It was disturbing in a peculiar way—like finding oneself in the middle of a battle he hadn't known existed. He wasn't afraid of a child's anger, but Emilia wasn't just any child. She was like a small flame—bright, intense—illuminating a part of this new life he hadn't yet explored.
A subtle stillness settled in the air, as if the storm clouds were slowly drifting away. But the feeling lingered—an awareness that there were words she had yet to say, words weighing on her tongue, waiting to be released. It didn't take long. Suddenly, she spoke, her voice carrying no hesitation:
"I heard that a group called New Victory offered you a mission to hunt the Rotwood Beast. Is that true?"
Ice's eyes widened—not because of the question itself, but because of how quickly the news had spread. How? When? He didn't ask. He didn't even try to find an answer. He just felt like he'd been caught in something unexpected. He hesitated slightly, sensing exactly where this conversation was heading. But he wasn't one to lie or avoid confrontation, so he answered truthfully:
"Yes. That's true."
In that moment, he noticed the change in her face. The glimmer in her eyes turned more intense, her brows tightened, and her hands clenched together as if suppressing a surge of emotion. He couldn't tell if it was anger, worry, or a mix of both. When she spoke, her tone was sharper than he had ever heard from her—stern, but also brimming with concern:
"And what did you say?"
Emilia stared at him, as if trying to read his unspoken thoughts—to understand what he really felt. He knew the next part would be harder. He hesitated before speaking, but there was no room for long silence. After a brief moment of thought, he replied:
"I haven't given them an answer yet. They left the decision to me until tomorrow morning."
In an instant, her emotions erupted. She slammed her hands on the table, sending the cups rattling and tea spilling in slow droplets onto the floor. A few coins toppled and rolled away with faint metallic chimes. Her breath hitched, and her voice rose—sharp, angry, filled with a passion too strong for a child her age:
"You should've refused the offer immediately!!!"
Ice hadn't expected that outburst. He hadn't imagined her eyes would blaze with such fire, or that her anger would echo so powerfully. For a moment, she seemed older than her years, as if carrying a burden far beyond what she should bear. Silence settled—electric, charged with tension.
The only sound was the slow drip of tea onto the floor, forming dark, scattered stains. A few moments passed before the little girl suddenly realized she had crossed a line. The realization hit her like a slap—her heart raced wildly. How had she allowed herself to speak this way? How could she raise her voice to someone older than her—to a guest in her home?
She tried to lift her eyes to him, but fear and shame slowed her down. She dreaded seeing anger or contempt in his face. But when she finally dared to look, what she saw was entirely different. His eyes were full of sorrow—but not for himself. It was sorrow for her. His gaze wasn't harsh; it was one of deep understanding, of someone who respected her feelings despite their intensity.
In that moment, warmth surged across her face, a flush of embarrassment creeping in like a wave trying to swallow her. She clasped her hands in her lap, hiding her trembling, and took a deep breath before whispering:
"I… I'm sorry."
But the comfort she hoped for did not come. The moment of reassurance she longed for never arrived—because Ace interrupted her with a steady voice:
"Actually, I plan to accept their offer."
His words were like a heavy stone dropped into a lake of conflicting emotions, creating a new whirlpool—deeper, stronger, and more painful. The air seemed to freeze in the young girl's chest for a moment, as if his words had struck her heart directly. For a fleeting second, she felt the world around her come to a halt; time itself seemed to pause at that cold, unwavering sentence that escaped his lips. She didn't need to think for long—there wasn't even space for thought. This decision wasn't just a step forward; it was a blatant declaration of everything she had feared. It felt as though the ground had vanished beneath her feet, a cold wave swept over her body, leaving behind a terrifying void in her chest. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, all traces of shame and hesitation vanished from her face, as if a storm of emotion had overtaken her again. Anger surged, and deep distress etched itself into her features.
She was no longer the quiet child who lowered her gaze. She had become a presence boiling with rejection, fear, and fury—emotions she would never apologize for. She lifted her eyes to him, and her voice emerged—deep, burdened with something heavy—as she clenched her fingers tightly on her thighs, her nails nearly piercing her skin. She whispered, broken and repressed:
"Why?"
The question echoed between them, seeping into the charged air. But she didn't wait for an answer. She didn't need one. She knew she wouldn't accept any explanation. Yet the anger pushed her to ask—it forced her to confront him. Suddenly, her body moved on its own, as if obeying a deeper instinct. She stretched out her hands and gathered all the silver pieces left on the table, gripping them tightly before hurling them toward him with force, as if she wanted to return something she no longer wished to be connected to. Her movement conveyed a rejection more profound than any words. It was a plea—an attempt to stop him, to bring him back to his senses. She said, with tears brimming in her eyes:
"Here! If you want to collect money quickly, you can take this—take it!!!"
Then she added, more forcefully:
"And I can lend you more—no, I can give you even more if you need it!!!"
Her eyes carried a mixture of anger, sorrow, fear, and something resembling hope. But despite it all, Ace remained silent, calm, as if he hadn't felt the storm that had shaken the room. His voice didn't tremble when he replied, and his tone remained unchanged, as if the decision he had made was deeply rooted within him:
"I'm sorry, but I need a lot of money, and I simply can't borrow any more. I want to head to the capital as soon as possible to search… and to continue my journey."
His words struck like another blow. The girl's face turned pale, as if the blood had drained from her, as if her heart had plummeted into her stomach. She felt something heavy pressing on her chest, like a suffocating black cloud. She looked at the young man with eyes overflowing with emotion, then shook her head. She tried to make her voice stronger, to make her words reach him, to shake him, to make him see what he could not:
"And is this journey, this search of yours… more important than your life?"
The silence that followed was heavier than before—painful, like an open wound. He looked at her as though searching for the right words, but in the end, he found only one sentence, which escaped his lips with difficulty:
"I… have to do this."
Those words were enough to bring fresh pain to her features. Her lips trembled, and her eyes quivered, ready to collapse into tears she had fought hard to hold back. She opened her mouth to speak, to scream, to say anything—but no words came.
And in that moment, she realized how powerless she was. Her eyes filled with tears that began to fall, drop by drop, turning into a quiet stream running down her cheeks. On the other side, Ace stared at her with sorrowful eyes, clenching his hands tightly. He didn't need to think—he knew very well he was the one in the wrong. He understood that his earlier words had been unfair to her. Something deep in his heart screamed at him to say something to comfort her, but he couldn't find the words.
He knew her eyes betrayed everything she felt. Every time adventurers were mentioned, her face paled, as if a ghost from the past emerged from the shadows of her memory to haunt her. It was clear she still carried the pain of losing her parents—something difficult even for those older than her. At that moment, he felt the weight of responsibility. If he wasn't completely honest with her, he would only drag her into deeper sorrow. He wasn't prepared to see more tears in her eyes—not after all the kindness and generosity she had shown him.
He finally took a deep breath, deciding to face her with a truth she might not believe. He looked at her with eyes full of seriousness and calm, and his voice came out different—free of hesitation, filled with a readiness to reveal it all:
"I don't know if you'll believe me or not, but I'll tell you the truth—where I came from, why I'm traveling, and why I'm so desperate to gather money quickly. But before that, please… wash your face and rest first."
His words were a gentle command that could not be refused. She stared at him for a moment, then stood up and went to wash her weary face. Meanwhile, Ace remained in place, reaching out to clear the table of the remnants of tea, trying to keep busy while waiting for her return. After a while, the girl came back—her face still bore traces of tears, and her eyes were red, like the sunset on a sorrowful day. She sat across from him, her hands clasped in her lap, as if bracing herself to hear something that would change everything—to receive an answer that would explain why he was willing to risk his life.
In that moment, Ace realized the second round of their conversation had begun. But this time, it would not be filled with assumptions or hints—it would be bare truth, with all its pain and clarity. Several minutes passed as he spoke. He told her everything. Afterward, silence fell—not empty silence, but a storm roiling within the girl's mind, where her thoughts collided like crashing waves on a stormy night.
She stared into the cold liquid in the cup between her hands, where her reflection shimmered faintly, rippling with each minor movement. It was as if the words she had just heard danced before her eyes, caught between reality and imagination.
Another moment passed before she whispered, not so much to him as to herself, as if trying to absorb what had just been said:
"I can't… believe this."
Her words were like a scattered sigh, barely escaping her lips. She suddenly lifted her eyes, as if yanked from a sea of distraction, and met his gaze. Her expression wavered between doubt and belief, caution and a yearning to understand—like someone trying to grasp a truth that kept slipping through their fingers like water.
"You came from another world? A distant one? You're traveling in search of your daughter? Her kidnapper? I can't believe this… but still… I didn't see a hint of a lie in your words."
Ace replied, trying to reset a certain understanding in her mind:
"Well, calling it another world might not be entirely accurate… It's referred to as a planet. It's where continents and countries exist, seas and land, shaped like a giant sphere floating in the sky among the stars. I don't know if that term is familiar to you here."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to process the difference, then shook her head slowly and said with a tone that concealed a trace of sarcasm:
"And what difference does it make? It doesn't change the fact that you're someone who doesn't belong to anything in our world. That explains why even the simplest things in our culture are strange to you."