End of the Day.

Steven eyed the bounty board, his D-rank instincts craving action but his practical side nudging him toward quick wins. With daylight slipping, he snagged three F-rank quests—Lost Ledger, Rat Sweep, and Stray Dog Tag—child’s play for his Saiyan Fury and a fast 55 copper to pad his 3 gold, 6 silver, and 1 copper. He tore the parchments free, pocketing them, and set off, his bag swaying with the Dragon Egg still nestled in slot 1.

First, the Lost Ledger. He beelined for the tavern alley, a narrow stink-hole of spilled ale and fish guts near the docks. His golden night vision wasn’t needed—the late sun still lit the grime—but his sharp eyes caught a glint: the ledger, a damp, leather-bound book, dangling on a rusted pipe feeding into the sewers. He plucked it free, water dripping from its edges, the merchant’s scrawled numbers still legible despite the soak. “Easy,” he muttered, slipping it into his 5-slot bag—slot 2, glowing 2/5 alongside the egg.

Next, the Rat Sweep. The baker’s cellar was a dank pit beneath a shop wafting yeast and flour. Ten rats skittered in the shadows, red eyes glinting—pathetic prey. Steven didn’t bother with magic; his boots were weapon enough. He stomped hard, raw power crunching skulls—splat, splat—five down in seconds, guts smearing the stone. A few scurried into crevices, tails vanishing. Smirking, he cast Mind-Dominion—“Get out here, you little shits.” Their minds, simple and weak, bent; they crawled from hiding, dazed, and he crushed them—thud, thud—ten dead, no sweat, no glow.

Finally, the Stray Dog Tag. The docks buzzed with evening bustle—fishermen hauling nets, gulls screeching—but Steven prowled the edges, scanning for the pup. Near a stack of crates, a scruffy mutt yapped, its tagged collar glinting. It darted, tail wagging, thinking it a game. Steven crouched, voice calm. “C’mere, buddy—home time.” It hesitated, then bolted—he sighed, casting Mind-Dominion again: “Come to me.” Its eyes flashed gold, and it trotted over, nuzzling his hand. He scooped it up, slinging it over his good shoulder—quest three, done.

Three parchments, three wins—child’s play, as predicted. Steven headed back to the guild, the ledger, dead rats, and tagged dog his tickets to 55 copper, his D-rank fists barely breaking a sweat.

Steven strode back into the guild hall, the evening’s shadows stretching long across the floorboards. His three F-rank quests—Lost Ledger, Rat Sweep, and Stray Dog Tag—were in the bag, literally and figuratively. He approached Sophy at the desk, her familiar curves framed by the lantern light. “Got these done,” he said, sliding the soggy ledger and the quest parchments across. She checked his bronze D-rank card in the machine, nodding as it hummed. “Ledger’s back, rats’re dead, pup’s home—55 copper, clean work,” she said, fetching a small stack of coins from the back. He pocketed them, his stash ticking up: 3 gold, 6 silver, 56 copper—easy wins stacking his fortune.

As he turned, luck struck—Melissa sauntered in, her silver hair catching the glow, her new curves testing her ill-fitting tunic. “Hey, Stevey,” she purred, her voice playful, a soulbound flirt dialed up by his tweak. He grinned, nodding toward the dining hall. “Dinner?” She looped her arm through his, and they strolled in. He slapped 2 copper on the counter—his treat again—and the chef plated up a meal fit for their appetites. Fried Mistfin Cod hit the table—golden, crispy fillets, flaky and tender inside, dredged in a spiced crumb that crackled with each bite. On the side: Ashroot Mash, a creamy heap swirled with butter and flecked with smoky herbs, and Seaflame Beans, plump green pods sautéed in a tangy, peppery glaze that zinged the tongue. They dug in, the cod’s crunch blending with the mash’s warmth, the beans popping with flavor.

Over mouthfuls, Melissa chattered, her day spilling out. “Filed papers all afternoon at the tower—stacks of ‘em, including yours! That dark-vision trick’s in the collections now, Stevey—Rebecca’s thrilled, says it’ll sell tomes like mad once they print ‘em.” She giggled, spearing a bean. “Dusty work, but I’m halfway to my new clothes’ coin.” Steven smirked, chewing. “Good hustle—my cave run’s got me set for a bit.” They traded bites and banter, her flirty edge sparking as she leaned close, brushing his arm.

Dinner done, they ambled to the barracks hall. He paid the guard 1 copper for his room—3 gold, 6 silver, 55 copper left—and Melissa followed, her presence a given now. The door clicked shut behind them, the night theirs once more.