The brute—Darius—dropped into the seat right next to his without his permission.
And the first thing he did was reach across and grab another piece of his food.
He turned to Nora. Eyes big. Lip trembling. "Make him stop."
"Oh, relax. I'll order more." She patted the coin pouch. "You earned me plenty."
'I earned YOU plenty. While HE eats MY food. How is this fair.'
"More drinks!" Darius boomed, loud enough to rattle the windows.
And he meant it. The man didn't order drinks—he summoned them. Wave after wave. The warm, beautiful smell of roast meat and stew that Shiro had been happily drowning in was murdered. Gone. Replaced by the thick, eye-watering sting of alcohol. Glasses covered every inch of the table like a tiny, sad city.
"Drinks for everyone!" the brute roared, hoisting a mug the size of a small child.
The tavern exploded with cheers. Every single person—including the ones who'd just lost all their money betting against him—raised their glasses like it was the best night of their lives.
And every time the man finished a glass—which was often, because he drank like breathing—he'd reach over and slam his palm into Shiro's back.
"STRONG KID!" SLAP.
His face kissed the table.
"GOOD FIGHT!" SLAP.
His spine rattled. And he was pretty sure he felt something in his shoulder pop.
"YOU'RE ALRIGHT!" SLAP.
At this point, Shiro was fairly sure the man was doing more damage to him than the two lieutenants from yesterday.
"Thanks—really—love the enthusiasm—please stop—"
SLAP.
His eye twitched. Slowly, quietly, something inside him snapped.
He shot up from his chair. "THAT'S IT. I'm ending you, you bald, back—"
And then he froze.
Not by choice. His body just stopped. Mid-sentence.
The tavern went quiet.
Cold sweat ran down his back. Slow. Deliberate. Like even the sweat was afraid to move too fast.
He wanted to turn around. Wanted to see what was behind him.
His neck refused to listen to him.
Instead, he sat back down very slowly, very quietly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them.
The entire hunting party. Walking past him in a line like a procession of things that could kill you without trying.
Three captains. Two lieutenants.
They radiated mana so thick and dense the air itself felt heavier. Every instinct he had screamed at him to bolt.
His throat tightened. The food in his mouth suddenly forgot how to go down.
And as each one passed, they glanced at him. Brief. Assessing.
But none of them questioned why a stranger was sitting at their table.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He shoved them under the table before anyone noticed.
'I was a fool thinking I could take on all the captains alone.'
With shaky hands, he grabbed another piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. Then another. Then another. Faster and faster, like his body had decided panic-eating was a perfectly reasonable response to the situation.
'Stop. Stop it. Act normal.'
He forced himself to slow down. Straightened his back. Picked up a piece of meat with a fork instead of his bare hand. Took a small, polite bite.
He chewed carefully. Swallowed. Reached for the napkin.
Nora stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Her lips pressed together. Her cheeks puffed out. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth just before she could burst out laughing.
Shiro instantly dropped his head, face down, unable to look at her.
"BRING MORE DRINKS!" Darius screamed, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to make every glass jump.
The waiter rushed over immediately. More drinks appeared.
Slowly—painfully slowly—the tavern came back to life. Conversations resumed. Chairs creaked. Someone laughed too loud in the corner.
The crushing tension eased. Not gone, but manageable.
Shiro kept chewing. Minding his own business. Eyes down. Mouth full.
The group ignored him for the most part—though every now and then, one of them would glance his way. Quick. Casual. The kind of look that said, "Who are you, or are you planning on introducing yourself anytime soon?"
He wasn't.
They talked about the mission. Openly. Loudly enough that he could hear every word without even trying.
So he just listened.
First, they talked about the next head of the clan—his brother, Kuro—and how he'd just had twins.
His fork paused halfway to his mouth.
'Twins.'
'Kuro has twins.'
He blinked. Then blinked again.
Not because his brother had twins—that was normal. Expected, even. Proof of their pure blood.
No, the part that got him was that Kuro was married.
His brother. Married. To another human being. Willingly.
'Who agreed to that?'
He chuckled inside. Quietly.
The news gave him… complicated feelings.
Part of him felt… excited?
'I'm an uncle. That's… that's actually kind of cool.'
But another part—the louder part—just felt bad for those kids.
'Born into the wrong family.'
And yet…
He still wanted to see them. Just once. Make sure they were okay.
'Don't be ridiculous. You're leaving. Remember? Off the island. Far away. Never coming back.'
'Those kids aren't your problem anyway. It's not like you'll be around to watch them grow. Play with them. Teach them anything.'
He told himself that.
It sounded convincing.
It also sounded kind of sad.
The conversation shifted to the "great hunt."
Tradition, apparently. He had no idea what it was. And his curiosity was louder than his common sense.
"What's the great hunt?"
The words came out shakier than he wanted.
Every eye at the table turned to him.
His stomach dropped.
'Why did I open my mouth. Why do I ever open my mouth.'
"So." The woman sitting beside him spoke up. Her voice was smooth. Flowy. The kind of voice that made you lean in before you realized you were doing it. "Let's talk about the elephant in the room."
Before he could say anything, Darius—who was extremely drunk by this point—threw a massive arm around his shoulders.
"This guy?" Darius bellowed. "He's my SUPER BEST FRIEND!"
Then he slapped Shiro on the back.
So hard the air exploded out of his lungs.
He gasped. Wheezed. Tried to remember how breathing worked.
"That's it," he croaked when he could finally speak. "You absolute brute. I'm going to kill you."
Wrong thing to say.
Darius's face lit up like a kid on his birthday. "YES! LET'S GO!"
Shiro shot to his feet. That drunken slap hadn't just hurt—it had knocked the nervousness clean out of his body. For one beautiful, stupid second, he felt fearless.
"Sit. Down."
The man sitting directly across from him spoke. Voice calm. Measured. But with an edge sharp enough to cut the air between them. This wasn't a suggestion.
And just like that, every ounce of nervousness came rushing back.
"Yes, sir."
Two voices. In perfect unison.
Shiro and Darius dropped into their seats at the exact same time—like two pets that had just been scolded by the same owner.
He rubbed his back and looked at the man who'd spoken, and he knew that man really well.
Maybe too well.
Wide shoulders but a lean frame. Strong without being bulky. His face was shaved, but not cleanly—blonde stubble shadowed his jaw. Perfect bone structure. Sharp. Almost too perfect, like someone had carved it.
Sky blue eyes. Calm. Steady.
But behind them, Shiro could see the cracks. The exhaustion. The weight of too many responsibilities. The burden of secrets kept too long.
This man was tired. Overworked. Carrying more than he should.
The man looked directly at Shiro.
"Who are you?"
"Shiro," he said casually.
As he expected, Richard froze mid-chew. His eyes doubled in size, his gaze locking onto him like he'd just seen a ghost walk through the door and sit down for dinner.
Spoiler—he did.
Before he could ask anything else, Nora jumped in.
"Don't worry, Father. It's not him."
'Richard. Nora's father. And the second person on this island who hates me with a passion.'