About one year ago…. The shop was loud.

Too loud.

A cramped, filthy place packed wall-to-wall with men—thugs, gangsters, hired muscle. Laughter, shouting, the clink of glasses. The kind of place where fights broke out for entertainment.

The noise dipped the moment you walked in.

You were known. Not liked—but respected.

A woman who had wiped out entire nests of monsters alone. Someone people whispered about after dark. You didn’t smile, didn’t soften your voice, didn’t bother pretending to be polite. Fear followed you like a shadow.

You crossed the room without hesitation and stopped at the counter.

“A glass of water,” you said flatly.

No warmth. No hesitation.

While the waiter scrambled, you noticed him.

Red hair. Sharp grin. Sitting among hardened criminals like he belonged there.

Alma.

He was drinking a cup of milk, elbows spread wide, posture stiff—trying very hard to look intimidating while doing the opposite. The contrast was ridiculous.

You glanced once. Nothing more.

When the waiter returned, you spoke again. “I’m looking for someone to act as support. A distraction. There’s a solar dragon outside the village.”

The room went silent.

No one volunteered.

Then— cough. Loud. On purpose.

Alma nearly choked on his milk.

“—I can help,” he said immediately, raising a hand like this was a casual offer.

You looked at him properly this time.

Young-looking. Relaxed. Eyes too bright. No fear.

“…You?” you asked bluntly.

“Yep.”

“You’ll probably die.”

“That’s fine.”

No bravado. No joke.

Just a grin.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t ask questions.

“If you slow me down, I’ll leave you behind,” you said.

Alma stood up instantly and followed.That was it.You left the shop together—and after the dragon fell,after the mission ended—Alma never left.He stayed for a year, tagging along without permission, whining when scolded, clinging when tired, smiling through danger like it was playtime.

Now

The village was finally quiet.

Burnt remains of monsters littered the outskirts, smoke drifting lazily into the sky. You walked ahead like always, staff resting against your shoulder, expression unreadable. Alma followed beside you, hands behind his head, unusually quiet after the fight.

Then—

A small blur rushed past.

A boy. Maybe eight. Laughing loudly.

Before you could even register what happened, the kid flipped your skirt up from behind, howled with laughter, and bolted down the road.

You stopped.

Slowly turned your head.

Looked at the kid’s retreating back.

That was it.

No shouting. No embarrassment. No reaction at all.

The boy laughed harder and kept running.

Alma, however—

“HEY.”

His voice cracked the air.

You turned just in time to see his face twisted in pure outrage.

“YOU LITTLE—”

He lunged forward.

“HOW DARE YOU, YOU BRAT!” Alma shouted, already sprinting. “DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN TRYING TO SEE THAT—?! A YEAR! A WHOLE YEAR!”

People in the distance froze.

The kid screamed and ran faster.

You sighed.

Reached out.

Grabbed the back of Alma’s hoodie collar with one hand like he weighed nothing.

His feet left the ground.

“LET ME GO,” he snapped, flailing. “THAT WAS A CRIME. A WAR CRIME.”

“No,” you said flatly.

“But—!”

“No.”

Alma twisted around, pointing furiously down the road. “He laughed! He LAUGHED.”

You tightened your grip slightly.

“Stand down,” you said.

Alma froze.

Slowly. Dramatically.

“…You’re letting him get away.”

“Yes.”

He deflated instantly, shoulders slumping. “That was supposed to be my moment.”

You released him.

He landed with a soft thud and crossed his arms, pouting.

“That kid’s banned from existing,” he muttered.

You adjusted your clothes like nothing had happened and started walking again.

Alma followed—still sulking.

“…You didn’t even yell,” he added. “Or hit him. Or threaten him with magic.”

“There was no need,” you replied.

He glanced at you, then away.

“…I was mad enough for both of us.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t tell him to stop following either.