Dominic didn't argue.
He didn't suggest.
He declared.
"I'll handle the paperwork. I'll handle the French coordination. I'll handle the guild noise."
Then he shoved Phong by the shoulders toward the sidewalk.
"You go."
"Go where?"
"Be human."
It wasn't gentle.
But it was affectionate.
"You need to show your face," Dominic added. "Future in-laws first. Then your coffee cult leader."
Phong glanced at Alex.
She smiled.
They had already decided.
Serious.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
They would wait.
Let themselves settle fully into each other's rhythm.
And Phong had insisted, stubborn as ever, that he wanted to hold her hand in a wedding hall without something rotten festering in his chest.
He wanted revenge resolved.
Not festering.
Not haunting.
Alex had not fought him on it.
She understood.
So they went to the Vogels first.
---
The bakery door chimed warmly as they entered.
The smell of butter and sugar wrapped around them like a blanket.
Mama Vogel looked up from the counter.
She saw Alex.
Then Phong.
Then Little Fireball peeking from a secure pouch.
She melted instantly.
"Oh my God."
The chick chirped.
Mama Vogel came around the counter at once.
"Is this the baby?"
"Yes," Alex said proudly. "Little Fireball."
Mama Vogel cupped it in both hands like fragile porcelain.
Her expression softened to dangerous levels.
Papa Vogel stepped out from the back with flour on his forearms.
He took in the scene.
"Chicken?"
"Several," Phong said.
Papa Vogel grinned.
"You start small farm."
"In dungeon."
Papa Vogel blinked.
"…Of course."
He clapped Phong on the shoulder hard.
"I make beer now."
"You what."
"Craft. Small batch. Better than anything in this city."
He waved dismissively toward Manhattan.
"These Americans think IPA is personality."
Alex rolled her eyes.
"Papa."
He leaned closer to Phong, suddenly conspiratorial.
"I show you later."
Then he squinted at Phong's head.
"You need haircut."
Phong touched his hair on instinct.
"It's not that bad."
"It's weeds."
Alex snorted.
Papa Vogel pulled clippers from a drawer like a man who had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Sit."
Phong sat.
He expected chaos.
Instead, he got precision.
A steady hand.
Clean lines.
Confident movements.
Papa Vogel worked like he had done this a hundred times.
"You cut hair before?" Phong asked.
"Three brothers," Papa Vogel said. "One mirror. No money."
Fair.
Twenty minutes later, Phong looked… sharper.
Cleaner.
Less dungeon hermit.
Papa Vogel stepped back, proud.
"Farmer. Not forest creature."
Mama Vogel handed Little Fireball back with clear reluctance.
"She's precious."
That settled it.
This time, Phong cooked.
In their kitchen.
For them.
He had been practicing.
German salted pork trotter.
Gepökelte Haxe.
Mama Vogel had taught him the technique weeks ago.
Now he turned it into something else.
Giả cầy.
Vietnamese fake dog.
Galangal.
Fermented rice.
Shrimp paste.
Lemongrass.
Charred skin sliced and stewed into deep, rich fragrance.
The kitchen filled with sharp, pungent scent.
Mama Vogel stopped mid-step.
"…What is that smell."
Alex coughed lightly.
"I don't hate it."
"You inherited weakness from your mama," Papa Vogel declared.
He leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply.
"Good."
Mama Vogel glared at him.
"You survived on Surströmming three days a week and think you can judge us."
Phong paused.
"Surströmming?"
Fermented herring.
The infamous kind.
Papa Vogel coughed loudly.
"Youthful adventurous spirit."
Mama Vogel crossed her arms.
"You were trying to flirt with the factory owner's daughter."
Papa Vogel's ears turned a little red.
"It worked."
Mama Vogel fired back at once.
"You only survived because you had no sense of smell."
Papa Vogel puffed out his chest.
"Now I already have her. She is Mario to my Luigi."
Silence.
Then everyone burst into laughter.
Alex leaned against Phong's shoulder.
"You mixed them up on purpose."
Papa Vogel shrugged proudly.
"I modern."
Mama Vogel shook her head, fond and resigned.
Lunch turned loud, warm, and easy.
The giả cầy impressed Papa Vogel deeply.
"The crunch," he said, nodding. "Good transformation."
Mama Vogel still waved a hand near her nose every so often.
"You're all feral."
Alex grinned.
"I learned from you."
Little Fireball chirped indignantly from a small bread basket.
"Should've called her Angry Bird."
"What? Your plants aren't enough defense for you? Need a slingshot?"
---
Later, they walked to Hà Nội Corner.
Long saw them before they even stepped fully inside.
He pretended not to notice.
Failed badly.
"You two look suspiciously coordinated."
Dominic had clearly already told him everything.
Long set down two salt foam coffees without asking.
"On the house."
Phong started to protest.
Long raised a hand.
"Don't."
He studied Phong's haircut.
"Good. Less wild."
Papa Vogel's influence was spreading.
Long leaned in a little.
"You're building something," he said quietly.
Not a question.
"Yes."
"Keep it small."
Phong nodded once.
Long had been the first.
The first to say:
Not everyone is like those bastards. Find people like us.
The first to offer him a free drink without pity.
The first to push him outward instead of letting him rot inward.
Unofficial adoptive father.
Long didn't ask about lizardmen.
Didn't ask about troll treaties.
Didn't ask about Les Cornes de la Terre.
He didn't need details.
He only needed to see Phong standing straighter.
Hair trimmed.
Eyes clearer.
Alex beside him.
That was enough.
As they sat there, coffee warm, city humming, Little Fireball asleep in Alex's lap, Phong felt something rare.
Lightness.
Not because revenge was done.
It wasn't.
Not because the dungeon was safe.
It wasn't.
But because he had roots above ground now too.
The Vogels.
Long.
A community outside the chili perimeter.
He glanced at Alex.
She smiled.
"Worth the trip?"
"Yes."
He meant more than groceries.
Even with the minefield they were crossing to get the French girls their short-term visas.
Even with the idea that another floor boss might simply walk up to Floor One if it felt like it.
For a few hours, Phong let himself be only a young man drinking coffee with his future partner and an unofficial adoptive father.
And that felt powerful in a different way.
---
Long had been patient.
Too patient.
He set Phong's salt foam coffee down with unnecessary force.
"I am fed up."
Phong blinked.
"With what."
"You."
Alex looked delighted instantly.
Long pointed dramatically at Phong's outfit.
"Same jacket. Different T-shirt. Same jeans. Every day. What is this, cartoon logic? One skin forever?"
Phong looked down.
…He wasn't wrong.
"It's practical."
"It's depressing," Long snapped.
Alex covered her smile with her cup.
Long turned to her with full conspiratorial seriousness.
"Take him."
"Where?" Alex asked, already knowing.
"Mall."
Phong's soul briefly left his body.
"I'm fine."
"You are not fine. You dress like an NPC from a 90s Dragon Quest," Long said flatly. "You are future husband material now. Dress like it."
Alex stood and grabbed his hand before he could protest further.
"Come on, farm boy."
Rico rode on Phong's shoulder, judging pedestrians like a city critic.
Bruno trotted proudly.
Nyx walked with calm, queenly grace.
Little Fireball peeked from a small ventilated carrier.
The mall doors slid open.
Bright lights.
Music.
Discount signs.
Normal life.
It felt absurd after negotiating with lizardman architects.
Phong instantly felt out of place.
Alex did not.
She moved through it with relaxed confidence.
"New jacket," she declared.
"Why."
"Because this one smells faintly like dungeon."
"It's durable."
"So are prison uniforms."
"I'm going to get dirt on it anyway. I work in the field."
"That is not a real reason not to get anything nice. Stop talking like an actual mudskipper."
"But—"
"Do it for me, then."
He sighed.
People always said not to change yourself for someone else.
His uncle had never believed that.
For the right person, you changed gladly.
Sometimes it was even easier to break old habits for them.
Dominic had quit smoking.
His uncle had learned hair care for his aunt.
And now Phong was about to retire his NPC wardrobe for Alex.
They moved through the racks.
Casual wear.
Smart casual.
Actual tailored shirts.
Alex held up a fitted navy coat against him.
"…You clean up well."
He stared at the mirror.
Different.
Sharper.
Less wandering trader.
More like someone with roots.
Rico nodded solemnly.
"Upgrade accepted."
They laughed.
Of course the animals drew attention.
Phones lifted discreetly.
Whispers followed.
But New York had built up a tolerance for weird.
A talking raccoon still ranked below subway delays.
After two bags of clothes, Phong felt oddly lighter.
Not because of fabric.
Because Alex's hand had not left his once.
They grabbed quick food and sat for a bit.
Normal-couple energy.
Then Phong made a decision.
"Let's visit Alexei."
Alex raised a brow.
"Chicken professor?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Dominic's team needs another frontliner."
She thought it over.
Paladin.
Half Russian, half Cuban.
Obsessed with chicken survival in the dungeon.
Failed.
But not incompetent.
Just mismatched.
Paladin was one of the best common classes for anyone who wanted to climb the leaderboard.
More welcome in a team than many rare classes.
If your goal was to build a chicken coop inside a dungeon, though, it was a nightmare.
They found Alexei in a warehouse turned makeshift farm lab.
Heat lamps.
Incubators.
Whiteboards covered in breeding charts.
He looked exhausted.
But the second he saw Phong, he straightened.
"Farmer!"
His eyes scanned on instinct.
Evaluating.
Calculating.
Then Little Fireball chose the worst possible moment to poke her head out of the carrier.
A soft chirp.
Alexei froze.
"…What."
He stepped closer slowly.
"Hold."
He circled her.
Did not touch.
His eyes went wide.
"Coloration unstable."
"She's a chick," Phong said dryly.
"No," Alexei whispered, almost reverent. "No, no, no…"
He crouched.
"Thermal radiance in feather tips. Mana conductivity."
Alex groaned softly.
"Oh no."
Alexei stood up so fast he nearly knocked over a stool.
"I require feather sample."
"No."
He raised one hand dramatically.
"I swear. No leak. No publication. No DNA registry submission."
Phong narrowed his eyes.
"You were ranting about industrial poultry sabotage the last time we met."
"That is different."
"How."
"This is apex-lineage potential."
He started pacing like a man on the edge of revelation.
"This one shows passive mana resonance. If grown properly—"
"Stop," Phong cut in.
Alex inhaled sharply.
Then she stepped forward.
"You want a deal?"
Alexei blinked.
"…Like what?"
"You join Dominic's team. And not one word about Little Fireball reaches the public. Or they'll find a half-Russian man very dead somewhere in the dungeon."
Her killing intent flared hard and sharp, like a mother bear over a cub.
That startled Phong for a moment.
Then he understood.
The cub Alex was protecting wasn't just Little Fireball.
It was Camp Stymphalian.
It was the plants.
It was him.
Alexei held up both hands.
"I remember Dominic's team already having two tanks."
"Wasn't enough. And a paladin fits any team."
Dominic was close to Level 30, but Judgenaut alone was not cutting it anymore. Not with elite mobs showing up on Floor Two as often as they were now.
Stone Warden leaned more into terrain control than direct frontline defense. It had nearly gone bad for them in the vertical ruin.
And Paladin?
That class was a Swiss army knife.
It fit everywhere.
Frontline anchor.
Half-attacker.
Support through aura.
Well-rounded.
"And if I swear not to leak the data…"
"Then you get the feather," Alex said slowly, clearly. "And you won't need to worry about being on the wrong end of my blade."
"I swear."
"Not to guild."
"No."
"Not to corporate."
"No."
"Not online."
"I prefer living."
Honest.
Alexei understood power structures.
He was not naive.
He knew what happened to disruptive information.
He knew he was more Phong than Olen.
And he knew he would rather not paint a target on his back by betraying an angry Mind Blade.
He leaned in slightly.
"Single feather. Naturally shed. Not plucked."
Little Fireball chirped, offended.
Phong hesitated.
Risk check.
One feather.
Not blood.
Not registry.
Alexei valued survival too much to get reckless.
Dominic would benefit.
Floor Two would get safer.
He looked at Alex.
She nodded once.
"Controlled risk."
Phong crouched gently.
Little Fireball wiggled.
A small down feather loosened near her wing.
He waited.
Did not pluck.
After a moment, it slipped free into his hand on its own.
He held it out.
Alexei took it like a holy relic.
Reverent.
Afraid.
Thrilled.
"I will not betray this trust."
"You better not," Alex said calmly. "Paladin won't save you."
Alexei swallowed.
That sealed it.
Firm handshake.
No paper.
Just word.
They left the warehouse.
Phong glanced back once, at the feather now gone.
He felt oddly calm.
Dominic would get reinforcement.
Alexei would get purpose.
Little Fireball remained blissfully unaware that she had just changed a team's lineup.
Rico looked impressed.
"The farmer put points in Charisma now?"
"Don't get used to it," Phong muttered.
As they walked back toward the subway entrance, bags of new clothes in hand, future paladin secured, feather sample surrendered, Phong noticed something subtle.
He wasn't reacting anymore.
He was positioning.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Not leveling.
Not chasing floor bosses.
But shaping the board.
And in a dungeon ruled by apex monsters, that kind of farming might matter more than EXP.