Noah felt his mind was glitching too.

The moment he saw Anna snap her own spine right before his eyes, his first thought was: *Does this count as a work-related injury?*

Human composure, after all, has its limits.

When faced with something utterly absurd, most brains short-circuit for a few seconds—*biu*.

Anna killing herself mid-ritual? Textbook absurdity.

Miss Monica noticed Noah’s shock but wasn’t surprised. If anything, she’d anticipated it. She’d even placed a spare pair of pants nearby—just in case the Guild Master wet himself.

“Please stay calm,” she said coolly. “This is normal. Far more normal than last time she impaled herself with a spear and hung from the guild gates.”

Since Noah hadn’t reached *that* point, Monica set the pants aside. She walked slowly to Anna’s motionless form, crouched, and firmly snapped the twisted spine back into place.

A chilling *crack-crack* echoed.

The girl—who’d been as good as dead a second ago—suddenly gasped a huge breath.

As if waking from a daze, she pushed herself up with both palms and shakily rose.

Anna shook her head, still foggy, glanced at the unharmed puppet on the floor, and sighed regretfully. “Failed again… Why?”

Noah’s lips twitched. *Shouldn’t you worry more about your spine than the ritual?*

He wanted to retort, but Anna was already bouncing back—and he still hadn’t processed it.

She’d delivered resurrection shock in the simplest, most horrifying way possible.

Minutes ago, she’d truly stopped breathing, spine shattered—undeniably dead.

Yet with two sharp adjustments from Monica, she was back, cheerful as ever.

This wasn’t medical skill. It was Anna’s own power—a casual stroll past death’s edge, returning with a grin.

*Absurd.*

*Does the Goddess of Death know you’re this mischievous?*

“Guild Master, why stare like that?” Anna blinked, then flushed slightly. “Captivated by my Ritual Magic… or by *me*? I heard a famous story once—about a resurrected soul falling for a Ritual Mage. It’s called…”

“The Guild Master is simply intrigued by your constitution,” Monica cut in, shooting her a cold glare. “It’s his first time seeing you… *pass away*.”

Anna froze, then laughed sheepishly. “Right. Forgot it’s your first time.”

Honestly?

Noah had never heard anyone *quantify* their own deaths before.

Not many could.

Monica, long accustomed to this, stood expressionless. “Guild Master, allow me to reintroduce Miss Anna Carole—sole Ritual Mage of Arvin Hamlet…”

“…and a true Undying One.”

…

…

Undying Ones were ancient beings.

No one knew why they existed.

Ageless, deathless, immune to the Death Spring’s mist—they were eternal.

Twelve hundred years ago, Noah Purwin had met one: a wretched soul slumped in ruins, back crawling with bloodsucking fungi, face sallow, body frail as a withered branch, breath fainter than a mosquito’s buzz.

Immortality demanded a price.

Pain. Paralysis. Mutism. Madness.

What was Anna Carole’s?

“Guild Master~ I did everything you asked!” Anna shot him an awkward wink. “Can we overlook the bill? It’s your first day! And I *did* save your life! Just… give me time to… uh… *prepare*?”

Noah studied her shameless, feigned-innocent face. *Did she leave her dignity behind when she resurrected?*

“Pleading won’t shrink the numbers,” he sighed, tucking the bill away. “Effective today: no unsanctioned Ritual Magic. No guild funds for materials. Understood?”

“Huh? Then just kill me!”

“You can’t die. Hold it in. We’ll revisit when the guild has funds.”

“But Guild Masteeer~” Anna pouted, eyes glistening. “I’ll serve tea! Massage your shoulders! Warm your bed! Life can lack pain—but never Ritual Magic!”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “The bed-warming part… isn’t half bad.”

“Huh?!” Anna froze. *I was joking!*

Monica’s gaze—cool, sharp—landed on both of them.

Noah cleared his throat, straightened up. “No unsanctioned rituals. That’s an order.”

Anna opened her mouth—then shivered under Monica’s intensifying aura. Reluctantly, she bowed her head, muttering, and let out a dejected “Oh.”

The *Anna* had been sunk.

She shuffled out of the office like a zombie.

Noah watched her go.

Anna Carole.

Two new titles earned:

*Undying One*.

*Shameless One*.

As the bones she’d resurrected (by grave-digging accident), he was grateful—but hoped she’d stop recklessly burning guild funds on rituals.

She was an Undying One with a suspiciously mild “price.”

So many profitable paths… yet she chose Ritual Magic.

“Undying Ones…”

Noah sighed again—today’s sighs rivaled a month’s total. Chest tight. Might sigh himself into bronchitis next.

Perfectly timed, Monica offered a cup of black tea.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She smiled faintly. “What’s on your mind?”

He sipped. “Anna… A rare Ritual Mage *and* an Undying One? Odds aren’t just ‘low.’ Are they common now?”

“As rare as ever,” Monica shook her head. “She’s an anomaly among anomalies. The Ritual Magic Academy’s only Undying One in a millennium. A miraculous probability.”

“Coincidence?”

“Sometimes,” she said softly, “miracles are bound to happen.”

Noah tilted his head. “Explain?”

Her voice flowed calmly. “Imagine a rock-paper-scissors tournament across all Ayn Continent—best two of three. For any one person, winning it all is near-impossible. A miracle.”

“But,” Noah continued, catching on, “*someone* must win. For them… the miracle happens.”

“Exactly. We don’t know why Undying Ones exist—but a miracle like Anna was destined to appear. She simply appeared before us.”

Noah chuckled. “Our ‘miracle girl’… isn’t exactly thriving.”

Monica smiled. “Precisely *because* she’s Undying, she experiments fearlessly. No fear of ritual backlash. To her, it’s not a sacred title—just a convenient trait.”

Noah wiped sweat from his brow. *That spine-bending ‘performance’… horror art, not talent.*

He set aside thoughts of Anna’s shamelessness, picked up another bill, and called out:

“Next.”

The door burst open.

Miss Shirley of the Avian race bounced cheerfully inside.