Darkness is the only constant in the Underworld. In a realm where the sky is a ceiling of jagged rock and the sun is a distant myth, time is measured only by the rhythmic ticking of pocket watches and the slow dimming of streetlamps.
It was late—profoundly late. Kenta could tell by the heavy silence that had settled over the cobblestones of Boulder Town and the way the amber glow in the windows had vanished, leaving only the cold, blue flicker of Geomarrow lamps.
He walked side-by-side with Seele, their footsteps falling into a synchronized rhythm. There was no need for words; the air between them was comfortable, if a bit heavy with the shared exhaustion of the day. But in the Underworld, stillness often felt like desolation.
"Hey, why are you so quiet today?"
Seele's voice cut through the silence, her patience finally fraying. She didn't do well with quiet; it gave her too much time to think.
"Shh!"
Kenta snapped a finger to his lips, his eyes widening with sudden, intense focus. He slowed his pace, his expression so grave one might have thought he was disarming a ticking bomb.
"???" Seele stopped, her hand drifting toward the hilt of her scythe. Her pulse quickened. "What is it? Is there an ambush? Vagrants?"
She leaned in close, peering into the shadows ahead, her body tensed for a fight. Kenta didn't look at her. He kept his eyes locked on the ground and whispered with terrifying sincerity:
"I can't step on the white paving stones. If I do, I die."
"..."
Seele stood frozen for a beat, then slowly pressed a hand to her forehead, letting out a long, ragged sigh. "What was I even worrying about?"
She looked at him—this elite former captain, this dangerous pyromancer—and saw a man currently playing a high-stakes game of 'the floor is lava' in the middle of a literal war zone. "You are impossibly childish. Walk properly!"
She delivered a sharp, albeit light, kick to his backside. The impact sent Kenta stumbling directly onto a glaringly white stone.
"..."
Kenta stared down at his right foot, feeling the spiritual weight of his "death." He looked at Seele, then down at her boots, his mind spiraling into a dark, petty revenge fantasy involving taking off her shoes and subjecting her to an "epic lung blast" of cold air.
Stop! Brain, cease fire! Kenta commanded himself. Taking on Seele's shins was a one-way ticket to the clinic. Sigh. I should just go bother Clara instead. Wait, Clara goes barefoot. No tactical advantage there.
Before his wandering thoughts could land him in further trouble, they arrived at the clinic. A faint, flickering light spilled from the window, casting long shadows across the dirt path.
"She's still at it," Kenta murmured, his voice softening. "Natasha doesn't know the meaning of a closing time, does she?"
Seele's gaze shadowed. "She doesn't have a choice. Between the mining accidents and the vagrant raids, the clinic is the only thing keeping this town from collapsing. She's the only doctor we've got."
"It's fine," Kenta said, shifting the heavy backpack on his shoulders. He flashed Seele a confident, roguish grin. "I brought back enough medical supplies to stock a small army. Natasha can actually afford to sleep tonight."
He said it lightly, as if smuggling high-grade Overworld medicine through monster-infested rifts was a casual afternoon stroll. For a man with his connections and "borrowed" wealth, it practically was.
But Seele saw it differently. She looked at his casual demeanor and felt a sharp, uncharacteristic pang in her chest. She assumed his nonchalance was a mask for the immense risk and cost he must have endured.
"Thank you," she said, her voice unusually small and devoid of its usual bite. "Getting all this... it must have cost you everything."
"Not really?" Kenta said, genuinely confused. "I got most of it at cost. One of the perks of being a 'friend' of the Landau family. It was actually quite cheap."
Fool, Seele thought, her heart aching with a mixture of frustration and admiration. I might be illiterate, but I'm not stupid. In her mind, Kenta was playing the martyr, lying about the price so the Underworld wouldn't feel the crushing weight of the debt.
They didn't linger. Kenta gave the door a rhythmic rap before pushing it open.
Inside, the scent of antiseptic and herbs was thick. Natasha was hunched over her desk, a pen scratching tirelessly against a case file. Her teal hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and even in the dim light, the dark circles under her eyes spoke of a week without rest. Despite her fatigue, she exuded a calm, maternal authority.
She looked up, and a weary but beautiful smile transformed her face. "Kenta. You're back. I was beginning to think the Fragmentum had finally decided to keep you... and Seele, I told you he'd be fine. There was no need to camp out in Rivet Town every night."
Seele's face turned the color of a supernova. "I wasn't camping! I was... patrolling! It was a tactical sweep! A coincidence!"
Kenta didn't say a word, but his smirk was lethal. He knew exactly what "patrolling" meant. He'd been fountain-camped by Seele enough times to recognize a stakeout when he saw one.
He walked over and dropped the backpack onto the desk with a heavy thud. Natasha's eyes widened as she peeked inside. The sheer volume of sterile bandages, antibiotics, and surgical tools was staggering.
"Kenta... I don't even know what to say." Her voice was thick with emotion.
"Don't say anything. We're buddies," Kenta shrugged. "And seriously, it didn't cost much."
Natasha sighed, reaching out to pat his hand. "It's okay, Kenta. Seele told me that the 'savings' under your floorboards have mysteriously vanished. I know you're trying to be humble, but please, be honest with us."
Kenta's smile vanished. "..."
The logic was flawed, but the conclusion was ironclad. He was trapped in a web of his own perceived heroism. Then, the realization hit him.
"Wait a minute. My floorboards? That was my private stash! How does the entire Underworld know where I hide my emergency credits?"
He whipped his head toward Seele. She suddenly found a very interesting crack in the ceiling to study.
"Stare—"
"What!" Seele snapped, finally cracking under his gaze. "Your hiding skills are pathetic! I stepped on that floorboard once and it sounded like a hollow drum! It was practically an invitation!"
Kenta's stomach did a slow somersault. "Um... did you see... anything else? Aside from the credits?"
His tone was cautious, laced with a sudden, desperate awkwardness.
"What else would there—" Seele stopped. Her mind flashed back to a very specific, very glossy pictorial magazine she had found tucked behind the credits—one featuring "Upper District Fashion" that was significantly more "revealing" than the local attire.
Her blush returned with a vengeance, turning her ears a vivid scarlet.
"Um... Seele?" Kenta asked, his voice trembling.
"..."
"Ahhh! Disappear among the sea of butterflies! Illusions of the past!" Seele screamed, her scythe manifesting in a flash of purple light as she used her ultimate just to teleport out of the room at mach speed.
An hour later, back in her own quarters, Seele stood in front of a cracked mirror. She lifted the hem of her shorts, scrutinizing her reflection and comparing her long, toned legs to the mental image of the woman on that magazine cover.
"My legs are clearly better," she muttered to the empty room, her face still burning. "That idiot."