IOC - 35

At this point, it felt less like magic and more like a divine revelation telling me to stop dreaming and just get back to simmering soup. 

A magic that couldn't summon money, couldn't make life easier, and only brought forth pointlessly practical items... 

"Well... it’s not like it's entirely useless, but..."

Setting utility aside, there was only one conclusion. There was definitely something going on with this inn. It wasn't just a "strange vibe", it was something that twisted the very logic of this world.

Come to think of it, there were more than a few suspicious points. The fact that the inn sat right on the border, and something I often forget, the fact that my eyes are golden.

Geoffrey’s strange behavior, the reason the inn was built on the border... everything was subtly connected. 

Amidst the growing suspicion, a thought flashed through my mind, and I whispered quietly, "…A handkerchief."

But this time, there was no reaction.

Beside me, Damian, who was busy pulling out tissues, tilted his head. "A handkerchief?"

"Just... you know, something with meaning attached to it."

Damian snorted at that. "Humans cling to such futile emotions."

"…Ahahaha."

I could only offer an awkward laugh in response. 

Right, emotions. The "futility" he spoke of somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. 

Damian probably assumed I was reminiscing about some tragic first love. It’s a common story, right? A girl with long straight hair handing over a handkerchief in school. Or, in this world's terms, a village girl offering one to a man as he departs.

But that’s only half right. 

It was a first love, yes. However, it wasn't a student or a woman, it was a man whose face I can't even remember clearly anymore.

"When was that again?"

I clenched my empty hand, tracing back through my memories. 

It was an exceptionally sorrowful day. I don't exactly remember why I was crying, sorrow is a daily occurrence for a poor orphan, but that day felt different. 

Was it the day I worked myself to the bone believing I could become a permanent employee, only to overhear that they "just use high school grads for cheap labor and fire them before the one-year mark"? Or was it the day my boss at a part-time job stole my wages and framed me as a thief?

Whatever it was, that day was my breaking point. 

Normally, I would have gone back to my tiny studio apartment and cried silently in the dark. That was the routine. I never had the luxury to let the world see my tears.

But strangely, not that day. In a back alley where the night air felt unusually damp despite the lack of rain, I sobbed until I couldn't catch my breath. Like someone desperately hoping to be heard, I couldn't hold it back.

Then, a man carrying a large sports bag, maybe an athlete, passed by. 

He paused for a moment and, without a word, reached out. At his fingertips was a small, white handkerchief. 

He didn't comfort me, nor did he try to soothe my hiccupping sobs. He didn't even ask, "Are you okay?" He just stood there for a moment, as if taking shelter from a passing shower, quietly offered it, and then turned away as if nothing had happened.

Isn't it strange? 

Usually, if someone is sobbing their heart out in front of you, you'd say at least one thing. But for him, it was just standing there in silence and offering a single handkerchief.

And yet, that solitary moment stayed with me for a long time. 

Perhaps that silence, that quiet waiting, was what I actually leaned on. Maybe that brief moment of just being there was warmer than any words of comfort or sympathetic gestures.

In any case, that might have been the first and last time in the world that someone looked at me without conditions. 

Since that day, that handkerchief was my only evidence of human kindness. The memory of someone helping me not for a motive, but simply as one human to another. And the memory of my tacky, cheap-sentiment first love for a man whose face I can't even recall.

But why wasn't that handkerchief summoned? 

It was definitely something I once owned. It was in the very back of my desk drawer, I used to take it out whenever I felt like crying. 

As I sat there clutching at the empty air, Damian spoke up lowly. "Is it finally over?"

"Huh? Oh...!"

I looked around and realized the room was overflowing with junk. In my haste to experiment with various things, the inn had turned into a literal pile of clutter.

"Gasp, the time...! I have to open for business!"

Reality hit me the moment the sentimentality faded. Whether this world is strange or the inn is magical, I am ultimately a gukbap shop owner. I have to open the doors, customers are waiting, and I have to make a living.

To be honest, failing at business is scarier than any mystical phenomenon. Just as people go to work even if the world is ending, humans eventually get used to their routines. In a world where people get treated for depression caused by work just so they can go back to work, I, a modern person, must do business despite being transmigrated. 

Everything eventually boils down to money.

"I wanted to look into it more..." I muttered. 

Damian turned his head. "Into what? That this inn is enchanted?"

"…Pardon?"

Damian slowly scanned the building. "I thought it was peculiar, but looking closely, I feel an energy similar to the magic that mage used."

I stood there with my mouth agape. I had been meaning to ask Geoffrey but hesitated because it felt too ominous, hearing Damian state it so definitively cleared my head. 

If that's the case, doesn't it mean this entire inn is a massive magic circle?

Damian wrinkled his nose and whispered, "It’s as if this inn is one giant.."

"Are you open?"

The sudden voice made me whip my head around. 

A customer was standing at the door. I reflexively grabbed my apron and shouted, "Yes! Be right there!"

Strange magic or secrets of the inn be damned, business had to continue today. Even if the world collapses, one must eat to live.

As I hurried out, I was relieved to see a familiar face. 

The customer was also heading for a subjugation and ordered a meal kit. As I packed the pre-portioned, frozen soup into the magic pouch he provided, he smiled and said, "I think I’ll find myself craving this soup even during the hunt."

"Is this subjugation going to be a long one?"

The customer shook his head and replied, "I heard the Empire has put in a lot of support. Monster hunters are flocking in from all over. Most of the young men have joined in, myself included. The village will be quiet for a while."

No wonder it's been so still lately. I was nodding along when I felt a strange presence beside me. I turned to see Damian standing there.

The customer panicked the moment he saw Damian, his hand reflexively flying to the hilt of his sword.

My heart skipped a beat. 

Could he see the horn? Or did he sense the monster's energy?

Unlike me, who was stiff with tension, Damian was composed. He stood with his broad shoulders squared, looking down at the customer as if he were the owner of the inn. When his red eyes narrowed slightly, the customer froze in place.

"…Is this person a guest?"

I reflexively waved my hands and forced a quick laugh. "Oh, no! Not a guest, he’s the part-timer. New help! I just hired him!"

"Ah, I see."

The customer scanned Damian once more. His height, his aura, and the sheer pressure radiating from him were so extraordinary that the customer's Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he spoke. "You certainly picked an odd time to hire someone, right when things are getting quiet. You have bad luck, Boss."

"Haha... well, that’s just how it goes."

I forced my lips into a smile, but the awkward atmosphere showed no signs of lifting. The customer, who usually would have cracked a joke like "I'll see if he's still here after the hunt," simply nodded in silence this time. 

He carefully set down the money, grabbed his soup, and hurried out.

Thud, 

With the sound of the door closing, the inn fell silent again.

"Phew..." 

The tension drained out of me in a rush, and I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. Damian tilted his head with feigned innocence and asked, "Part-timer?"

"Yes, well, these days they're rarer than gold. Or... is that interns? Anyway."

Damian’s eyebrow arched at my banter. Then, he smiled with a look of strange satisfaction. 

Well, at least I'm glad you're simple, I thought. But that thought was short-lived.

Ding~,  The door opened, and a familiar baritone echoed through the inn.

"Kid."

It was Gilbert. The same asymmetrical, scruffy beard and muscular build. 

But while he definitely called for me, his gaze was locked straight onto Damian.

"……"

"……"

"……?"

Both men were massive enough to be evenly matched, their mere presence made the air in the inn feel taut. It was so tense I felt awkward even breathing, the tension with the previous customer was child's play compared to this.

I mean, what's wrong with everyone suddenly? 

I looked back and forth between the two men, who were staring at each other in total silence, unsure of what to do. 

Then, without taking his eyes off Damian for even a second, Gilbert gestured toward me.

"Come here, Shion."

Using my name? That’s unlike him. I watched tentatively as his hand reached out to pull my arm toward him. But in that split second, Damian’s hand shot out and blocked Gilbert’s path.