My alarm goes off at 6:02 a.m.
I don’t even move at first.
I just grab my phone and check notifications like I’m bracing for impact.
No Code Red.
No breach alerts.
Just three messages:
.Rent due in 3 days
.Electric bill reminder
.“Final Notice” — Internet Provider
I stare at the screen.
Then I sit up.
“Are you kidding me.”
I scroll.
The rent went up again.
Again.
Because apparently living in a city where demon gates open twice a month means “high risk area surcharge.”
High risk.
I work at the strongest guild in the region.
I have helped evacuate civilians.
I have nearly died.
And my landlord is like:
“Yes, but inflation.”
“Inflation?” I mutter, rubbing my face. “You know what inflates? Gates. Gates inflate into my goddamn living room.”
I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Still intact.
No glowing cracks.
No portal forming.
Good.
“Imagine,” I mumble to myself, “a dungeon opens in my apartment and I still have to pay rent.”
Would that count as property damage?
Or “Act of God”?
And if it’s Act of God, which god?
Because I have questions.
I sit up again.
“If a horned centaur crashes through my bathroom, am I still responsible for the security deposit?”
This is bullshit.
Demons don’t pay taxes.
Hunters don’t get hazard discounts.
But my landlord gets to charge me “mana instability adjustments.”
I glare at the notification like it personally offended me.
“If a gate opens in the hallway, I am absolutely not paying this month's rent,” I mutter.
I pause.
Then sigh.
I absolutely will.
Because I’m not brave.
I’m just tired.
I swing my legs off the bed.
Tie my short brown hair into its low ponytail.
The right strand falls exactly where it wants to.
Two red clips on the left.
Four beauty marks.
Still here.
Still painfully ordinary.
Black suit.
White shirt.
Black tie.
Brown office shoes.
Guild staff.
The strongest guild in the region.
And I’m calculating whether I can afford groceries this week.
Amazing.
On my way out, I look at the emergency savings envelope.
Thin.
Uncomfortably thin.
One bad month.
One broken bone.
One unlucky day.
And I’m screwed.
I swallow.
“Don’t spiral.”
Too late.
The city outside looks calm.
Which I don’t trust.
Reinforced lamp posts.
Evacuation arrows.
Assembly zones painted on sidewalks.
People walking like it’s just Tuesday.
Humanity is disturbingly adaptable.
Or maybe we’re just in denial.
I grab coffee from the convenience store.
The cashier nods at me.
He used to be a Hunter.
Green scar on his wrist.
Quit after losing someone.
Now he scans barcodes instead of demons.
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Safer.
Unless a gate opens between the chips and the frozen aisle.
I check the ceiling before walking in.
Habit.
On the subway, a Hunter across from me swipes aggressively at empty air.
Tap.
Swipe.
Swipe.
His eyes flick left and right.
System interface.
I see nothing.
He looks like he’s fighting invisible flies.
The first time I saw someone level up, I screamed.
Green light exploded around them like they were being possessed by a glow stick.
Now it’s normal.
“Congrats on level 42.”
“Bro, stop dumping points into strength.”
I sip my coffee.
It tastes like impending financial doom.
When I get to the guild building, I badge in.
The doors slide open.
And immediately—
“Kaede.”
I don’t even have to look up.
Hifumi.
She’s already there.
Of course she is.
She stands up slightly from her desk.
She is taller than me by fifteen centimeters.
Which doesn’t sound like much until she reaches the top shelf without thinking.
I glare up at her.
“Why are you built like a respectable adult?”
She blinks.
“…What?”
“You just exist vertically and it’s offensive.”
She tilts her head.
“…Are you okay?”
“No.”
She reaches over me without asking and grabs a file from the shelf I can’t reach.
Of course she can reach it.
Of course she can.
She hands it to me gently.
“Good morning.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You don’t get to be calm and tall.”
She hesitates.
“…I can crouch if that helps.”
It doesn’t.
But it’s so painfully Hifumi that I almost laugh.
Almost.
Hifumi places the file on my desk carefully.
“Good morning,” she says again.
I rub my temples.
“You don’t get to be calm and tall at the same time.”
She pauses.
“…I can crouch.”
“I wasn’t serious.”
She hesitates.
Then actually bends her knees a little.
Just a little.
Like that somehow makes it better.
It doesn’t.
It makes it worse.
I let out a sharp breath.
“Stop. Just— stop.”
She straightens slowly.
Silence.
The monitors hum around us. Someone in accounting laughs faintly across the room. It’s too normal.
Too quiet.
And I realize I’m still wound tight from yesterday.
The paperwork.
The press calls.
The hospital transfers.
The smell of antiseptic in the hallway.
Shoji’s name on incident forms over and over again.
I grip the edge of my desk.
“…Sorry.”
Hifumi blinks.
“For what?”
I stare at the screen instead of her.
“For snapping.”
A beat.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
She doesn’t respond immediately, which makes it worse.
“I’m just tired,” I add quickly. “Yesterday was a mess and I didn’t sleep much and— I don’t know.”
The words tumble out too fast.
“I didn’t mean you.”
There it is.
That’s the real part.
I didn’t mean you.
Hifumi shifts slightly, and I finally glance up at her.
She looks… concerned.
Not hurt.
Just concerned.
“I know,” she says quietly.
And she means it.
That somehow makes my chest feel heavier.
She picks up another file from the stack — the one I can’t reach — and sets it down in front of me.
“Yesterday was hard,” she says.
I huff.
“That’s one word for it.”
She nods.
“But we’re still here.”
There it is again.
Her low bar optimism.
I roll my eyes.
“…You’re exhausting.”
“Mm.”
A pause.
Then:
“You look tired.”
I glare.
“You look tall.”
She almost smiles.
Almost.
And the tension loosens.
Not gone.
But loosened.
I turn back to my monitor.
“Next time,” I mutter, “let me rant about rent before you greet me.”
“…Okay.”
“And don’t crouch.”
“…Okay.”
Silence again.
Comfortable this time.
I don’t say thank you.
But I think it.
Later, I’m halfway through reviewing mana fluctuation logs when Hifumi suddenly stands.
I don’t look up.
“If that’s another top-shelf file, I swear—”
“It’s not.”
Her voice is quieter than usual.
I glance up.
She’s already grabbing her blazer.
“…What are you doing?”
“Five minutes.”
“What?”
“Outside.”
I blink.
“…Why?”
She hesitates, then gestures vaguely at me.
“You’re vibrating.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m working.”
“You’re aggressively working.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is today.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Then realize my leg has been bouncing under the desk hard enough to rattle the drawer.
I stop it immediately.
“…I’m fine.”
She tilts her head slightly.
Not judgmental.
Just… certain.
“It’s quiet right now,” she says. “No alerts. I checked.”
Of course she did.
“Five minutes,” she repeats. “Before something explodes.”
I sigh.
“This is stupid.”
“Probably.”
I glare at her.
She doesn’t move.
She just waits.
Which is worse.
“…Fine.”
Outside the guild building, the air is cooler than I expect.
The morning rush has thinned.
Hunters move in and out, gear clinking softly.
Civilians pass by without looking up.
It feels… almost peaceful.
I cross my arms.
“Now what.”
Hifumi stands beside me, hands in her pockets.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not helpful.”
She looks at the sky.
“I thought you might want to complain about rent without witnesses.”
I stare at her.
“…I can complain anywhere.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“But you don’t.”
Damn her.
I exhale slowly.
The words come easier outside.
“They raised it again,” I mutter.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“You were loud.”
“…Oh.”
Silence stretches.
Then it spills out.
“It’s ridiculous, Hifumi. We work in a city where portals to hell open in public infrastructure and they still charge us ‘structural instability fees.’ What instability? The instability is the sky tearing open.”
She nods.
“Yes.”
“And if a gate opens in my bathroom I still have to pay for water damage. Do demons pay rent? No. Do Hunters get hazard pay adjustments? Barely. But landlords?”
She makes a soft sound that might be agreement.
I drag a hand down my face.
“I’m just tired.”
“I know.”
I glance at her.
She’s not smiling.
She’s not teasing.
She’s just… standing there.
Present.
“You didn’t mean it,” she says quietly.
“What.”
“This morning.”
My jaw tightens.
“…I know.”
Another pause.
“You didn’t mean it either,” I add.
She blinks.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
That makes her frown slightly.
Then—
“…You’re shorter when you’re angry.”
I freeze.
“…What.”
“You curl in,” she explains awkwardly. “Like this.”
She demonstrates — slightly hunching her shoulders.
I stare at her in disbelief.
“Did you just posture-analyze me?”
She straightens quickly.
“…Sorry.”
I try not to laugh.
I fail.
It comes out as a half-snort, half-sigh.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
We stand there another minute.
No speeches.
No dramatic resolution.
Just air.
Just breathing.
My shoulders loosen without me noticing.
“Okay,” I mutter finally. “Five minutes are up.”
She nods.
“And next time,” I add, “don’t diagnose my posture.”
“…Okay.”
“And don’t crouch again.”
“…Okay.”
We head back inside.
Still tired.
Still underpaid.
Still ordinary.
But less sharp around the edges.
We’re halfway back to the guild entrance when Hifumi slows down.
Which is unusual.
She normally walks like she’s gently migrating.
“…Kaede?”
The tone is wrong.
Too careful.
I narrow my eyes.
“What.”
She looks at the ground.
Then at the building.
Then back at the ground.
“…Do you have plans after work?”
“Sleep. Maybe cry. Why.”
She nods like that makes sense.
“Okay.”
Silence.
We take three more steps.
“…Can I ask something.”
“You’re already asking something.”
“…Right.”
She inhales.
“…Can I get a ride home.”
I stop walking.
Slowly turn toward her.
“You take the subway.”
“Yes.”
“So take the subway.”
“I can’t.”
“Why.”
She gestures vaguely behind us.
“…The tunnels are closed.”
I blink.
Oh.
Right.
Liora vs Shoji.
High-impact spear throw.
Mana burst.
Collapsed reinforcement lines.
That subway.
“…Oh.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“You could take a bus.”
“I checked.”
“And?”
“…There aren’t any.”
I stare at her.
“…What did you do last night.”
She hesitates.
“…Stayed.”
“Stayed where.”
“…Here.”
My eyes narrow further.
“…Define here.”
“…My desk.”
“You slept at your desk.”
“Yes.”
“You—”
I physically reset my posture.
“You slept at your desk.”
She nods once.
Calm.
Like that’s normal.
“Security gave me a blanket.”
“Of course they did.”
“It was thin.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
She shifts slightly.
“I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“You’re six feet tall.”
“I’m not.”
“You feel like it.”
“…I’m 170 centimeters.”
“Exactly. That’s tall.”
She blinks.
“…Is it.”
I rub my face.
“You could have called me.”
“It was late.”
“I was awake.”
“Yes.”
“…Fair.”
I stare at her.
This absolute disaster of a responsible adult.
“You slept at your desk.”
“Yes.”
“Like a raccoon.”
“…What.”
“You look like you’d fold neatly into a drawer.”
“I wouldn’t fit.”
“You barely fit under doorframes.”
She glances up instinctively.
The guild entrance arch is, admittedly, not short.
“…I don’t hit them.”
“That’s not the point.”
She folds her hands behind her back awkwardly.
“…So.”
I sigh.
“You don’t even have a license, do you.”
“…No.”
“You’re twenty five.”
“…I am aware.”
“What if there’s an evacuation and you need to drive.”
“I would find someone.”
“You found a desk.”
“…Yes.”
I stare at her for a full five seconds.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t defend herself.
Doesn’t argue.
Just stands there, tall and mildly embarrassed.
“…Fine.”
Her posture shifts immediately.
Relief.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“…Thank you.”
“But if you ever sleep at your desk again instead of calling me, I will personally report you to HR.”
“…We are HR.”
“Then I’ll file paperwork.”
“…Okay.”
We walk inside.
And for the first time this morning, I’m not spiraling.
Because apparently my life now includes:
Demons.
Rent.
Rogue Hunters.
And chauffeuring a tall woman who cannot operate a vehicle.
Normal is a strong word.
