Dawn came too early, bringing with it the reality that my Academy days were officially over.
The dormitory buzzed with nervous energy as sixty-some graduates prepared for their new lives. Through my window, I could see guild representatives arriving in the courtyard below—formal delegations wearing their organizations' colors with professional dignity.
Silver Moon arrived with precise coordination. Storm Hawks made an entrance that suggested they took physical fitness very seriously. Crimson Fang's delegation radiated the kind of controlled authority that made everyone else straighten their posture.
Then Captain Hazama wandered into view, eating what looked like a breakfast pastry and apparently having a conversation with a squirrel.
"Your guild leader is..." Daichi paused, searching for diplomatic phrasing.
"Completely insane?" I suggested, watching Hazama offer part of his pastry to the squirrel, which actually seemed to accept it.
"I was going to say 'unique,'" Daichi finished diplomatically.
"That's one word for it."
A knock on the door interrupted our observation. Mina peeked in, her eyes red-rimmed but determined.
"Are you ready?" she asked quietly.
"No," I said honestly. "But I don't think anyone ever is."
She hugged me fiercely, her small arms wrapping around my waist. "Promise you'll be careful. Promise you'll write. Promise you won't let them turn you into Jane."
"I promise to try not to spend my career crying about my life choices," I said solemnly.
"That's not the same thing."
"It's the best I can do right now."
By the time we made it down to the courtyard, most of the other guilds had collected their recruits and departed with varying degrees of ceremony. Kenji left with Crimson Fang's delegation looking both excited and nervous. Satoru joined Storm Hawks with his usual calm determination. Rina departed with Silver Moon after extracting promises from everyone to stay in touch.
Daichi's departure with Iron Crown was particularly awkward, given what we all now knew about his future working relationship with Yui's sister. He looked like someone walking toward his execution, but maintained mountain kingdom dignity throughout the process.
Which left me, Mina, Yui, and a handful of other Academy graduates standing in the courtyard while Captain Hazama finished his conversation with local wildlife.
"CAPTAIN!" came a wailing voice from near the Academy entrance. "CAPTAIN, PLEASE RECONSIDER!"
Jane appeared, running toward us with tears streaming down his face and what looked like official paperwork clutched in his hands.
"The recruitment forms!" he sobbed. "I tried to file them wrong! I tried to lose them! I even spilled coffee on them! But they keep coming back!"
"Jane," Hazama said patiently, like he was dealing with a particularly dramatic child, "we discussed this. The paperwork has to be filed correctly."
"But why does it have to be ME who files it?!" Jane wailed. "I'm already handling mission reports, supply requisitions, communication protocols, and that thing with the corrupted chickens!"
"Because you're very good at paperwork," Hazama replied cheerfully. "It's one of your many talents."
"I DON'T WANT TO BE GOOD AT PAPERWORK!"
I looked at Yui, who was watching this exchange with the expression of someone witnessing a traffic accident.
"Still think I should join a respectable guild?" I asked.
"More than ever," she replied firmly. "That poor man needs professional intervention."
"Jane's fine," Hazama said, apparently overhearing our conversation. "He just has strong feelings about administrative duties. Very passionate about his work."
"I'M PASSIONATE ABOUT QUITTING!" Jane screamed.
"See? Passionate."
As Jane continued his breakdown, I said my final goodbyes to Mina and Yui. My sister extracted more promises about writing letters and staying safe, while Yui wished me luck with what she diplomatically called my "challenging career transition."
"Try not to end up like him," she said, nodding toward Jane, who was now lying dramatically on the ground while muttering about his life choices.
"I'll do my best."
"And try not to block any more pedestrian walkways," she added with her usual combative grin.
"Try not to turn any more shopping districts into racetracks," I shot back.
"Deal. Now get out of here before I change my mind about feeling sorry for you."
The journey to Broken Chain headquarters took us through parts of Mori Central I hadn't seen before, then out into countryside that grew increasingly remote. Hazama led the way with his usual casual demeanor, occasionally pointing out local landmarks or sharing completely irrelevant trivia about regional wildlife.
Jane walked beside me, alternately sniffling and providing what he called "essential survival information."
"First rule of Broken Chain," he said miserably, "never volunteer for anything. Ever. If Captain Hazama asks for volunteers, run away."
"Why?"
"Because his definition of 'simple task' usually involves at least three life-threatening situations and paperwork that doesn't exist yet."
"Paperwork that doesn't exist?"
"He makes me create new forms for missions that are too weird for standard documentation," Jane explained with the tone of someone describing personal trauma. "Do you know how hard it is to design a requisition form for 'miscellaneous supernatural crisis management supplies'?"
"I can imagine."
"No, you can't. Nobody can. It's beyond normal human comprehension."
As we walked, I found myself studying the countryside and wondering what kind of headquarters would house an organization like Broken Chain. Something appropriately mysterious? A hidden fortress? A cave system?
What we found was a large, perfectly normal-looking farmhouse surrounded by well-maintained fields.
"This is it?" I asked.
"Don't judge by appearances," Hazama said cheerfully. "Some of the most interesting things look completely ordinary from the outside."
The interior of the farmhouse was... also completely normal. Comfortable furniture, a large kitchen, what looked like a common room with bookshelves and games. If not for the weapons rack by the entrance and the mission board covered in papers, it could have belonged to any successful farming family.
"Welcome to Broken Chain headquarters!" Hazama announced. "Home sweet home for the next phase of your life!"
"It's a farmhouse," I said.
"It's a very nice farmhouse," he corrected. "Plus, the basement has interesting features."
Before I could ask what kind of features, the sound of footsteps announced the arrival of other guild members.
What followed was possibly the most bizarre introduction sequence of my life.
A woman who looked to be in her thirties appeared from the kitchen, wearing an apron over what were clearly combat clothes. "You must be the new recruit," she said warmly. "I'm Sarah. I handle cooking and explosive ordinance disposal."
"Both at the same time?" I asked weakly.
"You'd be surprised how similar the skill sets are."
Next came a man who introduced himself as Marcus, whose job description was apparently "research and philosophical counseling." He looked like a scholar who'd decided to take up weightlifting as a hobby.
"Philosophical counseling?"
"People have a lot of existential crises in this line of work," Marcus explained seriously. "I help them work through the deeper implications of their career choices."
"Unlike Jane, who just cries about them," added a voice from the staircase. A woman descended who looked like she'd been carved from solid muscle and bad attitude. "I'm Vera. I handle things that need hitting."
"Things?"
"Problems, people, occasionally doors that won't open properly." Vera shrugged. "If it needs violence applied efficiently, I'm your woman."
The introductions continued in this vein. There was Chen, who specialized in "information acquisition and urban navigation"—apparently a polite way of saying he was very good at finding things that didn't want to be found. Lisa handled "diplomatic relations and emergency medical care," which seemed like an odd combination until she explained that both involved keeping people alive under stressful circumstances.
Dmitri managed "logistics and creative problem-solving," which seemed to translate to "making impossible things happen through methods that probably weren't entirely legal." His accent suggested he'd traveled extensively, and his scars suggested not all of those travels had been peaceful.
Two more members appeared from what Jane indicated was the basement level. Erik specialized in "technical solutions and structural assessment"—building things, breaking things, and determining which was more appropriate for any given situation. Nina handled "reconnaissance and social integration," which meant she was very good at blending into places she didn't belong and finding out information people didn't want to share.
"That's ten of us now," I counted, including myself and Hazama.
"Thirteen total guild members," Hazama confirmed. "Three are currently on assignments."
I wondered briefly who the other three were and what kind of assignments required their absence, but honestly, I was already feeling overwhelmed by the people I'd met. Each one seemed competent in ways that were both reassuring and slightly terrifying.
"Jane," Hazama called, "give our new member the orientation speech."
"I don't want to give the orientation speech," Jane whined. "It's depressing."
"That's why it's effective."
Jane sighed dramatically, then turned to me with the expression of someone delivering tragic news.
"Welcome to Broken Chain Guild," he began miserably. "We handle missions that other guilds can't or won't take. This usually means they're dangerous, weird, politically complicated, or some combination of all three."
"That doesn't sound so bad," I said.
"We also have a tradition of throwing new members into situations that test whether they'll survive guild life," Jane continued. "Captain Hazama calls it 'accelerated integration.' I call it 'cruel and unusual punishment.'"
"It builds character," Hazama added helpfully.
"It builds trauma," Jane corrected.
"Character-building trauma," Hazama agreed. "The best kind."
As Jane continued his doom-laden orientation, I looked around at the other guild members. Despite Jane's complaints, they all seemed remarkably competent and surprisingly normal for people who supposedly handled impossible problems.
Maybe Broken Chain wasn't as dysfunctional as it appeared from the outside.
My optimism lasted until I actually looked at the mission board.
The large wooden board near the entrance was divided into sections labeled by mission rank. The A-rank and S-rank sections were completely empty—not surprising, since those were reserved for elite guilds and legendary-level threats. But even the B-rank section was bare, without a single posting.
The C-rank section had a few missions: "Investigate reports of unusual animal behavior near Riverside Village," "Escort merchant caravan through disputed territory," and "Resolve noise complaints about allegedly haunted mill."
The D-rank section was packed with postings: "Find missing cat (Mrs. Henderson's tabby, answers to 'Whiskers')," "Investigate strange sounds in basement (probably rats)," "Help with harvest festival setup," and "Mediate neighbor dispute over property line."
I stared at the board in growing disbelief. These were the kinds of missions Academy students did for practice, not assignments for professional guild members.
"Depressing, isn't it?" Jane appeared beside me, apparently sensing my shock. "When your guild's reputation is 'probably incompetent,' people don't trust you with important work."
"But you're all clearly capable," I protested, gesturing toward the other members who were displaying various impressive skills around the common room.
"Capability doesn't matter if nobody knows about it," Jane sighed. "Other guilds get the real missions—Akuma suppression, corruption cleanup, anything B-rank and above. We get asked to find lost pets and mediate arguments about fence placement."
"How do you even pay for this place with missions like that?"
"Very carefully," Jane replied miserably. "Do you know how many missing cats you have to find to afford guild headquarters maintenance?"
I was starting to understand why Jane cried about his career choices.
"The reputation problem is self-perpetuating," Marcus added, overhearing our conversation while organizing his philosophical counseling materials. "People assume we're incompetent, so they only give us simple missions. We complete simple missions successfully, but that doesn't prove we can handle complex threats."
"It's a vicious cycle," Vera agreed from where she was sharpening what looked like an entire arsenal of bladed weapons. "Can't prove you're worth trusting with important work until someone trusts you with important work."
Looking back at the mission board with its collection of missing cat notices and noise complaints, I realized why Broken Chain struggled with their reputation. How could anyone take a guild seriously when their most exciting assignment was mediating property disputes?
"So," I said slowly, "what kind of mission am I starting with? Please tell me it's not finding Mrs. Henderson's cat."
"Nothing that exciting," Hazama replied cheerfully, pulling a C-rank posting from the board. "Simple trade escort mission. A merchant caravan needs protection traveling to Riverside Town. Basic bandit deterrent work."
I looked at the mission posting, which was refreshingly straightforward: "Escort trade goods from Mori Central to Riverside Town. Compensation: Standard C-rank rate. Duration: 3 days round trip. Threat level: Minimal."
"That actually sounds reasonable," I said, surprised by the normalcy.
"I know, right?" Jane said with obvious relief. "Finally, a mission that probably won't kill us or require me to invent new paperwork categories."
"You'll be going with Jane and Dmitri," Hazama continued. "Perfect team for a new member's first assignment. Jane can handle the administrative side, Dmitri knows the route, and you get practical experience with standard guild operations."
I looked over at Dmitri, the seventeen-year-old logistics specialist who was currently organizing supply packs with mechanical precision. Despite being younger than some Academy graduates, he moved with the confidence of someone who'd been doing this work for years.
"Three-person team for a caravan escort?" I asked.
"Standard protocol for C-rank missions," Jane explained, already pulling out forms and looking much happier than he had all day. "Low threat level, routine procedures, predictable paperwork. This is the kind of mission that keeps guilds financially stable."
"Plus," Dmitri added without looking up from his packing, "the route to Riverside is well-traveled and relatively safe. Worst we usually encounter is amateur bandits who run away when they see guild colors."
"See?" Hazama said with satisfaction. "Perfect introduction to guild work. Simple, safe, and educational."
The way he said it made me immediately suspicious, but looking at the mission posting again, I couldn't see anything concerning about a basic trade escort. Just three days of walking with merchants, making sure nobody bothered their cargo, and earning my first guild payment.
"When do we leave?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning," Dmitri replied, shouldering a pack that looked like it contained enough supplies for a week-long expedition. "Early start, steady pace, professional completion. Should be routine."
"Finally," Jane said with genuine happiness, "a mission where the worst thing that can happen is boredom."
"Oh, and team?" Hazama added casually as we prepared for the evening meal. "Try not to let anything interesting happen. I'm behind on my own paperwork, and dealing with mission complications always takes forever to document properly."
"Nothing interesting will happen," Jane said firmly. "It's a trade escort. What could possibly go wrong?"
Looking around at my new guild mates, I felt cautiously optimistic about my first mission. A simple escort job with experienced team members seemed like exactly the kind of introduction I needed.
My real education was just beginning.