A Déjà Vu Smile and the Tournament Begins
"N-N-No way???"
Bell jumped up like a startled rabbit, her eyes swirling like whirlpools as she started babbling incoherently.
"Uh-uh-um... th-that is..."
Her unexpected level of panic was making me flustered too.
Once Bell had calmed down a bit, she answered me with surprising firmness.
"No! We've never met! Today's the first time!"
"Really?"
"Y-Yes! For r-real... I mean, really!"
But the more emphatically she denied it, the more suspicious it sounded.
Heh.
Still, her reaction was so obvious that it didn't seem like they had any bad history.
But where the hell did I see her before?
The real question wasn't whether we'd met—it was figuring out exactly what was nagging at me.
Sure, as a mercenary, I'd wandered all over the place, so I could've crossed paths with her anywhere.
I wasn't some desk-jockey admin stuck in an office.
Hell, I might've spotted her in some remote mountain village after wrapping up a job there.
Any ordinary person would've just shrugged it off.
But this level of déjà vu? No way I could ignore it.
Forgetting a face entirely? Sure, that happens.
But feeling déjà vu from her smile? That meant I'd seen it before, somewhere.
Two possibilities came to mind.
1. I'd seen her smile once, it was so pretty it stuck in my head despite the brief moment, triggering this now.
2. We knew each other well, so every little expression was etched in my memory.
The first one? Nah, no way.
She wasn't that stunning. Just your average country girl.
So the second? Also bullshit.
How do you spend a long time with someone and forget them completely?
Unless I had amnesia or something...
Wait, didn't I lose some memories?
But no, that wasn't it. The gap in my memory was those seven days in the Demon Realm.
Which would mean I'd spent a long time with Bell there, but...
'Yeah, right.'
If we'd known each other that long, she'd have recognized me first and said hi.
This was just spiraling into a dead end.
No more conversation after my question.
Bell fidgeted nervously, trailing right behind me, while I led the way toward Rotten.
The spot where we'd met wasn't too far from Rotten, and there was a well-maintained road for travelers heading there, so we arrived without any real hassle or danger.
"Thank you so much for coming with me. Sorry to drag you into this..."
Bell bowed her head in gratitude.
"No big deal. I was planning to head back soon anyway."
The mercenary selection tournament wasn't far off time-wise.
In case schedules shifted suddenly, I'd been popping back into Rotten every day for the last three to check the notices.
Bell and I exchanged goodbyes and parted ways.
I'd introduced her to an old-timer who paid extra for personally gathered herbs. No need to escort her inside the city walls, but...
It wasn't just about showing the way. Truth was, I kinda wanted to hang out with her more.
"Alright then."
I headed straight for the mercenary guild.
Any updates would be posted on their board.
When I got there, mercenaries were clustered around it.
Looked like there was new info.
My eyesight's pretty sharp, so instead of shoving through the crowd, I went up to the second floor for a clear view and read the notice.
The content was...
"What???"
A bit shocking.
'They're moving the tournament up by two days!?!?'
Originally set for five days out.
I'd planned to grind my body hard until then, but now? Total plan overhaul.
Like how you don't start new cram sessions a week before exams.
Pushing too hard now could backfire on the tournament.
'No time to waste.'
I ducked into a nearby eatery.
"One Deberryco pork fried rice!"
My go-to order.
A heaping pile of tender Deberryco pork.
Topped with that sweet-and-savory brown sauce.
A soft half-runny fried egg.
Diced veggies and fluffy rice to boot.
Balanced nutrition and killer taste—practically perfect. No wonder I ordered it so often.
Only downside: price. But since I lived pretty frugally otherwise, I splurged on food when I felt like it.
'Fills you up, boosts your mood, clears your head.'
Eating Deberryco fried rice was my positivity ritual.
After scarfing it down, I headed back to my lodging, did some light stretches, then sat on the bed for meditation.
Whoosh.
I could feel flames racing through my body.
I latched onto one strand of the flow and slowly began cultivating my aura.
Cultivating aura requires a method.
Some geniuses invent their own, but most learn from a master.
Me? Not sure.
Couldn't say how I'd picked mine up.
There was just one in my head, and I used it as-is for aura cultivation.
Heard stories of picking up sketchy methods leading to aura backlash or half-crippling yourself, but I had no time or means for a "guaranteed" one.
I needed to get as strong as possible before the tournament.
That way, I'd clinch the win for sure—and survive any dangerous gigs that followed.
Luckily, this method had worked fine so far.
Crackle. Whoosh.
Seemed like the aura was responding to my will.
The steady flow erupted wildly.
Speed picking up.
It spun through my body once, twice, faster and faster.
By the end, it was whirling like mad, so I reined it in carefully before it got out of hand and ended the session.
"Huuuuh. Haaaa..."
With calm breaths, the flames died down and settled.
Post-cultivation, I checked my overall aura.
'Aura capacity's grown.'
Solid gains from that session.
Keep this up all day? Steady progress.
'That's enough for tonight. Time to crash.'
I tidied up and hit the bed.
Deep sleep's key to growth too.
"Not heading out today?"
Mist-gray hair, vivid purple eyes in stark contrast.
Signika Violet, the 7th-circle mage from the Hero's Party, asked while gazing at the golden-haired girl's back.
"Ah... yeah. Feels okay now."
"Good?"
"Yeah..."
"Glad to hear it. I was always worried."
"Yeah... still..."
Shame they couldn't talk more.
The woman murmured, fingers clicking together.
Tournament day arrived before I knew it.
"Kaaah."
I stretched my arms back, shaking off the stiffness, and headed to the venue.
The event ran five days total: prelims then finals.
Shorter than expected.
Stepping inside explained why.
Fewer participants than I'd thought.
'Plenty who value their lives, huh.'
I scanned the room for any big-name mercs or fellow Experts.
'Three Experts total.'
Three Experts among mercenaries.
How bored must their groups be to send core members like that?
They looked pretty polished too—probably noble brats.
Knowing the tournament's purpose, they must've joined banking on family backing.
"Sigh..."
I let out a breath.
Some idiots strut around like their house is invincible.
It's not.
There's always someone bigger.
This tournament? Straight from the Emperor himself.
No matter how elite their families, unless they're ready to coup the ruler of most of the continent, no protection.
'No real combat experience, bet.'
Greenhouse flowers, those types. Aura ranks from bloodlines and support, no grit.
Don't underestimate, but yeah, motivation dipped.
'Let's wrap this quick.'
Matchups announced.
My opponent: a mere Runner.
Basic farmer-soldier level.
I drew my sword, locking eyes.
Intimidation's key in these.
Plant "I could kill you" and they fold fast.
Signal sounded—I stepped forward.
He just waited, thinking I was keeping distance.
Smooth: two steps.
Three.
Four.
Five.
"Huh?"
I vanished from his sight.
In one breath, I flanked him effortlessly.
Swish.
Sword to his neck.
Thud.
Legs gave out; he crumpled.
"Winner: Evan!"
The judge declared coldly.