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One hour later, the world had returned to pretending it was normal.
The small house behind the shop held a quiet warmth that was not from the forge. The bed creaked sotis when the old building rembered it had joints. The curtain breathed with the breeze from the cracked window. Sowhere outside, the capital carried on with its honest noises: cart wheels, distant arguing, a vendor yelling about pears like pears were a religion.
John lay on his back and stared at the ceiling beams as if they had answers carved into them. His hair was a ss. His shirt was sowhere on the floor, betrayed by gravity and bad decisions. Between him and the edge of the bed, Orna was sprawled with the careless confidence of soone who never once apologized for taking space. Edda lay on her side, head propped by her hand, eyes half-lidded in the satisfied way predators look when the hunt has been... educational.
Nobody said much at first. Because when you say things too quickly after sothing intense, you often say the wrong truth with the wrong mouth.
Orna broke the silence by tapping John’s ribs with one finger. "You breathe like you fought a bear."
"I feel like I negotiated with two storms," John said, voice rough.
Edda smiled, slow and pleased. "Good. You learned sothing."
"What did I learn," John asked carefully, already suspicious.
"That you need to practice control," Edda said sweetly. "Before your gravity skill pulls half the city into your lap and the guards put a ’Public Hazard’ sign on your door."
Orna snorted. "The guards would charge a tax for it."
John covered his face with one hand. "We are supposed to be building a business."
"We are," Orna said. "And you are very... motivated now."
Edda’s laughter was quiet. "He is motivated to survive Gael’s disappointnt when Gael walks in and slls romance in the air."
At the ntion of Gael, John’s spine snapped straighter. Reality returned like a bucket of cold water.
He sat up too fast and imdiately regretted it because his body reminded him it had been busy. He hissed under his breath.
Orna’s mouth curved. "Careful."
John swung his legs off the bed and stood. "We need to look normal," he said.
Edda lifted a brow. "Normal is a myth."
"Then we need to look like a respectable myth," John corrected.
He found his shirt, shook it like the cloth had insulted him, and pulled it on. He tied his belt with hands that only trembled a little. Orna sat up and began adjusting her clothes with brisk efficiency, as if she was dressing after a sparring session. Edda moved slower, more deliberately, watching John the entire ti like she wanted to see how many tis he would glance back.
John did glance back. More than once.
Edda’s smile sharpened each ti.
"Stop," John said, voice low.
"Stop what," she asked innocently.
"Being... you."
"I cannot," Edda said. "It is my curse."
Orna rolled her shoulders and stood, already composed again — hair slightly wild, cheeks still warm, but posture steady like a blade returned to its sheath. "We act like nothing happened," she said.
John nodded quickly. "Yes."
Edda nodded too, then leaned close to John’s ear and whispered, "But we will rember."
John’s ears went hot.
Before he could answer, he felt a familiar chill shimr behind his eyes. Not fear. Not dangerous. Sothing internal.
A window opened in his mind with the sound of a bell that only he could hear.
[Ding! System Notification
New Comrcial Mission Initiated: The Hundred-Strike Plan
Objective: Sell 100 mana-core firearms (Model: Fizz Holdings Standard Rune-Barrel) through legitimate trade.
Conditions:
-Sales must be completed via real transactions (no gifting, no false invoices).
-Units must be functional and pass a stability check.
-At least 20 sales must be to registered individuals or guilds (proof of legitimacy).
Reward: Void-Bound Firearm Blueprint: "Singularity Sidearm for the host"
-Compatible with host’s Black Hole attribute.
-Allows controlled void-channel discharge through barrel runes.
-Includes safety seals to prevent accidental consumption of user’s own mana channels.
Warning: Host’s new gravity skill increases interpersonal attraction. Manage social entanglents to avoid operational disruption.]
John stood still as the words sank into him like nails into wood.
One hundred.
Not ten.
Not "make a few and see."
One hundred guns.
And the reward was the kind of thing that could turn his void from a secret into a weapon with a na.
Edda watched his face narrow. "What is it," she asked softly.
John blinked once, forcing his expression back into human shape. "Nothing," he lied.
Orna stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "That was a long ’nothing.’"
John exhaled. He did not tell them about the system. He would not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He chose the truth he could share. "An idea," he said. "A direction."
Edda’s gaze flicked to his palm, then to his eyes. "Business direction," she guessed.
John nodded. "Yes."
Orna folded her arms. "Good. Because if you say ’training direction,’ that might be bad for the won of the capital."
John opened his mouth to respond—
A knock hit the shop door.
Not cautious this ti. Not a guard knock. A familiar knock. Heavy, confident, practical, like the knuckles belonged to soone who could knock down a wall if the wall made him annoyed.
Gael.
John’s heart stuttered.
Edda and Orna moved instantly, the sa way skilled people move when they sll risk. Edda’s hair was fixed. Orna’s coat was straight. John’s shirt was tucked. The bed looked like it had always been used only for sleeping and innocent prayers.
John crossed the back hallway and opened the inner door to the shop front.
Fizz burst in first like a parade. "WE HAVE RETURNED WITH SUPPLIES AND GLORY—"
Kel followed, carrying a bundle of cloth-wrapped items with a face that already regretted being seen in public with Fizz.
Gael entered last, arms full of practical purchases — oil, chalk, nails, a sack of grain for the house, and sothing wrapped in brown paper that slled like cured at.
Fizz stopped dead the mont he saw John. His eyes narrowed with dramatic suspicion.
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