterday was… something foolish and rude," Bell said, his tone steady, his words unwavering despite the tension in the air. "And for that, I'm terribly sorry!"

Syr, standing nearby, regarded him with her usual calm, though a glint of amusement flickered in her eyes. She sighed, her hands resting lightly on her chest. "No problem, Bell. I accept your apology. But…" Her tone shifted, playful but expectant. "You can make it up to me."

Bell straightened, already looking nervous. "H-how? Another meal, maybe?"

Syr shook her head and walked over to the counter. From behind it, she picked up a pristine book with an elegant cover. The binding was immaculate, the dark leather gleaming faintly in the low light, and its design understated yet undeniably expensive. There were no titles, no markings—just an aura of refinement that made the book impossible to ignore. She held it out toward him with a casual motion.

"This," Syr said, her voice light but insistent. "A client left it behind a while ago. They never came back for it, so I thought... maybe you could make use of it."

Bell blinked at the book, hesitating. "I… I don't think I have time for reading right now. Between the Familia, the dungeon, and—"

Syr didn't let him finish. Her smile remained, but her eyes softened, taking on a pleading look, almost like puppy-dog eyes. "You owe me, Bell. Humor me. Just take a look at it when you can, pretty please?"

He sighed, realizing he couldn't argue. "A-Aright, fine. I'll take it."

Syr handed over the book, her smile softening into something more genuine. "Good. Let me know what you think of it!"

Bell looked down at the book in his hands. Its weight was heavier than he expected, the pages perfectly aligned, the edges faintly gilded. There was an odd sense of mystery to it, like the book was hiding something important beneath its pristine cover.

Before he could dwell on it further, Mia's sharp voice sliced through the quiet, dragging him back to the present.

"Kid," Mia said, fixing Bell with a knowing gaze, "don't take people's words so seriously. I've seen countless bright-eyed adventurers head into the dungeon, thinking they've got it all figured out." Her tone softened with experience. "As long as you come back alive, you're already winning."

Bell looked up at her, a mix of surprise and gratitude crossing his face. Her words struck a chord, easing some of the weight pressing down on him. With a sudden burst of energy, he straightened up, smiled and exclaimed, "Yes!"

Satisfied with Bell's response, Mia turned her attention to the figure lingering near the door. "Well," she began, her tone shifting to one of challenge, "your little friend apologized. What about you?"

Al, who had been leaning casually against the doorframe, finally pushed himself upright. His usual aloofness hadn't left him, but something in Mia's voice compelled him to act. He stepped forward and bowed deeply, his posture formal, though his voice remained as flat as ever.

"I apologize for my actions," Al said, his tone so devoid of emotion it bordered on mocking. "For the fight and the trouble it may have caused."

Mia's eyes narrowed. "Raise your head."

Al obeyed, meeting her gaze without hesitation.

Mia's arms crossed over her chest as she continued. "After your scuffle, a lot of my regulars left. That caused me a big loss in business."

Al's expression didn't change as he said simply, "I'm sorry."

"And," Mia pressed on, her tone growing sharper, "I had to clean up blood off my front porch. Blood from your fight."

Al repeated, his voice no less deadpan, "I'm sorry."

Mia's gaze didn't waver as she leaned in slightly, her tone colder. "And because of that mess, word spread that my bar isn't safe. Now, I've got people second-guessing if they should even set foot in here."

Al's lips tightened slightly. "Where are you going with this?" he asked, the faintest edge of annoyance creeping into his voice.

Mia leaned closer her face meeting his. "I want payment," she said firmly. "You think an apology is enough? You think words can fix everything?"

Caught off guard, Al instinctively reached for his pouch, muttering under his breath, "Of course." It seemed logical—reparations for the damages he caused. His hand hovered over the pouch, ready to hand over the money.

But before he could move further, Mia slammed her fist into her palm with a resounding boom. The force of the impact sent chairs and tables flying, the neatly arranged furniture scattering across the room as a shockwave rippled outward. Al froze, his eyes widening as the display of power settled.

"How strong is she?!" he thought, his mind racing. He'd known from the moment he first saw her that Mia was no ordinary person, but this? This was on a completely different level. The raw strength she just displayed wasn't just impressive—it was terrifying. Even Bell, standing nearby, looked shaken, his wide eyes darting to Mia's hand as if it might strike next.

Mia's expression was as unyielding as her fist. Her voice was low but carried unmistakable authority as she said, "Who said anything about money?"

Al's heart sank. Whatever she wanted, it clearly wasn't going to be as simple as paying her off.

Syr, who had been silently observing, let out a heavy sigh and stepped forward. Her expression was one of thinly veiled exasperation as she addressed Al directly. "There's no need to panic," she said flatly, though her tone suggested she was growing weary of the tension. "What Mama Mia is asking of you isn't what you think."

Al glanced at her, his brows furrowing slightly. He was no less confused, and her words did nothing to put him at ease.

Syr didn't soften her tone, nor did she offer any comfort. She simply stared at him and said bluntly, "What Mama Mia wants from you is…"

Al's gaze darted between Mia and Syr, his chest tightening. The room seemed to hold its breath as Mia and Syr spoke in unison, their voices cutting through the silence like a blade:

"Your name."

"Huh?" Al blinked, his expression unreadable as he tried to process Mia's demand. Did she... ask for his name? He thought for sure he'd misheard her.

"Hey!" Mia barked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Her sharp eyes bore into him. "Are you deaf or just slow? I said, what's your name?"

"No, no, I heard you!" Al stammered, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I just don't... get it."

Mia's stern demeanor softened, a grin tugging at her lips as she folded her arms. "What's there to get, kid? You stepped up against someone like Vanargand, bruised his overgrown ego, and made sure he'd think twice about causing trouble in my bar."

Al's confusion deepened, though he didn't interrupt.

"And," Mia continued, her voice dropping to a lower, more reflective tone, "you stood up for your comrade—even knowing you didn't stand a chance. That takes guts. You might've made a mess of my porch, but I'll give you this much: You've got a spine."

Syr, who had been quietly observing the exchange, stepped closer. Her gaze lingered on Al, her expression softening slightly, though a hint of wariness remained. "Standing up for Bell, huh?" she murmured, her tone losing some of its usual edge. "Even someone like you can manage that, I guess…"

The words weren't exactly venomous, but they stung nonetheless, and Al's lips pressed into a thin line.

Mia ignored Syr, extending a large hand toward Al with a firm, confident motion. "So," she said again, "what's your name, kid?"

For a moment, Al hesitated, his eyes dropping to her hand. A mix of emotions churned in his chest—disbelief, unease, and something warmer he couldn't quite place. Since arriving in Orario, save for Bell and Hestia, people had treated him like a walking plague. Whispers, avoidance, outright hostility—it was all he'd known.

But now? Mia's gesture, though simple, was something he hadn't experienced in a long time: respect.

Al's lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile as he reached out, taking her hand in a firm shake. He said, "Alistair Altirias," his voice steady. "But you can call me Al."

Mia grinned wider, her grip strong but not crushing. "Al, huh? Name's Mia Grand, owner of this fine establishment. Cause trouble next time and you won't pay for it with your name."

As they released the handshake, Syr leaned in with a smirk and whispered, "Your name's too long."

Al blinked, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well, that's what the nickname's for," he said dryly.

Syr's smirk didn't falter. "Still, it doesn't suit you," she said with a teasing edge. "How about something... simpler?" Her eyes glinted mischievously as she added, "Stinkbug."

Al froze, his earlier warmth evaporating as his smile twisted into a frown. "What?"

Syr shrugged, pinching her nose with a playful grimace. "It just fits. You don't exactly smell like roses, you know."

Al's mood soured instantly, and he narrowed his eyes. "We were having a moment," he muttered bitterly. "Why'd you have to ruin it?"

"Moment's over," Syr said breezily, her smirk unfaltering. "Be grateful. You've just been upgraded from dirt to insect."

Al glared at her, muttering under his breath, "Nosy barmaid."

"Enough," Mia said sharply, drawing their attention back to her. She leveled a commanding gaze at Al. "Your name's nice and all, but that's not payment enough for what you pulled yesterday."

Al's shoulders slumped. "Of course," he muttered, clearly annoyed.

Mia continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I'm short-staffed. You'll work it off here."

Al groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But I'm not going to be a waiter. I'm… terrible with people." He hesitated, his thoughts drifting to the wanted posters. "And I don't want someone to recognize me and turn me in."

Mia snorted. "Like hell I'd let a creepy kid like you serve my patrons. You'll be doing dishes. Your first day is tomorrow—be here at nine."

Al rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, but he didn't argue further.

As they prepared to leave, Bell gave one last bow to Mia and a friendly wave to Syr. "Thank you for everything!" he said earnestly.

"Take care, kids," Mia said, her grin returning. Then, her eyes flicked to Al. "And you... try not to get caught, eh?"

Al froze mid-step, his blood running cold. His gaze shot back to her, wide with shock.

Mia's grin widened slightly, but she said nothing more. The moment stretched for what felt like an eternity before she turned away, her booming laughter filling the room.

Syr watched Al with quiet interest as the group finally left the tavern. The air outside, despite the lingering tension, felt a bit lighter, but for Al, it was anything but a relief.

Bell and Al stepped outside, neither of them could shake the unease hanging over them. Al was visibly shaken, his steps slower than usual. Bell, still processing the encounter with Mia, glanced over at him, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Al muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, "How could she have found out? It hasn't even been a day..." His words were thick with frustration, the weight of the situation sinking in. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all.

But deep down, Al knew better than to waste time trying to understand how Mia had figured it out. She was no ordinary woman, after all. The thought gnawed at him, but he couldn't deny the uneasy truth that Mia's insight went far beyond what seemed possible. She was sharp—dangerously so—and Al couldn't help but feel that despite the circumstances, she wasn't likely to turn him in.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, the air leaving his lungs like a balloon deflating. "Bell," he said, his voice low, "can you go to the Blue Pharmacy by yourself? This bullshit is getting to me... I'm tired."

Bell, still trying to wrap his mind around everything, nodded slowly, his voice shaky. "Y-yeah, sure, Al. I'll be fine."

They parted ways, Al walking away with his head down, the city streets a blur in his peripheral vision. As he made his way home, his thoughts spiraled in chaotic circles. He had been cursed by a goddess to kill a legendary beast. He had nearly died three times in one day. Then, to top it all off, he woke up to find himself a wanted criminal with a generous bounty on his head. The weight of it all pressed down on him like a mountain.

But deep within, he couldn't escape the unsettling truth. Even if he wanted to lie to himself, he knew—his situation wasn't going to get any simpler. It was only going to get weirder.