As Serenya floated away, blending into the dusky sky like a wraith cloaked in moonlight, Rin narrowed his eyes.
Serenya Vale… Instructor of the Wild Card division, a powerful figure, clearly connected to this floor's inner workings.
He adjusted his gloves, feeling the cool leather tighten against his fingers.
She didn't have to say anything… yet she did. A warning? A test? Or maybe… a leash, to see if I bite.
His gaze returned to the streets below—players laughing, trading, arguing, learning to live again.
Everyone here's playing a role. Hers just happens to be at the center of the stage. I'll remember that.
A soft hum of amusement passed his lips.
She's dangerous—but so am I.
With a final glance upward, he vanished into the night, his silhouette swallowed by the rooftop's shadows.
The bar wasn't particularly rowdy—just dim, warm, and filled with murmurs. The scent of spiced ale and firewood clung to the walls like age-old stories. It sat just a short walk from the inn Rin had decided to stay at—a convenient location, though he had a feeling convenience rarely came without consequence here.
When Rin stepped through the doorway, a few heads turned.
Not for his presence, but for his attire.
Whispers flickered like candlelight.
"...who dresses like that?"
"Is he one of those… special-class types?"
"Looks like a damn stage magician."
Rin didn't acknowledge them. His polished shoes clicked against the wood floor, his long tailored coat swaying behind him like the curtain of a forgotten theatre. He moved calmly toward the bar and sat down, fingers folded.
The bartender, a rugged man with a scar under his eye, glanced up from drying a glass. His gaze lingered on Rin's cravat and silver-threaded cuffs.
"Information?" Rin asked softly.
The bartender didn't speak. Instead, he tilted his head toward a wooden placard nailed to the wall:
NO FREE INFO. PAY FIRST. GOLD ONLY.
Rin hummed, neither amused nor offended. He slid 20 gold coins across the counter with a smooth motion. The bartender, satisfied, reached below the bar and handed him a folded note sealed with a wax sigil of a blade and quill.
Rin took it without a word and stood to leave.
The eyes that followed him this time didn't whisper. They just watched, uncertain whether they'd seen a performer… or a threat in costume.
As the door shut behind him, the warmth of the bar gave way to the cool night air. He glanced briefly at the nearby inn before tucking the note inside his coat.
Information always has a price, he thought. Sometimes gold. Sometimes blood.
Then he disappeared into the night once more—unreadable, unshaken, and utterly alone.
Rin stepped into the shadow of a narrow alley, just beside the inn. The breeze tugged gently at the hem of his coat. With a soft sigh, he opened his status window, fingers moving with practiced grace.
A quiet shimmer passed over him like a falling veil.
The extravagant attire of the Illusory Schemer faded—black coat, gloves, and silver-threaded cravat replaced by the simpler, more familiar scout armor he had worn since the first floor. The unsettling aura that clung to him faded too, leaving only the quiet silhouette of a boy who blended in.
No need to draw attention—at least not yet, he thought, stepping toward the inn door.
The inn lobby glowed with amber lantern light. Wooden beams, polished tables, and the scent of warm stew made it feel almost too peaceful for what they had just endured days before.
Near the fireplace sat two familiar figures—Tyuri and Nariku, speaking quietly over steaming cups of something hot.
Rin slowed.
Nariku glanced up first. His eyes brightened, a soft smile spreading across his face as he waved.
"Rin! Come here," he said, patting the empty seat beside him.
Rin hesitated.
Just for a moment.
But the hesitation faded, and he walked over quietly. He didn't speak, simply pulled the chair back and sat down beside Nariku, who leaned in just slightly—comfortable, casual.
Tyuri gave Rin a small nod of acknowledgement. His usual sharp eyes were a little more tired now, the weight of survival still fresh.
The three sat there quietly for a moment. The crackle of the hearth filled the silence.
Rin's gaze flickered to Nariku, who was still smiling.
And for a moment, it felt normal—like there weren't secrets hiding behind his silence, or plans brewing behind his calm expression.
Just three survivors sharing warmth on the edge of another unknown.
Rin leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth from the fire touch his face. For a moment, it looked like he might stay quiet as always.
Then, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the folded note he received earlier.
"Look at this," he said, placing it on the table between them. "Information from the veterans."
Tyuri raised an eyebrow. Nariku blinked, surprised. The paper looked ordinary, but the way Rin placed it—deliberately, carefully—made it feel heavier.
Nariku leaned forward, eyes scanning the note. "...East Gate leads to a forest with monsters ranging from Bronze to Diamond tier," he murmured aloud. "That's a huge jump."
Tyuri crossed his arms, eyes narrowing at the line. "So we can't just charge in. That kind of tier gap can wipe a whole squad if they're careless."
Rin nodded. "Exactly. It also says the West Gate is the way to the next floor, but it's locked behind trials we're not allowed to attempt until we pass certain class qualifications. Looks like they're trying to control our pace."
"And keep us in danger," Tyuri muttered, tapping the edge of the paper.
Rin didn't comment on that. He glanced at Nariku instead, watching his expression.
Nariku looked thoughtful, running a hand through his dark hair. "This kind of stuff... you don't just find lying around. You paid for it?"
Rin gave a slight nod. "I thought it might help."
There was a pause.
Tyuri looked between the two, then leaned forward. "Why share this with us?"
Rin's eyes flicked to the fire. The shadows danced across his face, making it hard to read him.
"Because it's better if we move forward without suspicion between us," he said calmly. "After what happened with Nori... I understand trust is thin."
Nariku stared at Rin quietly for a moment, the warmth of his earlier smile still lingering—but now tempered with thoughtfulness.
"You're right," Nariku finally said. "Thanks for sharing this, Rin."
Tyuri didn't say anything, but he gave a small grunt—half acknowledgment, half approval—as he leaned back.
And just like that, a thin thread of trust began to stitch itself back together.
After a moment of quiet, Nariku shifted in his seat, glancing at Tyuri. "How's Aiko?"
Tyuri exhaled slowly, resting his elbows on the table. "She's… holding up. Barely. She hasn't talked much since we got to the second floor. Stays by herself most of the time."
Nariku frowned, concern flashing in his eyes. "Still blaming herself?"
Tyuri gave a slow nod. "Yeah. Can't really blame her. She's been clutching that old sakura clip the whole time. The one from Nori…"
His voice trailed off for a second.
"It was still on her," Tyuri said quietly. "Aiko took it after the attack. Cleaned it, kept it like it was the last piece of Nori that made it through."
Nariku's hands curled slightly on the table. "I should've checked on her sooner."
"She doesn't want company," Tyuri muttered, then looked at Nariku. "But maybe she needs it."
Rin sat in silence, his expression unreadable as the firelight flickered across his face. He didn't speak, didn't interrupt—just listened. Observed.
Every name they spoke, every fragment of grief and guilt—it all threaded into his memory.
Not because he cared. Not exactly.
But because knowing what others hold close… makes it easier to control the pieces later.
Still, even he couldn't deny the weight in the air.
The sakura hair clip, small and delicate, carried more than just memory—it carried the cost of surviving.
And Rin, for now, said nothing.
After some time, Tyuri stood up and gave the two a small nod. "I'll check on Aiko again before it gets too late. You two take care."
Nariku gave a quiet wave. "Yeah… you too, Tyuri."
With that, Tyuri stepped away, his silhouette fading into the warm lantern light of the inn's lobby.
Rin watched him go, then turned to Nariku beside him. "So," he said casually, "how was school?"
Nariku perked up slightly. "Huh? Oh—yeah. Warrior Division, right."
He leaned back against the chair. "It was alright. The instructor's pretty intense, but not in a bad way. We did basic formation drills, talked about how to handle pressure in small groups, y'know… frontliner stuff. They gave us a rundown on weapon compatibility and stamina control."
Rin tilted his head. "Sounds straightforward."
"Kind of," Nariku shrugged. "But they kept warning us. 'The second floor weeds out the overconfident ones,' that's what the instructor said."
He chuckled awkwardly. "Also… I might have messed up a parry demonstration. But the instructor just laughed and said I had guts."
Rin allowed himself a small smirk. "Well, as long as you didn't get expelled on the first day."
Nariku grinned. "No promises."
They both stood, the atmosphere lighter now, and began walking back toward their shared room. Outside the window, the moon hung low over the quiet village—watching, waiting.
After carefully checking that Nariku was finally asleep—his chest rising and falling with steady breaths—Rin let out a quiet sigh. The room was dim, bathed only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. He glanced down at his right hand, where a small silver token shaped like a fang rested against his palm. It pulsed softly with a pale, ethereal glow, a subtle but unmistakable sign that the task he had assigned to Kusahi before their arrival on this floor had been successfully completed.
The token's gentle light contrasted with the coldness Rin felt deep inside—a reminder that, in this game, every piece on the board mattered, and sacrifices had to be made. Rin flexed his fingers slowly, feeling the weight of the mission carried out far from here, in Kusahi's hands.
His eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk curling on his lips, as if savoring a private victory. Without breaking his calm facade, he slipped the token carefully into the inside pocket of his coat, where it would remain hidden but close.
Then, moving with practiced stealth, Rin approached the window. He eased it open silently, the faint creak muffled by the night's stillness. He paused for a moment, casting a final glance over the sleeping Nariku, before slipping out into the darkness beyond, ready to continue playing his role in this deadly game.
Slipping through the quiet streets beneath the shroud of night, Rin's polished shoes barely made a sound on the cobblestones. His new conductor attire—a tailored black suit with silver chains glinting subtly in the moonlight—gave him an air of calm authority, almost like a master puppeteer stepping onto a shadowy stage.
His thoughts were sharp and focused. The silver fang token tucked safely inside his coat pocket was proof that Kusahi had completed the first part of his mission on this floor. That mission had been just the beginning.
Join a criminal organization that thrives in the shadows… The idea flickered in Rin's mind like a candle flame, steady yet unpredictable. Or… create one myself.
The darkness around him seemed to welcome his resolve. Here, in the underbelly of the tower's second floor, power wasn't just given—it was taken, forged by those willing to bend the rules, to weave secrets and control from behind the scenes.
Ahead, the dim glow of the meeting spot awaited. Rin adjusted his cravat and straightened his posture. The game had only just begun.