Danmachi: Exception

Cyrus moved through Orario's streets, letting his steps fall into the city's rhythm. Shop owners called their wares. Merchants haggled over prices. Children darted between market stalls. Each voice, each footstep, each clatter of cart wheels added to the symphony.

Watch their rhythms, Quet had said. He saw it now - how the crowd flowed like water around obstacles, how conversations rose and fell in patterns.

A group of women stopped mid-conversation as he passed. Their eyes tracked him, heads turning in unison. He kept walking.

More stares followed. A merchant dropped her coins. Two elves whispered behind delicate hands. A cat-girl almost walked into a wall.

The basket still smelled of spice. He should return it to the inn, but...

The Guild tower rose ahead, stark white against the blue sky. As good a place as any to start.

The lobby stretched wide, all polished marble and vaulted ceilings. Counters lined one wall, staffed by advisors helping adventurers. A separate area held exchange windows for trading monster crystals.

He approached the main desk. The clerk, a young human woman, looked up from her paperwork.

"Welcome to the-" Her voice caught. Pink crept into her cheeks.

"I need to register," Cyrus said.

"O-of course!" She fumbled with her papers. "Let me get... I mean, I should... One moment!"

She practically ran to the back office. Cyrus waited, studying the portraits on the walls. Famous adventurers, he guessed. Each one carried themselves differently - some proud, some fierce, some...

"Ahem."

A werewolf woman stood behind the counter. Golden eyes met his steadily, professional mask firmly in place. Her red hair was tied back neatly, Guild uniform crisp despite the early hour.

"I'm Rose Fannett," she said. "I'll be handling your registration."

"Cyrus Valentine."

"This way, please."

She led him to a small meeting room, closing the door firmly. A table separated two chairs, papers laid out precisely.

"Before we begin," Rose said, "I need to confirm - you're not currently part of any Familia?"

"No."

"Good. That simplifies things." She settled into her chair. "Now, there are several forms we need to complete. First-"

The door burst open. Another advisor stuck her head in.

"Rose! I need to borrow your- oh!" She stared at Cyrus. "I didn't realize you were... I mean... I'll come back later!"

The door slammed. Rose's ear twitched.

"As I was saying," she continued smoothly. "We'll start with basic information."

Name. Age. Race - seemed simple enough. Place of origin...

"I don't remember," he said.

Her pen paused. "Amnesia?"

"Something like that."

She made a note. "We'll put 'undisclosed' for now. Next-"

Another knock. Rose's tail bristled.

"Come in," she called, voice tight.

A different advisor entered. "Sorry to interrupt, but-"

"But nothing." Rose's smile showed teeth. "I'm with a client."

"Right! Of course! So sorry!"

The door closed again. Rose muttered something under her breath.

"Is it always like this?" Cyrus asked.

"No." She straightened her papers. "Moving on. Combat experience?"

"Yes."

"Could you be more specific?"

He thought about the morning's training. About muscle memory he couldn't explain.

"Multiple disciplines," he said. "Mainly unarmed combat."

She nodded, writing. "Weapon proficiency?"

"Unknown."

Her eyebrow rose. "Unknown?"

"Haven't tested it yet."

"I... see." More notes. "Well, we can-"

The door opened again.

"Out!" Rose snapped. The intruder fled.

She pinched her nose, took a deep breath. "My apologies. This is highly irregular."

"The interruptions?"

"All of it." She gestured at the door. "Usually we get newly arrived farmhands or merchant's sons. Not..."

"Not?"

Her ears twitched again. "Someone with your... presence."

"Ah."

"Indeed." She shuffled papers. "Now, about your planned activities-"

A knock.

Rose stood. "Excuse me one moment."

She opened the door, stepped out. Voices filtered through:

"But I just need-"

"No."

"If you could-"

"No."

"Maybe later-"

"Get. Back. To. Work."

She returned, closing the door with exaggerated care. "Where were we?"

"Planned activities."

"Right." She sat. "Most new adventurers start in the upper floors. Given your apparent experience..."

"I'll still start there."

"Good answer." She made another note. "Too many rush in, thinking they're special. They usually die."

"Usually?"

"Always." She met his eyes. "The dungeon doesn't care about experience or talent. It kills the overconfident first."

"Speaking from observation?"

"Speaking as someone who's written too many death reports." She tapped her pen. "I don't want to write yours."

"I'll be careful."

"See that you are." She pulled out a new form. "Now, about supporter options..."

They worked through the paperwork methodically. Rose kept things professional despite four more interruptions. By the third, she'd started locking the door.

"Almost done," she said finally. "Just need to assign you an advisor."

"I assumed that would be you."

"I..." Her ears twitched. "That would be... appropriate. Given your unique situation."

"But?"

"But nothing." She wrote something. "I'll be your advisor. We'll need to schedule regular meetings to track your progress."

"How regular?"

"Weekly at first. More often if needed." She stamped the final paper. "I have an opening tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?"

"Unless that's too soon?"

He thought about Quet's words. Life teaches best lessons.

"Tomorrow works."

"Good." She gathered the forms. "Dawn?"

"Dawn."

She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Welcome to Orario, Mr. Valentine. Try not to die."

"Is that the official Guild greeting?"

"No." Her lips twitched. "But it should be."

She opened the door. Three advisors stumbled back from where they'd been listening.

Rose's growl sent them scattering.

"This way," she said, voice perfectly pleasant. "I'll show you out."

The lobby had filled while they worked. Conversations stopped as they passed. Rose's tail twitched with each new silence.

"Ignore them," she said quietly.

"I am."

"Good." They reached the entrance. "Dawn tomorrow. Don't be late."

He nodded, stepping into the sunlight. Behind him, he heard:

"Rose! Was that-"

"Back. To. Work."

The city's rhythm welcomed him back. Different now - more voices, more movement, more...

His stomach growled. The morning's training caught up suddenly.

Maybe visit the Hostess of Fertility, Quet had said. Good food. Better company.

He looked down at himself. Still wearing the clothes Mya brought, now soaked with dried sweat.

The inn first. Then food.

A woman walked into a lamppost while staring at him.

Definitely the inn first.

Marcus looked up as he entered. "Still alive then."

"Surprised?"

"A bit." The innkeeper jerked his thumb upstairs. "Bath's ready."

"I didn't-"

"Mya did." Marcus went back to his ledger. "Said you'd need it after training."

"She's observant."

"She's a pain in my tail." But his whiskers twitched. "Go clean up. Food after."

The bath helped. Hot water soothed muscles he hadn't realized were sore. Fresh clothes waited outside the door - another gift from Mya.

Pay it forward, she'd said. He was starting to understand why Quet used this inn.

Clean, dressed, he headed for the common room. Marcus stopped him at the stairs.

"Word of advice?"

Cyrus waited.

"Use the back exit." Marcus pointed. "Main street's... busy."

A glance through the window showed why. A small crowd had gathered, mostly young women. Some held flowers.

"How the-"

"Word spreads." Marcus shrugged. "Especially about newcomers who catch a goddess's eye."

"Wonderful."

"Back door's through the kitchen." The innkeeper's whiskers twitched again. "Try not to break too many hearts."

The back exit opened into a narrow alley. Cyrus oriented himself, picking out landmarks above the rooftops.

The Hostess of Fertility, Quet had said. But first...

He reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar weight of a coin. An old habit, though he couldn't remember why.

Heads: follow the main streets. Tails: take the back alleys.

The coin spun, catching sunlight. Landed.

Tails.

The alley opened into a maze of side streets. Less crowded than the main roads, but not empty. Merchants used these paths too, moving goods between markets.

He let his feet find their own rhythm, turning when it felt right. The city's pulse beat differently here - quieter, but no less alive.

A cat-girl's voice drifted past: "I'm telling you, he was gorgeous! Like a god but better!"

He turned down a different street.

More voices ahead: "Did you see his eyes? They were-"

Another turn.

"A goddess herself was training-"

Left this time.

"They say he saved-"

Right.

Finally, blessed quiet. He'd circled around, ending up...

Exactly where I meant to go, he told himself firmly.

The Hostess of Fertility stood proud against the afternoon sky. Two stories of solid stone and stained glass. The sign creaked gently in the breeze.

Good food. Better company.

He pushed open the door.

The lunch crowd filled most tables. Conversations mingled with the clatter of plates and mugs. Waitresses in green dresses wove between customers with practiced grace.

A blonde elf approached. "Welcome to the Hostess of- oh!"

She recovered quickly, professional mask sliding into place. "Table for one?"

"Please."

"This way."

She led him to a corner table. Other waitresses paused in their rounds, watching. A cat-girl nearly dropped her tray.

"Syr will be your server," the elf said. "Please enjoy your meal."

She left with the same grace she'd arrived with. A grey-haired girl appeared moments later.

"Welcome to the Hostess of Fertility," she said. "I'm Syr. What can I get you?"

"Recommendations?"

"Depends what you're looking for." She leaned in slightly. "Food? Drink? Company?"

"Just food for now."

"Pity." She winked. "The house special then. You'll need it after training with the goddess."

He didn't ask how she knew.

"Wine?"

"Water."

"Boring but sensible." She straightened. "I'll be right back."

The room's rhythm shifted as she left. Conversations turned to whispers. Eyes darted his way then quickly away.

Watch their rhythms, Quet had said. He saw the patterns now - how the waitresses moved in coordinated paths, how regulars knew exactly when to lift their mugs as servers passed.

And underneath it all, something else. A current of... potential. Like the air before a storm.

Syr returned with water. "Food will be ready soon. Sure I can't interest you in something stronger?"

"Water's fine."

"If you say so." That secret smile again. "Let me know if you change your mind. About anything."

She left. A cat-girl with brown hair took her place almost immediately.

"Hi!" Her tail swished. "I'm Anya! Are you really the one who-"

A hand grabbed her collar. The blonde elf from before.

"Tables three and four need clearing," she said firmly.

"But Ryuu-"

"Now."

Anya pouted but went. Ryuu nodded to Cyrus, expression neutral, and followed.

The food arrived before anyone else could approach. Steam rose from a bowl of thick stew. Fresh bread on the side.

"Mama Mia's special recipe," Syr said, setting it down. "Good for replacing energy after... strenuous activities."

He ignored the suggestion in her tone. The stew smelled amazing.

"Enjoy." She lingered a moment. When he didn't respond, she left with a small laugh.

The food was exactly what he needed. Rich flavors, hearty portions. His body practically hummed with approval.

The room's rhythm stayed constant. Customers came and went. Servers danced their patterns. Conversations ebbed and flowed.

He finished eating, setting his spoon down precisely. Syr materialized beside him.

"Dessert?"

"No, thank you."

"Shame." She collected his bowl. "Sure I can't tempt you with anything else?"

"Your time would be nice," Cyrus said, offering a small smile.

Syr's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her composure returned. A delicate hand rose to her mouth as she laughed.

"How forward." She set his bowl aside. "And here I thought you were the stoic type."

The tavern's rhythm shifted. Other servers' paths brought them suspiciously close to the table. A crash from the kitchen suggested someone had been distracted at the wrong moment.

"I try to surprise." He kept his voice low, meant for her alone.

"Mission accomplished." Syr slid into the seat across from him. "Though I wonder if you know what you're getting into."

"Enlighten me."

"Well." Syr leaned forward, voice dropping to match his. "There are rules about spending time with customers. Mama Mia is very strict."

"But?"

"But some rules are meant to be bent. Especially for interesting cases."

A shadow fell across the table. Mia Grand herself stood there, arms crossed over her impressive frame.

"Syr." The owner's voice could have chilled beer. "Don't you have tables?"

"Just providing excellent customer service." Syr rose gracefully. "As you taught us."

"Uh-huh." Mia's gaze fell on Cyrus. "You're the one Quet's got her eye on."

It wasn't a question. He nodded anyway.

"Thought so." She studied him for a long moment. "Syr's shift ends at sunset."

With that, she turned away. Syr's smile brightened.

"Was that...?" Cyrus asked.

"Permission?" Syr gathered his dishes. "From Mama Mia? More or less."

"More or less?"

"More of a warning, really." She winked. "I'll see you tonight, don't be late."