As Liam walked through the streets of Orario, he quickly realized something was wrong.
People kept staring at him.
Not the casual glance strangers gave newcomers, but long, lingering looks filled with curiosity, confusion, and in some cases, calculation.
Liam frowned and looked down at himself.
"…Right."
He was still wearing modern clothes.
A fitted shirt, stitched trousers, foreign shoes—nothing about him matched the tunics, cloaks, armor, or traveling garb common in the city. To the people of Orario, he probably looked like some eccentric noble who had gotten lost halfway through dressing.
That alone would have drawn attention.
But it wasn't the only reason.
Several eyes weren't on his clothes at all. They were fixed on the enormous greatsword strapped across his back.
Wolf's Gravestone was impossible to ignore. Its size, dark crimson metal, and ancient presence made it look less like a weapon and more like an artifact stolen from a hero's tomb. Even those who knew nothing of blades could tell it was valuable.
Liam's shoulders tensed.
If I look careless for even a second, some idiot is going to try stealing this thing.
Then another shiver ran down his spine.
He stopped mid-step.
The weather was warm. The sun still hung overhead. There was no reason to feel cold.
So why did it keep happening?
Liam continued forward, now scanning the crowd more carefully. Merchants called out prices, adventurers laughed loudly in groups, carts rattled over stone roads, children darted between adults—yet somewhere among all of it was the source of that unnatural sensation.
Then he caught sight of a familiar figure from the corner of his eye.
A silver-haired woman carrying grocery bags, walking casually not far away.
Liam nearly groaned aloud.
Freya.
Or rather, Syr—the identity she used while pretending to be an ordinary girl working at the Hostess of Fertility.
He turned his eyes forward immediately and kept walking, slightly faster this time.
That woman was not merely a goddess. She was a dangerous goddess. One who watched people from atop Babel Tower for entertainment, meddled whenever she pleased, and possessed the sort of obsession that ruined lives.
So distracting her with Marilda failed?
Or maybe this was coincidence.
He didn't believe in coincidence.
Either way, nothing good came from being near Freya.
Where's the Guild?
Liam looked around. If only the clone accompanying Astraea Familia could share memories over long distances, this would be easier. Instead, he had to navigate the giant city himself.
And Orario was far bigger than he had imagined.
He turned left, then right, then doubled back through a market lane.
Another glance.
Syr was still there.
Not close enough to be obvious. Not far enough to be accidental.
Liam blinked.
"…She's following me now?"
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
He immediately changed routes again, weaving through alleys, crossing plazas, cutting through side streets, taking turns so random even he stopped understanding where he was going.
Surely that would shake her.
Twenty minutes later, tired and mildly offended, Liam slowed to catch his breath.
Then he looked up.
A cheerful wooden sign swung above a warmly lit building. The scent of good food drifted from within. Laughter and voices spilled through the windows.
Hostess of Fertility.
Liam stared in silence.
His eyebrow twitched.
"…I got played without even realizing it."
Just as Liam was about to turn and leave, a cheerful voice rose behind him.
"Sir, you look tired—and maybe hungry too. How about dining at the Hostess of Fertility?"
Liam froze for half a second before slowly turning around.
Of course.
There stood Syr, silver hair tied neatly, grocery bag in hand, smiling with the harmless innocence of a village girl. The sort of smile that would fool almost anyone.
Almost.
Not wanting to appear suspicious, Liam forced a polite expression and bowed his head slightly.
"Ah, no need, miss. I don't have any valis on me."
To emphasize the point, he turned out his pockets. Empty.
Syr blinked once, then looked him over from head to toe with surprising attentiveness, as though measuring something invisible. Her gaze lingered on the sword, the clothes, the tiredness in his posture.
Then she brightened.
"You really do look exhausted. How about you eat first and pay later when you have valis?"
Before Liam could prepare another excuse, Syr had already taken hold of his arm.
"Come on!"
With alarming strength for someone pretending to be an ordinary waitress, she dragged him through the entrance.
Liam let himself be carried inside with the hollow calm of a man who knew resistance was pointless.
The warmth of the restaurant wrapped around him at once.
The Hostess of Fertility looked exactly as he remembered from the anime—wooden floors polished by years of footsteps, sturdy tables, warm lanternlight, the smell of fresh bread and roasted meat lingering in the air. It was lively without being chaotic, familiar without ever having been his home.
He paused for a moment, almost nostalgic.
There were not many customers at the moment, only scattered groups speaking quietly over drinks.
Syr guided him to an empty table tucked near the corner.
"Please, have a seat!" she chirped, then hurried off toward the back room before he could say anything else.
Liam sat slowly, glancing around with careful eyes.
Then he felt it.
A gaze. Heavy. Knowing.
Behind the bar stood a giant woman with folded arms and the presence of a battlefield veteran. Mama Mia looked directly at him—not hostile, not warm, but with unmistakable pity.
Liam's eye twitched.
Of course she knew.
She knew exactly who Syr really was. Which meant she also knew he had been "invited" here with no realistic path of escape.
Mama Mia approached, boots thudding against the floorboards. She gave Liam a long once-over before her eyes settled on Wolf's Gravestone strapped behind him.
"Planning to become an adventurer, young man?" she asked bluntly.
Liam hesitated.
"…Kind of?"
Mama Mia snorted, as if that answer told her everything she needed to know.
"Good luck finding a familia, then. And welcome to Orario."
She placed a large frosted mug in front of him. Golden liquid sloshed gently inside.
"On the house."
Then she turned and walked away.
Liam blinked, then called after her.
"Ah… thank you."
So that was all the help she could offer encouragement and alcohol.
Honestly… better than nothing.
He lifted the mug and took a cautious drink.
Cold sweetness spread across his tongue.
Liam's eyes widened slightly.
"…Good."
Then he took a much bigger second gulp.
Liam had been sitting there for nearly ten minutes.
No Syr.
No menu.
No explanation.
The beer Mama Mia had given him was already finished, the empty mug sitting uselessly at the edge of the table.
He glanced toward the kitchen door, then toward the entrance.
This is the sign to leave, right?
He had just begun to rise from his seat when the back door swung open.
Syr emerged with a bright, dazzling smile and a tray balanced carefully in her hands. Steam curled upward from several dishes arranged neatly upon it.
"Sorry for the wait!" she said cheerfully. "Syr was cooking something special for sir."
Liam stared for a moment.
Too bright.
It felt as though the entire room had become a little warmer just from her smile.
In reality, he simply nodded calmly.
"I see."
Syr set the tray down in front of him with practiced care, placing a steaming plate at the center.
"I hope you enjoy it!"
Then, without invitation or hesitation, she sat down in the chair opposite him.
Liam looked at the food. Then at Syr. Then back at the food.
She was watching him expectantly, making no effort to hide it.
If he were an ordinary man, he might have mistaken this for affection. A cute girl cooking for him, waiting eagerly for his reaction, sitting across from him with sparkling eyes.
Unfortunately—or fortunately—he knew exactly who she was.
This was Freya.
One of the most dangerous beings in the city, currently wrapped in the disguise of an innocent waitress.
Still…
He was hungry.
And the food smelled good enough to make caution feel optional.
Whatever. I'll eat first and worry later.
Liam picked up his fork and took a bite.
He chewed slowly.
Then blinked once.
The flavor was… mild. Very mild.
Almost suspiciously mild.
"How is it?" Syr asked, leaning forward with anticipation.
Liam swallowed.
"Do you want the honest truth… or the lying truth?"
Syr tilted her head. "The honest truth."
"It's bland."
"Eh?"
She froze.
Then, without shame, she reached across the table, took the fork right out of Liam's hand, and tasted the food herself.
A second later, her cheeks puffed slightly.
"Ah… it really is." She lowered the fork and looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry!"
Her voice softened, shoulders shrinking just enough to look adorably ashamed.
Liam stared at her.
He hated how effective it was.
Damn it.
He knew it was an act. He knew it.
But if he claimed he disliked that reaction, he would be lying to himself.
What sane man was immune to a cute girl acting shy in front of him?
A cute girl acting bashful in front of you was an attack on the human male soul.
If someone said they were unaffected, then either they were lying… or they simply just like playing sword with other sword .
He coughed into his fist.
"It's fine."
Syr's face brightened instantly.
Liam took a fresh fork from the table and resumed eating. Waste was waste, and he had no intention of leaving food untouched.
"Sorry about the bland taste," Syr said, clapping her hands together lightly. "Next time, I'll improve!"
Liam paused mid-bite.
Next time?
A warning bell rang somewhere deep in his mind.
But outwardly, he remained composed.
He simply nodded once like a cool, unaffected man.
Inside, however, he was already regretting everything.
"By the way, sir…" Syr asked, suddenly shy. "May I know your name?"
Liam paused mid-meal and set his fork down carefully.
"Liam," he said. "You may call me Liam."
Syr repeated it softly, as though testing the sound.
"Liam… Liam…"
Then her face lit up.
"Nice to meet you, Liam!"
Liam gave a small nod. "Nice to meet you too."
She placed a hand over her chest with theatrical sincerity.
"My name is Syr Flova. You can just call me Syr, Liam!"
"Alright then, Miss Syr," Liam replied evenly.
Syr's cheeks puffed at once.
"Drop the Miss. Just call me Syr."
Liam leaned back slightly, expression perfectly calm.
"Understood, Miss Syr."
Her pout deepened.
"Liaaam."
He took another bite of food as if nothing had happened.
Not far from their table, two figures were peeking from behind the kitchen door with all the subtlety of startled raccoons.
"Who is that guy-nya?" whispered a brown-haired catgirl, tail twitching with curiosity.
"Miss Syr's boyfriend perhaps-nya?" said another catgirl with a bobbed hairstyle, dressed in a white chef's uniform. She clasped her cheeks dramatically. "He's eating her cooking and everything-nya!"
The two exchanged scandalized looks and began whispering faster.
Neither noticed the towering shadow rising behind them.
Mama Mia folded her arms.
"So that's why the customers' food still isn't ready."
The two catgirls stiffened. Slowly, mechanically, they turned their heads upward.
Mama Mia smiled.
It was not a comforting smile.
"You two have time to gossip, but not to work?"
"Ah…"
"Uwah…"
Without another word, she seized each by the scruff of the neck and dragged them back toward the kitchen.
"Nyaaah! Forgive us!"
"We were gathering information-nya!"
"You can gather dishes instead!" Mama Mia roared.
Their cries echoed through the tavern.
At the table, Liam glanced toward the commotion, then back at Syr.
"…Normal workplace?" he asked.
Syr smiled sweetly.
"Completely normal."
Liam decided not to question it.
---------divide--------