Even the city guard, who should have been watching the streets, leaned against the tavern wall with a flushed, red face. He raised a frothing mug of ale toward the sky, his laughter joining the chaotic roar of the celebration. He didn’t see the sobbing child or the patches of hair missing from her head.

Hoppy ran with no direction. Every time a burst of laughter erupted from the crowd or a drunkard let out a triumphant holler from the tavern, the sound didn’t register as a celebration in her mind.

To Hoppy, the noise was a trigger. The cheers of the city folk were replaced by the wet, rhythmic squelching of slimes and the agonizing screams of her neighbors back in Oozewell. The "Hero" they were shouting for was a ghost, just like the one she had prayed for when the village was being swallowed by the slimes.

"Mom..."

The world suddenly tilted as her foot caught on a jagged stone. She went down hard, the impact jarring her small frame as she slammed into the dirt. The filth of the street stained her clothes, and the raw patches on her scalp where her hair had been torn throbbed with a white hot heat.

She didn’t try to get up. She stayed there, pressed against the cold earth, her small body shaking with a devastation that no child should ever know.

"Papa abandoned me... Papa chose his new family over me," she sobbed. "Everyone is leaving me... there is no one left for me."

She curled into a ball, clutching her head as the trauma of the past and the betrayal of the present merged into a single, suffocating darkness. The screams in her head grew louder, drowning out the tavern music.

"Someone... please... Anyone... it hurts. It hurts so much."

Suddenly, a heavy, deliberate step echoed on the cobblestones right in front of her. Hoppy’s heart jumped into her throat. A flicker of desperate hope ignited, had Maddy followed her? Had the woman with the greatsword come back?

"Miss... Miss Maddy?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

But while the darkness of the alley closed in on Hoppy, the interior of the tavern was a kaleidoscope of rowdy light. Inside, the young hero, Johnn, was being swept up in a tide of celebration. As the adventurers danced and caroused around him, their various plates—dull red, orange, and fading greens. It flickered like dying embers compared to the radiant gold hanging from his neck.

Group after group of different rank adventurers tried to corner him, their voices slick with false honey as they attempted to seduce the young SSS Rank into joining their parties.

"Oh come on! Join our party!" one veteran yelled, leaning over the table. "I know you’ve heard of us... we are the..."

The lead adventurer signaled his hand in the most extra, dramatic way possible, snapping his fingers toward his teammates. The group acted instantly, moving with practiced, theatrical precision to perform their signature "intro."

"WE ARE THE PRO—"

The leader shouted, lunging into a low crouch.

"MEAT—"

The second one chimed in, spinning around and flexed his biceps.

"THER!"

The third finished, jumping into a high kick before landing in a flamboyant pose. They shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the rafters:

"PROMEATHER!"

They held their cringy, over the top poses—one pointing at the ceiling, another winking at the crowd, and the leader framing his face with his hands. They explained with dead serious expressions that their name was a "genius" combination of their Primordial, Prometheus, and the word "Meater."

"Because we are good at meating our enemies!" the leader declared proudly. "And we meat our goals! We are the famous A rank trio!"

Their adventurer plates, a bright and prestigious Violet, dangled from their necks, clinking against their armor as they wobbled in their ridiculous stances.

Johnn stared at them for a silent beat, his eyes wide. Then, the absurdity of it all finally broke him. He burst into a fit of laughter so violent he nearly fell off his stool, clutching his stomach as he pointed at the three A-Rank warriors.

"Prom-Meater? You... you’re ’Meaters’? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Are you guys serious?"

"It’s a very respected brand!" h

The leader protested, though his face was turning a shade of violet to match his plate. Johnn laughed, wiping a tear from his eye, he muttered,

"I’m sure it is! But I think I’ll pass. I don’t think I’m ’Meater’ material just yet. Thanks for the laugh, though—I really needed that."

His laughter was bright and genuine, momentarily making him forget the pressure of the guild and the mystery of the woman from the fire. But even as he declined the trio, the atmosphere in the tavern shifted.

The rowdy music stumbled and died; the bard and musicians silenced their instruments at the sight of something entering the room. Even the low ranking adventurers who had been crowding the entrance scrambled backward, tripping over chairs and each other to clear a path.

Walking through the center of the room was a man clad in Black Spiky Armor, the plates humming with a vibration as if the metal itself were breathing. The sheer pressure of his presence made the oxygen in the room feel thin.

The whispers started instantly, hushed and terrified.

"One of the Seven..."

"It’s him..."

"Oof, just by looking at him... it makes me shiver!"

The newcomer was a living legend whose power was as cold and sharp as the black armor he wore. He ignored the commoners entirely, his piercing gaze locking onto Johnn. The celebration was over; the real players had finally entered the board.

The "Promeathers" remained frozen in their ridiculous poses. The leader’s hand, which had been framing his face just a moment ago, now trembled visibly. One of the trio whispered:

"Why is he here? Is... is he going to kill us for that ’Meater’ joke?"

The leader pinched his nose and hissed,

"Shut up, you idiot! He’s not even looking at us. He’s going straight for Johnn."

But the third member was even more foolish. With his eyes wide with terror as the man in the blue diamond armor drew closer, he gasped,

"Oh no... is he going to kill the kid!?"