Home Sweet Home

Myth and Ashley made their way up the stairs, escorted toward the payout area.

They collected the bet money—2,200 sols. Then stepped outside, waiting for Walker to arrive.

After a while, Walker showed up.

"How much did you get?" Myth asked.

"4,000 sols," Walker replied.

"That's less than I expected," Myth muttered. "But it'll do."

"So that puts us at 6200 total minus 1000 dept." Myth said.

He looked at both of them.

"We'll get a three-bedroom house. Lay low for a month, gather info, trade what we find and place our pieces. After that, we move according to the intel."

Ashley and Walker nodded silently.

They waited a long while for a tram—night rides were rare, and the frequency had dropped.

When a tram finally arrived, they rode straight to the property owner's place.

After a round of exhausting negotiations, they paid 4,500 sols and secured a three-bedroom apartment.

By the time they reached Riff's bar, it was nearly 3 a.m. They handed over the 1,000 sols debt, exchanged a few tired nods, and made their way to the house on foot—it was close enough to walk from the bar.

Five of them would be staying there—for now.

Victor would move out once he found steady work.

They soon arrived at the house.

It stood in the middle of a square plot, hemmed in by crumbling perimeter walls. There was barely a gap—maybe four or five steps—between the house and the surrounding boundary, making the entire structure feel tightly boxed in.

Similar houses flanked them on all sides, though most looked slightly better kept—cleaner, at least.

Their own house looked like it had fought off collapse by sheer will. The outer wall was cracked in several places, as if holding on out of spite. The house walls were no better—faded grey paint dulled to lifelessness, marred by black blotches and visible cracks that stretched like old scars.

As the group stood in front of it, nobody said a word, but the look they shared said enough:

"Really? This place looks like a horror house."

Experienced as they were, none of them voiced it. No one wanted to jinx the place on night one.

Myth unlocked the rusted door. It creaked open slowly, like something from an old thriller. The interior was cloaked in darkness and smelled of stale dust and abandonment.

Sira felt along the wall and flicked the switchboard.

With a flicker and a buzz, the lights came on.

Everyone squinted, their eyes still adjusting from the dark. As their vision cleared, so did the state of their new home.

It was… bad. As expected.

Dust coated every visible surface like it had been untouched for years. But the layout wasn't terrible—functional, even.

The main door opened directly into a fairly large living room. A metal coffee table sat in the center, surrounded by a long, industrial-looking metallic sofa with faded, dusty cushions, and a small additional sofa sat to the left.

To the top right, an open kitchen stretched along the wall, connected to the living room by a sturdy metal counter. Between the kitchen and the washroom—located at the bottom right corner—stood a simple dining table, positioned neatly in the shared space.

At the top left, tucked just behind the large sofa, a staircase led to the upper floor.

In between the kitchen and the staircase, there was a narrow back door leading out of the house.

"Well, guys, this is our humble abode," Myth said, then paused. "Can't say I like it."

"But honestly… I don't hate it," Sira said, glancing around. "It's pretty big. And for the price we got it at? Kind of a steal."

"I'm gonna check out the bathroom," Ashley said, brushing her hair back. "Really need to wash the dust off my face. Also—time to return Sir Walker his pants."

"Hey! What about my shirt?" Myth called out.

Ashley tossed a look over her shoulder. "We have to clean this place, don't we? Why would I sacrifice my shirt for that?"

"That shirt's expensive!" Myth said, half-glaring. "Like… really expensive. Ashley, give it back. Now."

Ashley stopped, turned, and slowly walked back toward him.

Standing just out of reach, she crossed her arms. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do—strip it off me?"

Myth leaned in, closing the gap with a smirk.

"With the way you're dressed, and the way I look? If someone walked in right now, they'd assume you had a kink for public indecency and I was just the poor victim."

Ashley stared at him, unimpressed. Then raised her hands like she was surrendering. "Right… I forgot who I was talking to. No shame, no guilt—you'd commit sexual harassment if the law wasn't watching."

Just as Myth was about to throw in a smug retort, Sira cut in flatly,

"Can you two stop flirting in the middle of the room?"

"We are not flirting, Sira!" Ashley snapped.

"Okay, then… you can just use your torn shirt. We still have that lying around," Sira replied dryly.

"I was going to use it anyway."

"So what was all that for?" Sira asked, narrowing her eyes.

"This shirt's already covered in dust," Ashley said, brushing at it. "A bit more won't make a difference. He knew that. He just wanted to annoy me."

"Oh, you love it when I tease you," Myth chimed in with a grin. "If you didn't, you would've said that you would return my shirt from the start."

"Or maybe I just wanted to—"

"Please. Don't flirt again," Sira cut in, voice sharp.

Ashley threw Myth one final glare, then walked off toward the bathroom.

"Thank you, Sira. You're truly a kind soul," Myth said, placing a hand on his chest with fake sincerity.

He said it with the same mechanical warmth he always used—empty, performative. Just words, nothing more. A habit he'd perfected around strangers.

But for Sira… something stirred.

His words reminded her of everything she hadn't processed.

The sting of what he'd said about her parents.

The ache from losing her close friend.

The shame of how powerless she had been—listening, doing nothing.

And the guilt of knowing… Myth wasn't wrong.

If someone asked her now—if she wanted to be Myth's maid—she knew she'd say no.

But if someone from Ciel's family asked for her help… she'd say yes, in a heartbeat.

She was caught between two truths—one of rejection, one of loyalty.

And now, she didn't know if being near Myth would help him…

Or just make it worse.

Not much time had passed since their talk, The air still felt heavy.

Myth wasn't doing any better.

Despite all he'd said—despite trying so hard to push Sira away—he cared. Deeply.

Each harsh word had stung him too.

If this had been just a petty argument, he would've smoothed things over already.

He wasn't someone who held grudges.

But Myth was also proud. Arrogant, even.

No part of him could accept being looked down on— for anyone.

And worse, he knew that reconciling wouldn't make the underlying problem disappear.

If anything, it would pull him closer to Sira… make him care more… make it hurt more.

So, no—he wasn't going to fix things.

He wasn't going to look back.

Myth walked to where Walker was inspecting the couch cushions, tossing aside the worst of the dust.

As Myth approached, Walker straightened.

"Hey," Myth said. "Can you teach me how to fight? I know a bit of dagger stuff, but that's it."

Walker didn't respond right away.

Myth continued, "We need every edge we can get. I need to be stronger. We all do."

A beat passed, then Walker gave a small nod.

"Alright. You and Ashley. Training starts tomorrow morning. But—you're taking my share of the cleaning."

"...Fair enough," Myth replied.

Later, just as Ashley stepped out of the bathroom—face washed, changed into an old torn outfit—Myth casually walked over. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear, but low enough to avoid attention.

"Ashley, I've got good news and bad news."

She narrowed her eyes. "If this is one of your stupid jokes, I swear—"

"It's not," Myth said quickly. "Just pick. Good news or bad?"

"...Fine. Bad news first."

"Well, Walker's not cleaning the house. Since most of the money came from his fight,I thinks it's fair. So, you and I have to split his share."

"What?! That's not fair!" Ashley crossed her arms. "And why just the two of us?"

"That's the good news." Myth smirked. "He's going to train us in combat. In return, we take his cleaning share."

Ashley groaned but didn't argue.

Before she could respond, Myth added casually, "Anyway… what do you practice in close combat?"

Ashley shrugged. "Longsword. Just the basics, though. What about you?"

"Daggers," Myth replied, already turning to walk away. "Let's talk while we clean."

Ashley followed. "Yeah, I'm definitely checking with Walker if you're bluffing or not."

Myth didn't react. No expression, no smirk—just that usual unreadable calm.

Moments later, Ashley returned, arms crossed and face sour.

"He says you lied," she said flatly—then hesitated. "But… he also told me to help you."

She sighed. "Just my luck…"

Myth chuckled, unable to hide his amusement.

"Laugh all you want," Ashley snapped, clearly annoyed. "Just wait until we spar.

I'll wipe that smug look off your face."

Myth smiled wider. "Let's see."

They finished cleaning the house. It was around 6 a.m., and they were dead tired. Everyone decided to rest on an empty stomach.

When Myth opened his eyes again

It was 4 p.m.

They decided to eat out—no arguments, just quiet agreement.

After the meal, Myth and Sira split off, heading to the job early. The walk was quiet. Not cold. Just quiet.

Now it was time—Myth learned some basic drink-making.

Tonight… the information hunt had begun.