The Night She Smiled

That day was perfect.

After the brief (and very one-sided) reunion with the beautiful Administrator, Hatz and Fiya spent a day that bordered on the magical: a full cycle without responsibilities, stress... or magical muck to clean.

First came the cloud ice cream—huge, fluffy, and with a mint-caramel flavor that nearly brought Hatz to tears (again). Fiya, of course, evaluated it with the gravity of a seasoned taster. "Too airy at the base. But acceptable," she declared between spoonfuls.

Then came the spicy boar empanadas, the dragon-seaweed skewers, and an absurd amount of pulsing fruit juice. Fiya didn't even get dizzy. Hatz did.

They visited potion stands, accidentally sampled a sample of alchemist-grade energy tonic, and ended up playing a game where they guessed the class of each adventurer who passed by, giving them names like "Drama Knight," "Mage Who Doesn't Know Magic," and "Queen of Runic Cosmetics."

By the end of the day, full-bellied and sore-legged, Fiya had fallen asleep clutching her new finance notebook, proudly purchased from a home goods store. Hatz tucked her in carefully, feeling—for the first time in a long while—that everything was in its right place.

But his night wasn't over just yet.

Hours later.

The upper platforms glowed deep blue, scattered with floating lanterns and rune-lined pathways that lit the streets like star trails. Taverns lit up their enchanted signs, and music spilled from the alleys of the Rest District.

Hatz walked alone through one of those streets, hands in the pockets of his jacket, gaze distant.

Fiya was safe at home. She had counted their lums three times and hidden a stash under the bed "in case someone tries to steal them magically during the night." And Hatz, unable to sleep, had decided to clear his mind.

Or, if he was being honest, to go look for that girl.

Earlier, while Fiya debated between two adorable but entirely useless magical keychains, Hatz had taken the opportunity to approach a pair of men chatting near the counter of a magical trinket shop.

They looked fairly harmless—enchanted glasses, robes marked with bureaucrat or scholar insignias, and just the right level of humility to not dismiss him outright.

"Excuse me," he interrupted politely, "About what happened earlier… do you know why there was such a stir when all those Administrators passed by together?"

The two exchanged a quick glance. The thinner-bearded one with the nasal voice answered first:

"Ah, the Monthly Assembly of the Administrator Guild. Happens on the last day of each cycle. They gather to deliberate on important matters: class promotions, approval of special missions, ranking updates, that sort of thing."

"And exclusivity ceremonies," added the other, lowering his voice like he was sharing a half-known secret.

Hatz blinked.

"Exclusivity?"

"Nothing relevant to a janitor," the first one laughed, not unkindly. "It's just an internal event. Ceremonial. For very select members."

Hatz nodded—more out of politeness than understanding.

"And if someone wanted to… contact one of them specifically? Is there a way?"

Both men paused for a moment. Finally, the bearded one responded cautiously:

"Depends who it is. If she's a mid-tier supervisor, you could try through the Central Guild. But if she's part of the Upper Circle... forget it. Even if you reached Legend Class. They choose who they see—not the other way around."

"I see… and if I just happened to run into one? Where would that be likely?"

Another glance between the two. This time, the one with the mustache spoke up with a resigned smile.

"Another hopeful fan," he said with a mix of sarcasm and sympathy. "Listen, kid, even if you were a rich adventurer, you wouldn't stand a chance. They live for their work. That beauty they flaunt? It's part of the package—elegance, power, untouchability. They use it to their advantage. That's how they stay at the top."

"It's not like that... I just..."

The other man cut in.

"It's well known that falling for an Administrator is the downfall of any adventurer. Now imagine for a cleaner. Though... there are rumors that a few have offered... certain services to lucky bastards."

"None of that is verifiable!" his friend shot back, scandalized. "That was probably some bitter dropout trying to smear their honor. That kind of behavior breaks Guild Code! And dignity!"

And just like that, they launched into a heated debate—citing anecdotes, policy clauses, and infamous scandals, as if they were arguing over the canonical timeline of a legendary magical novel series.

Hatz watched them as one might watch two professors argue over a fictional character's backstory.

He sighed.

"That's not it. I just want to return a lost item to one of them," he finally said.

The men fell silent. The bearded one was first to react.

"Ah, in that case, you should head to The Warcry. Word is a few of them gather there sometimes—especially after an assembly."

"Really? That's perfect…" Hatz said, a bit too eagerly, prompting raised eyebrows and knowing smirks from the duo.

"Good luck, young cleaner," said the mustached man with mock solemnity. "May the gods of protocol be with you."

Hatz murmured a thank-you and walked off, heart beating slightly faster than he'd admit.

Now, at night, he was heading toward a new glimmer of hope.

The tavern he sought wasn't exactly meant for "tender-hearted cleaners," as Fiya would put it. It was more... exclusive. More adventurous. More dangerous.

A wooden sign in the shape of a wyvern's head swung from rusted chains, lit by a greenish glow. The name: The Warcry.

A four-story tavern built of black wood and enchanted iron, with swaying balconies and tangled terraces overflowing with adventurers drinking, laughing, and gambling loudly.

Runic torches flickered on the walls, and from inside came a constant roar of music, cheers, and clinking mugs.

Hatz swallowed hard.

"Nothing a cleaner can't handle," he muttered, pushing the door open with resolve.

The music stopped for a moment as he entered, as if the crowd had sniffed out a stranger. But then the chaos resumed: loud laughter, arguments, the crash of a mug against the floor.

He exhaled in relief.

He wove through tables full of battle-scarred warriors, scorched-robed mages, and an archer woman using a dagger to win bets against three opponents at once.

He reached the bar.

"What'll it be?" asked the bartender, a dwarf with a beard divided into four braids.

"Do you have any cloud juice?" Hatz asked, without thinking.

The silence that fell over the nearby tables was almost deadly. The dwarf stared at him… then burst out laughing, a roar that spread quickly among the patrons.

"This kid's new! Get him a juice—just spike it with something so it doesn't show!" he barked between laughs.

Hatz smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. This wasn't his scene... but with a bit of luck, he might just see the red-haired girl again.

When his drink arrived, he took a tentative sip. He tried not to make a face as the unmistakable taste of alcohol slid down his throat—under the amused gaze of the dwarf bartender.

"It's really good," he lied, raising the glass slightly.

"That's the spirit! Now you're a real customer," the dwarf rasped. "What brings you here? Never seen you before."

"I work down on the lower floors. Never had the chance to come up," Hatz replied shortly, trying to sound casual.

"Oh yeah? What kind of work? You don't smell like a merc... or a miner."

"Uh… maintenance. You know, technical stuff."

The dwarf narrowed his eyes, wiping a mug with a towel clearly dirtier than the glass itself.

"Technical, huh? The kind that uses gloves and mops?"

Hatz choked on his next sip. He coughed a little and set the glass down on the bar.

"Well… you do what you can."

"Relax, kid. You're not the first one in here with a patchy backstory. As long as you pay, I don't care. Just don't go advertising it. Plenty around here enjoy humiliating others more than leveling up," said the bartender, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Hatz nodded, uncomfortable, and glanced away—just in time.

A murmur spread among the adventurers in the tavern. Conversations quieted, the musicians paused, and heads turned toward the main entrance.

The doors opened with a gentle magical push. A group of women in black and white robes entered, gliding as if their feet never touched the floor. They moved like elegant shadows through the torchlit haze.

The Administrators.

Some had floating tablets circling them. Others carried silver rune-staves or sealed tomes. They walked in perfect unison, trailed by fascinated—and nervous—eyes. Their faces were beautiful and severe, their gazes sharp as sheathed daggers.

Among them, a few steps behind, Hatz saw her.

The redhead.

Slightly out of sync with the group, just like the last time. Same fiery hair tumbling down the sides of her hood in messy waves, same gray eyes that now stared down at the floor with a mix of exhaustion and resignation.

Her presence hit him like a bolt to the chest.

"There you are…" he whispered, almost involuntarily.

The group ascended a spiral staircase, clearly restricted. At the base stood a towering guard, as wide as the doorway itself. He let them through without a word. A massive axe hung on his back, and one look from him was enough to discourage anyone from following.

Hatz clenched his fists on the bar. The moment had come. She was just one floor above him.

And yet, a world away.

"Is that a private room?" he asked the dwarf, eyes still locked on the staircase.

"A social lounge. Invite-only. Comes with its own bar, servers, and a top-tier view of the chaos below," the dwarf answered, still cleaning a glass with a rag somehow filthier than the mug.

The tavern didn't return to normal until all the women had vanished upstairs, as if their mere presence had shifted the room's center of gravity.

Hatz gripped his drink and took another long sip of his "cloud juice with a punch." This time, the alcohol didn't burn as much. Or maybe his throat had just given up.

"There's one of those women…" he began, seizing the moment while the dwarf still had his attention. "I've got something of hers. Something she lost in a dungeon."

"I don't think I can help you with that, kid. Boss keeps me down here for a reason. Only the fancy folks go upstairs," the dwarf interrupted with a mix of pity and sarcasm.

"I see…"

"If you didn't go after her just now, your best shot is when they come back down. Let's hope the party upstairs is boring—or your wait might be long," he added, slapping the bar hard enough to rattle the glasses.

Hatz nodded.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Jarmitoen. And don't call me 'sir,' I'm only seventy-five. That's barely twenty in human years. Prime of youth," he said proudly, puffing out his braided chest hair.

Hatz let out a half-stifled laugh.

"Sorry. Jarmitoen. I'm Hatz."

Just then, a loud voice called out from a nearby table.

"Hey, you! Cloud juice boy! You joining the game or just staring like a girl at a candy stall?"

It was a grizzled hunter-type with a scar over one brow and three dice floating magically in front of him.

"Come on! We need one more! And if you lose, you drink!" added another—a woman with a contagious laugh and a crossbow on her back.

"What are you playing?" Hatz asked, already a little fuzzy from the booze.

"Doom Die," they chorused.

Jarmitoen shrugged.

"Give it a shot, young Hatz. Just know that if you puke on the table, I'll charge you triple for the glass."

Hatz was pushed toward the table in good humor. They sat him between two adventurers who smelled like gunpowder and sweat. In the center of the table was a six-sided die with symbols that made no logical sense: a skull, a mug, a boot, a tongue, a crown, and a fish.

"You roll, you interpret, you do the dare. Or you drink. Or both," said the hunter, clearly past his sober limit.

Five minutes later, Hatz had quacked like a duck, mimicked a golem, and downed two shots of something called "Ogre Sweat." No one could tell if he was winning or losing, but everyone cheered him on like he was the hero of the night.

Just as everything began to spin—the dice, the table, even one adventurer's mustache—the same silence as before returned.

Hatz lifted his wobbling head… and saw them.

A small group of Administrators was coming back down the stairs, moving with the same grace as before, though now a little more relaxed. They laughed among themselves, drinks in hand, their presence once again transforming the tavern into a temple of attention.

And among them, like a lighthouse in the fog, was the redhead.

Head down, eyes distant. She hadn't laughed once, and came down in silence. Her robe clung to her figure like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders.

Hatz tried to stand, but his body didn't respond. He only managed to fix his eyes on her… until someone handed him another glass and shouted,

"Last round before they kick us out or recruit us!"

The tavern roared back to life. The redhead followed her group of colleagues but didn't join the conversation.

And Hatz, still drunk and dreaming, raised his glass one last time.

"I'm… going to give it back to her…"

But no one heard him. Except Jarmitoen, who was watching from the bar and let out a hearty laugh.

"Another romantic with a weak liver. This'll be fun to watch."

With a willpower that defied the liquor in his veins, Hatz stood up.

The table shifted slightly. Someone patted him on the back. Another threw a coin. The Doom Die fell to the floor and rolled until it landed on the skull face, like a warning.

Hatz ignored it.

"Just… walk. Straight. Like a functioning adult. No staggering," he muttered to himself.

And he took a step.

The floor seemed to move with him, like an old dragon waking from its nap. But Hatz stayed firm. The glass in his hand was placed on the bar with unexpected solemnity, and he looked at Jarmitoen with all the seriousness he could muster.

"I'm going to give her back her brooch."

"Of course you are, champ. Just don't fall on top of her," the dwarf said, amused, still drying glasses that never seemed to get dirty.

The redhead moved toward a quieter part of the tavern, near an enchanted fireplace that emitted sparks of shifting colors. She was alone for a moment: her companions had stopped to talk with other noble-looking adventurers, and the servers vanished as if by magic.

Hatz swallowed hard.

"Now or never," he whispered.

He approached slowly. One step at a time. Focused. As if crossing a tightrope over a lake of lava.

He pulled the brooch from his pocket, and as he did, a bluish glow ran through his fingers from the rune. For a moment, it wrapped around the brooch.

The dark green jewel at its center suddenly seemed to vibrate, releasing a sort of black vapor, until it turned almost transparent—like a diamond.

"What the hell…?" Hatz muttered, half-tilting his head.

Despite the drunkenness, he managed to wrap the brooch in a piece of cloth—probably one Jarmitoen used for cleaning. He wrapped it strategically, covering only the jewel.

He silently thanked the alcohol for the courage he felt at that moment.

When he reached her, he was even more surprised by her beauty.

"Excuse me…" he said, softer than he thought possible in his state.

She turned.

And her gray eyes locked onto his.

For an eternal instant, she said nothing. She studied him.

From his wrinkled jacket to his wind-tousled hair. To his hand, which trembled slightly as he pulled something from the inner pocket of his jacket: the brooch.

"I think… this is yours," Hatz managed to say.

The redhead stared silently… until in a split second her expression changed completely. Her eyes opened wide like saucers, and without a word, she took Hatz's hand and held it tightly.

"Where did you find it!?" she asked, her voice trembling, and Hatz could see life returning to her dimmed eyes.

"I found it in the ruins of Gran Kohr. I was cleaning… I mean, doing a security inspection. Nothing illegal. Very professional," he added, trying to sound convincing.

She didn't answer immediately, but gave a slight nod, still amazed. She carefully tucked the brooch into the folds of her robe without removing the piece of cloth wrapping it. Then she looked up.

"What's your name?"

Hatz blinked.

"H-Hatz. Just Hatz. Collector level… well, that doesn't matter now."

She nodded again, and for a moment, regained that hypnotic elegance that surrounded her. But her warm, grateful smile remained intact.

"I'm Nyssia. Really… you don't know how much I thank you for this."

"Nyssia…?" he repeated quietly, as if to engrave it in his memory.

Before he could say more, a guard in a dark uniform approached firmly.

"All good, Supervisor?"

Nyssia looked at Hatz, then the guard, and finally back to him.

"Yes. All good."

The guard nodded and stepped back a few paces, though he kept his gaze fixed on Hatz as if ready to remove him by force.

Nyssia turned her face slightly and spoke one last time:

"I'll find a way to thank you for this. But for now… it's best if you go back to your friends, for your own good."

Her quick glance at the other Administrators confirmed it—they looked at him like a lurking monster.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Nyssia," Hatz said, making an absurd bow that made her smile, amused.

Without another word, he turned and stumbled back to the bar, carrying the dignity of a drunken mannequin.

His heart beat like he was in the middle of a battle. It didn't match any music in the tavern.

"That was a victory… I think," he muttered, sinking onto a bench, grateful he hadn't thrown up on her.

Jarmitoen gave a thumbs-up with a big grin.

"She didn't reject you, didn't hit you, didn't arrest you. Promising night, kid!"

Hatz smiled slowly.

"And there's still cloud juice left…"

✦ ✦ ✦

That dawn, in an elegant building of carved white stone, a scream broke the silence as if someone had seen their doppelgänger face to face.

"Supervisor Nyssia, are you all right!?" asked a maid, bursting in with several armed soldiers.

Nyssia sat on the edge of her bed, her face bathed in tears and her breath coming in short gasps. In her trembling hands, she held the brooch inherited from her mother.

The jewel shone with a soft, crystalline light. Pure.

"Purified… it's purified," she whispered, before breaking down into deep sobs that left everyone around her completely bewildered.