“So, the price we can offer for the crystal core you submitted is 10,000. No objections?”

Organizer S announced the underwhelming figure during settlement.

Kanata had heard street rumors: a purple crystal core could fetch at least 50,000—*conservatively*.

She wasn’t skilled at judging quality herself. Her father’s words echoed: deeper color meant better grade; denser internal fibers proved higher quality.

They were definitely trying to cheat her—deliberately lowballing the price.

Still… 10,000 wasn’t *nothing*.

“Little miss, we’re not cheating you,” a young man cut in. He wore a white wooden kitsune mask from the festival and claimed to be an appraiser. “This core’s quality isn’t great, but the deep hue and fine internal texture justify a slightly higher price.”

Hidden behind masks, their expressions were unreadable. Maybe they were laughing—thinking her a naive, easy-to-trick fool.

“Forget it… I’ll sell it at the market myself.”

Kanata was certain she hadn’t misjudged. The others said nothing more, collecting the “team-up play money” the young master had given them.

Before leaving, he slipped her an extra 10,000.

“Take it. Buy new clothes. And… don’t join such dangerous activities again. They’re not for kids.”

…

She was the most disheveled of the group. Everyone could see she’d survived a brutal, unseen battle. She’d fought tooth and nail for that crystal core—so hard she hadn’t even noticed the cut on her forehead.

Night deepened. Kanata’s mood sank with it. The late-night intercity train sat nearly empty, nothing like the packed morning rush where standing room vanished.

Leaning against the bench, she stared blankly at the fluorescent tube overhead.

Train rumbles filled her ears, weaving with her sighs into a frustrating chorus.

“I can’t believe… Alessia actually… tried to kill me.”

Her phone camera revealed deep finger marks branded into her neck.

Wounded. Two jobs lost. *How much worse could it get?*

But there was no turning back. Kneel before Alessia’s mansion servants? Beg, *“Please, Lady Alessia, it’s all my fault—don’t dismiss me!”*?

Absolutely not.

Kanata Himemiya would rather die—collapse on the street, leap from Falling Cherry City’s clock tower—than beg Alessia for a single thing.

With that “pleasant” decision made, she headed home. The hospital was out of the question; more visits meant wasted fees.

Dawn broke as she stumbled inside, eyelids heavy. She fumbled through the first-aid kit—gauze, bandages, cotton—and disinfected her wounds.

The antiseptic hit. Veins throbbed on her forehead; eyes strained wide.

“Hah… hah… hah… Gonna die…”

Cold sweat beaded, dripping onto the floor. The pain was soul-crushing—a kind that made you doubt existence itself.

After tying the final knot, she collapsed onto the floor, fast asleep.

Tomorrow, she’d hunt for a new job. Immediately. Nozomi wouldn’t suffer another day because of her.

“I will… protect you.”