It was the second day.
Merlock was still in the grimoire.
Aaron was still traumatized.
Some men walked into the guild. They spotted Aaron slumped in the corner by the window—alone, helpless, and silent.
They were the same men whose café Aaron had burned down countless times in the past. Now was the perfect time for revenge.
Without hesitation, they dragged him outside. One of them hurled a dagger at his face.
Just before the blade touched his nose—it bounced back.
"…What the hell?" one of the men muttered.
A white mist appeared in the air, coiling and twisting until it formed a figure—Merlock.
"What's with all the noise?" he yawned, scratching his head groggily. "Huh? What are you guys doing?"
He glanced at the dagger lying at Aaron's feet and instantly pieced it all together.
"I know who you are—and what you were trying to do," he said. His tone had turned cold.
With a flick of his wrist, Merlock cast Air Thrust. A strong burst of wind exploded outward, launching the men out of the guild like rag dolls.
The room returned to silence.
"That's better. Much more peaceful." Merlock sighed, walking to his chair and sitting down. "Another long day of waiting… I wonder when he'll wake up."
Hours passed.
People came and went—but no one dared look in Aaron's direction. Let alone join him.
"They're probably wondering what a kid is doing in a place like this," Merlock thought. "Still… dragging him out won't solve anything."
He continued waiting.
Night arrived. The guild emptied out. Only one flickering light remained—swaying on a chain from the wooden ceiling.
"Another day of nothing." Merlock stood, stretching. "Time to refill my mana."
He dissolved into mist and disappeared into the grimoire.
The next morning.
Aaron finally woke up.
And the first thing he did—was cause trouble.
He marched over to the receptionist.
"Why amn't I getting any party members!?" he shouted.
The receptionist, annoyed but professional, replied, "How would I know? With your reputation, it's pretty obvious."
"Oh really?" Aaron snapped. "I think the real reason is… I joined the worst guild in the world!"
He slammed his hand on the counter and stormed back to his table, arms crossed, sulking like a child denied candy.
Merlock popped out from the grimoire. "So, you're awake. I thought you'd gone into a coma or something—you've been out for days."
"Ha! Like any disease could make me fall into a coma!" Aaron said proudly.
"Alright, then. Found any party members yet?" Merlock asked.
"You were just yelling at the poor receptionist because we didn't get any!" Merlock added. "You know we didn't."
"You could've just said no instead of giving a speech," Aaron muttered.
The two sat in silence, still waiting.
"Can I get a glass of orange juice!?" Aaron yelled toward the bar.
"Of course!" the bartender replied.
A young lady brought over a tall, clear glass filled with orange juice.
"Here you go, sir!" she said cheerfully.
"Would you like some juice too, sir?" she asked Merlock politely.
"I'm a spirit," Merlock said plainly.
"Oh, I see! I've actually been wondering what a kid like you is doing here. It's been, what, three days? I thought you were a lost or abandoned child or something!"
"Thanks for the concern," Merlock replied with a soft smile.
"You're pretty smooth with the ladies," Aaron said with a suspicious tone.
Merlock raised a brow. "For your information, I've seen more women in my lifetime than you ever will. Besides, I'm a spirit. I'm not… attracted to anyone."
"I see…" Aaron said slowly, giving him a weird grin. "So do you have it?"
"What's with that creepy look!? Have what!?"
"Ohhh, I get it now!" Merlock snapped. "No! The answer is no!!"
Just then, a young boy entered the guild.
He had blazing red hair with golden streaks, braided behind his neck all the way down to his waist. His maroon-red robe swayed with elegance. Beneath it, he wore a plain red shirt and loose, dark trousers that looked more like pajamas.
His eyes gleamed like polished amber. He appeared to be around sixteen.
He took a seat at one of the tables in front of Aaron.
Not long after, another figure walked in—a young man, refined and noble in appearance.
He wore a long black robe. Underneath was a black and purple shirt with a high collar shaped like raven wings. Gold buttons adorned the wrists. He wore sleek, deep-purple trousers.
His hair was long and silky—almost feminine—reaching close to his waist. It shimmered with a violet hue, and his deep black eyes scanned the room with a quiet intensity.