I Need to Make Money (7)

"Iris! Get up!"

Sunlight filtered through my eyelids. A chill bit into my cheek. I cracked my eyes open in a daze, and there was Evel, hands on her hips, looking down at me.

"How long are you gonna sleep? It's already lunchtime."

"Ugh…."

Prodded by Evel, I barely dragged myself out of bed. The room greeted me—a neat, tidy inn room. Compared to waking up in that dingy eastern flophouse, this was worth every coin. Though my body felt proportionally worse, aching all over.

"Nngh."

As I swung my feet to the floor, every muscle screamed. The aftermath of last night's brutal workout lingered.

"Let's eat. I'm hungry."

Before I could even fix my disheveled state, Evel grabbed my hand and pulled me downstairs. We told the kitchen we'd eat, sat at a table, and soon a sizzling hot iron plate arrived.

Sizzle—.

Thick slices of smoked meat infused with smoky flavor, gooey melted cheese draped over half-cooked fried eggs that looked mouthwatering. And fluffy buttered bread, perfect for sopping up the meat juices. This is why you spend money.

"Let's eat!"

Evel's eyes sparkled as she gripped her fork and knife. I tore into the bread in a haze, piled on meat and cheese, and shoved it in my mouth.

Delicious.

The crisp roasted asparagus on the side was perfection. As my stomach filled, my foggy brain started working again. I counted our remaining nights with my fingers. One down, six left. Cash on hand: still two silvers. Last night's job had gone south spectacularly, and we'd come back empty-handed. Dodging the penalty fee was a miracle, but it meant the payout we'd been counting on vanished.

Gotta pick up another job tonight, at least. That woman seemed to like me for some reason, letting it slide this time, but who knew how long that'd last. Next one had to succeed. Otherwise, no more gigs.

...Should I bring Evel?

I glanced at her across the table, munching away happily. Who knew when Cassandra and Heinrich might show up again. If we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fought that duo, Evel would be a huge help.

No, can't do that.

I shook my head. I could hide Dusty and fake it with Zepeto's formulas, but Evel? An Heart Image mage using ice magic? She'd be pegged instantly.

Argh, damn those two. What a pain.

I inwardly cursed Cassandra and Heinrich. If they hadn't interfered, I'd have finished the job and slept like a baby.

Come to think of it, what happened to them in the collapsing warehouse? Heinrich threw up a light barrier in a panic, so they probably didn't get crushed, but they must've been buried in dust and debris. Eh, they got out fine, I'm sure.

Whatever. The real question was the fallout. I needed to check what ripples last night's mess caused. Especially how much they'd pieced together about my "nighttime look." If they'd ID'd my appearance or features and put out a warrant….

"Evel, you done?"

"Yeah! Where to now? Dessert?"

I wiped my mouth and stood.

"Nah, Adventurers' Guild first."

"Ehh? Why? Labyrinth's closed."

"Got something to check."

"Mmm. Okay."

Evel grumbled but followed obediently. Stepping outside, warm noon sun poured down. A lively street, worlds away from last night's shadows. We walked side by side to the guild.

Creak—.

The lobby buzzed with noise the moment we opened the door. Surprising, given the labyrinth shutdown, but it made sense. Adventuring didn't stop. There were always herb-gathering gigs or caravan escorts to nearby towns.

"Hey, heard the east side's getting weird lately?"

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Dunno details, but a building collapsed last night."

"Wasn't there a big Red Beard gang brawl recently? Maybe turf war."

"Who knows. Could be."

Or folks nursing drinks midday, gossiping about the world. Few took requests; most clustered at tables, boozing. Rearrangement period was basically vacation for adventurers. Unless you're broke or a workaholic, who'd pass up recharge time? Even I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠join 'em.

I headed straight for the bulletin board—spot for new bounties and intel.

Let's see.

My heart beat a tad faster. Any warrants? I scanned top to bottom, every corner.

Nothing.

No trace of last night's me anywhere. Two possibilities: guild admin lag, or Cassandra and Heinrich never reported it.

Probably the latter.

Recalling their warehouse raid timing and stealth—they had their own shady agenda. Something to hide, a weakness if official records or other agencies got involved.

"Iris, anything fun?"

Lost in thought, staring holes in the board, Evel tugged my sleeve.

"Nah, nothing."

At least no sketch plastered everywhere. One big worry down. No official hunt meant easier night strolls.

Now what? Money tight—grab a small job for pocket change? I eyed wood-rank quests.

Three seconds later, vetoed.

Back-alley jobs are best.

They paid hazard bonuses, way juicier. Night work planned anyway—best to rest up daytime.

I turned from the board. Then spotted it: the loner corner table, empty around it. Eye-catching since entering.

"Heh heh heh…! All in!"

"Hahaha! Pathetic! You dare with that hand? Fine—! I all-in too!!"

"……."

"Lady says she'll fold this time. Oh, and me too."

They were… gambling.

"Oh, what? Iris, Evel. Looking sharper than last time. Doesn't suit ya."

Sigurd noticed us, waved with a 'yo.' We half-waved back.

"Perfect timing!"

He beckoned eagerly.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"C'mere, flip my cards! I'm building endgame momentum—your dead-fish vibe mixed in might flow right!"

"…Dead-fish? Wanna die?"

Smart like me, dead-fish? I snarked back, eyeing the others.

"Heh heh… heh! Good lunch… Eaten yet?"

Doal started with his creepy chuckle, remembered my words, switched to confident laugh, and greeted.

Doal's thoughtful. Maybe he's not so bad under the creep. After tangling with Sigurd and his zealot duo, Doal felt saintly. So what if gloomy? Heart's pure.

Warmed, I nodded to Doal, then glanced at Cassandra and Heinrich beside him. Her usual poise gone—silver hair slightly mussed. Heinrich too: clothes rumpled, face weary.

Bingo. You pushed hard last night too, huh? Not just me.

"Hi, Cassandra. Heinrich."

Casual greet. Acting guilty here would scream suspicion. Good thing my poker face rocks.

"………."

"Good day, Miss Iris. Lady wishes you a pleasant lunch."

"Huh? No whispering today?"

"Ah, well… Lady had a tiring night…."

Heinrich trailed off, glancing at her with hollow eyes.

Figured.

I fist-pumped inwardly. Word Spirit. That insane coercive force binding people with speech—no way it lacked cost or backlash.

"Shocked me too! Came this morning, and the mute's actually mute!"

"………."

"Sigurd, Lady says one more rude word and no escaping judgment."

"Hahaha! Try it, you deaf worm—!"

Sparks flew between Sigurd and Cassandra. Normally I'd tsk his rudeness, but today? Refreshing.

"Heh heh heh…! No fighting… Iris, come flip Sigurd's cards?"

Neighborly Doal mediated, shifting topic smoothly.

Doal's born leader.

"Sure. Let's see."

I approached, flipped Sigurd's face-down cards.

Flip.

"……."

"……."

Sigurd went dead silent.

"…Huh?"

A dopey sound escaped him. His hand? No suits, no straights—worst possible trash.

"Heh heh… excellent win, Sigurd."

Doal chuckled happily, revealing full house. Clear sweep. He raked the pot chips smoothly.

"Wh-what…! You dead-fish! Your vibe wrecked my perfect flow!"

Denying reality, Sigurd jumped up, jabbing a finger at me, ranting.

Idiot.

Earlier he said my vibe would boost it. Blaming others for gambling losses—universal loser trait.

Then.

"………."

I noticed Cassandra, lips sealed, staring oddly. Not my face—my left arm. Bandages hiding Dusty.

"Lady has a question."

Heinrich spoke for her stare.

"About that bandage on your left arm, Miss Iris. You always wear it—hurt?"

"………."

I met her gaze. Piercing through the veil.

What? Outta nowhere. No way.

Remembering last night's chain-swinging 'masked' left arm?

Unease crept up. But no reaction. Play it cool, natural.

I casually hugged my left arm with my right.

"Oh, this? No biggie."

Equip tragic backstory eyes for 15-year-old girl.

"Bad scar from a childhood injury. Ugly, so I cover it. Don't want stares."

Pity-bait, guilt-trip on prying further.

"………."

She stared long after my answer, then nodded faintly, convinced.

Phew.

I sighed inwardly.

"Anyway, we're off. Evel's dying for cake. Play nice, guys. Sigurd's broke, just spectate."

"What'd you say?!"

I stepped back. Lingering risked weird questions. Time to bail.

Grabbed Evel's hand, turned.

One, two steps to the door.

"Wait."

Raspy, scraped metal from behind. Not Heinrich—Cassandra herself.

Forced, hoarse voice. I startled, turned.

Veil hid her, but eyes locked straight on me.

"Next…."

"Huh?"

"When the labyrinth… reopens…."

She swallowed dryly, rasping slowly.

"Party… with us."

"………."

I couldn't reply right away, just stared silently. My blank, emotionless face met her veiled inscrutability. Gazes tangled taut.

...Hmm.

I sweated bullets inside.

She's onto me, right?