I used to think that once the convenience-store job was gone, life would instantly turn into "on the run."
No day or night. No normalcy. Just hiding and running.
But it didn't.
The waking world kept moving at its own pace. Streetlights turned on on schedule. Garbage trucks came on schedule. Convenience stores ran promotions on schedule. At two in the morning, people still lined up for hot coffee and a sandwich—like the world had never collapsed.
I stood at a street corner, fingers clenched hard around the edge of my coat. The spot on my chest felt faintly warm—not the scalding pull of the Rose that tried to drag you away, but something steadier, stickier. Like someone had tied a line to me and was slowly reeling me back to a place.
Silent Man walked beside me, slower than usual. His cap was pulled low, but it couldn't hide the posture he always carried—if anything moves, I'll be in front of you first.
Sethiel walked ahead. It looked like he was guiding us, but it also looked like he was simply walking his own road. Every so often he glanced back. No impatience. More like he was observing—watching whether we could walk down an ordinary street and still look like ordinary people.
"Where exactly are you taking us?" I finally asked.
Sethiel turned his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"To work," he said, as if it were obvious.
Silent Man frowned. "You don't need—"
"She does," Sethiel cut him off, like he couldn't believe he was that naïve. "You want to get to that point on the map, you need travel money. You're not heroes. You're broke people in the waking world."
I almost laughed.
It was completely unromantic—and completely true.
And weirdly, hearing the words broke people in the waking world made me feel safer. It was proof I had actually lived here.
We stopped in front of a storefront.
The sign was simple, white letters on black: ROSE INK.A wind chime hung by the door. A handwritten note was taped to the glass:
Walk-ins available today.
A tattoo shop.
I stood there and my heart jumped—not because I was scared of pain, but because something old, far away, got tapped lightly.
Sethiel pushed the door open like he lived there. The chime rang once, clean and bright. Inside, the lighting was warm, like late afternoon.
The place was too clean. Design sheets hung on the wall—good line work, gothic-leaning but not over the top. The air smelled of disinfectant, and a faint floral note—almost like roses, but not quite. Not perfume. Something real.
"You… run a tattoo shop in the waking world?" I asked.
Sethiel took off his coat and hung it up, like I'd asked whether water was wet.
"Been doing it a long time," he said. "What, you thought all I do is swing a sword in the Rose Court?"
Silent Man stayed near the door, eyes sweeping the shop like he was checking for ambush points.
"Is it safe?" he asked.
Sethiel glanced at him. "For now."
"You're not Alliance anymore," I said quietly.
He smiled. "Exactly why it's for now."
He went behind the counter and pulled out a small box—like it was just another tool.
But the warmth in my chest flared a little.
"You'll come back," he said suddenly.
I blinked. "What?"
He looked up at me. His tone was flat, like he'd already run the numbers.
"Tattoos fade," he said. "That rose on your chest? It won't stay forever without touch-ups. Bloodline sensing is too vague. If you wait for it, you'll wait forever. You walk in on your own—that's the only sure thing."
My throat tightened.
And in that instant, I remembered being very, very small.
Back then I had no concept of "Rose War," no "process," no "reset." I was just a normal kid who thought my parents were different—not louder or stricter, just… contained, like they were always holding something down.
That day, they took me into a tattoo shop.
I was terrified.
"Will it hurt?" I asked.
My mother stroked my hair.
"It will," she said honestly. "But you'll remember who you are."
My father added, "This isn't body art. It's a mark of a people."
I didn't understand what a "mark" meant. I only knew the rose drawn on my chest was beautiful, like a secret.
I used to think that after getting that rose tattooed there, my life would flip upside down—like a prince would come find me, or I'd turn into some superhero.
But my ordinary life stayed ordinary. So dull it made me anxious. Nothing changed.
For years I wanted to tell my parents it was all bullshit—just a pretty tattoo.
Now I knew.
That rose would become a real mark. It would become the Rose Memory's way of locating me. It would become the world's method of finding my throat.
Under the tattoo shop lights, a ridiculous thought hit me—
So I'd been prepared since childhood.
But I also knew my parents hadn't told me everything. It wasn't as simple as letting the Rose Memory tag me.
"So we're working here?" I asked, trying to crush the emotion under sarcasm.
Sethiel nodded, like he'd just handed me a normal part-time shift.
"You're front desk," he said. "Learn sterilization, reception, payments."
I looked at Silent Man.
Sethiel looked at Silent Man too—and then, like he'd remembered something funny, his smile slowly sharpened.
"And you," he said to Silent Man. "Door."
Silent Man frowned. "Me?"
"Bring customers in," Sethiel said, totally serious. "Your face is wasted otherwise."
I nearly choked.
Silent Man's expression turned into something unclassifiable. He looked at me like he wanted help and like he was trying not to.
"I don't—"
Sethiel opened a storage bin under the counter and lifted out a bundle of fabric.
A… cat mascot suit.
The big kind. Cute. Huge head. Round eyes. Wobbly walk.
I stared at it. My brain went blank for two seconds.
"You're serious?" Silent Man's voice dropped into a near-growl.
"Completely." Sethiel shoved the suit into his arms. "You stand outside. Wave. Act cute. Don't talk. You're good at being silent, aren't you?"
I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.
Silent Man glanced at me. Shame. Resignation. And a kind of grim resolve—like dying would be easier than wearing this.
I almost said, He doesn't have to do that.
Then Sethiel cut it off with one sentence:
"You need travel money," he said. "And you need him alive."
I went quiet.
It was brutal. And accurate.
In the end, Silent Man put it on.
The moment he stepped outside, I almost lost it.
Not because he looked ridiculous—because he looked too wrong for cute.
He stood there, the head comically huge, proportions oddly adorable. And yet his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—showing through the suit's holes gave the whole thing a strange cold, handsome vibe.
Like a high-end cat who didn't want to work, but had been forced to.
Sethiel stood beside me like an artist admiring his own work, smugly satisfied.
"See," he said. "One of human society's weapons: looks."
I didn't bother replying. I grabbed a registration clipboard and pretended I was busy.
Within half an hour, people actually came in.
First were two college girls. They stopped outside, saw Silent Man, laughed so hard they could barely breathe, and started filming. Silent Man stiffly lifted a paw and waved the way Sethiel had instructed.
His wave looked like a death sentence being read aloud.
The girls shrieked, "So cute!"
Then they walked straight in.
After that came a few office workers in suits. They were walking fast—until they saw the "cold handsome cat." They stopped, eyes lighting up instantly.
At the front desk, I gripped my pen a little too tightly.
I thought I wouldn't care. Our problem wasn't "girls like him." Our problem was "the world wants us dead."
But watching them crowd around him—laughing, filming, calling him "handsome kitty"—made something prickly form in my chest.
Not the mark.
Something dumber.
Something unreasonable.
Sethiel leaned in beside me and asked quietly, "Jealous?"
I almost threw the pen.
"Shut up," I hissed.
He smiled like he'd caught me.
"So you can do it too," he said. "I thought you only knew how to head butt the world."
I glared at him.
He didn't flinch. He just leaned on the counter like it was casual conversation.
"This is good," he said. "You still look human."
I froze.
That sentence was too gentle—too gentle for him.
I wanted to argue, but suddenly I didn't know what tone to argue in.
After another round outside, Silent Man finally came back in during a lull. When he lifted the oversized head off, his forehead was damp with sweat. Hair stuck to his skin. The heat had pulled a faint color into his pale face.
He looked at me like he wanted to say something.
"Embarrassing?" I spoke first, keeping my voice flat on purpose, like I didn't care.
He paused, then said quietly, "…You laughed."
I choked on the words.
I had laughed. Almost died laughing.
His gaze deepened, like he was confirming something.
"When you laugh," he said, "you look more like yourself."
I didn't know how to answer.
That stupid sour feeling in my chest got messier, like someone had brushed it with a fingertip.
Sethiel drawled from the side, "Congratulations. You're back in the core subjects of human society—emotion and money."
I raised the clipboard like I was going to smash him with it.
He dodged with a grin, like he was provoking me on purpose—keeping me angry enough to stay alive.
The afternoon passed fast.
We did normal things—sterilizing, logging, charging, organizing tools. Silent Man did several shifts outside. He went from stiff, to numb, to—at the end—actually wobbling the mascot head a little, as if he were performing a real cat.
That stupid sour feeling rose again.
I hated myself for being immature.
But I couldn't stop it.
By evening, the customers thinned out.
The shop was quiet. The light softened, like a blanket thrown over the day's noise.
I put the last sterilized tools away. When I looked up, Sethiel was at the door, staring outside.
He wasn't smiling.
The sarcasm had been put away.
The air turned quiet in a way that felt wrong.
"What is it?" I asked.
Sethiel didn't answer immediately. He lifted a hand and steadied the wind chime so it wouldn't ring.
Then the shadow outside the glass shifted.
Someone was standing there.
Not an ordinary customer.
The person wore normal clothes, looked like anyone on the street—yet something was off. Too clean. Like data that had been processed until no noise remained.
His gaze landed on us, paused—like confirmation—then he pushed the door open.
The chime should have rung.
But Sethiel's hand held it down.
So the entry was silent.
Silence that made my back go cold.
"Rose Envoy," Silent Man murmured, the warning in his voice snapping to full.
My palm dampened.
The man stood in the center of the shop and nodded politely.
"Apologies for the interruption," he said. "I'm here to invite you to negotiations."
Sethiel smiled—no warmth in it.
"Negotiations?" he asked. "You process-creatures negotiate now?"
The Rose Envoy's expression didn't change, like he'd predicted the mockery.
"Not every individual prefers endless war," he said. "Some individuals… have begun to think. Have begun to grow weary."
My heart jolted.
That line didn't belong in an envoy's mouth.
Yet he said it too calmly to sound like a lie.
"I know you don't believe me," he added. "So I offer a method."
Sethiel tilted his head. "Oh?"
The Rose Envoy looked straight at him, proposing a condition old and direct.
"We negotiate," he said. "But first—verification."
Sethiel's eyes sharpened.
"How do you verify?" I asked.
The Rose Envoy paused, choosing words.
"In the way you are accustomed to," he said.
"Duel."
The air inside the shop tightened.
Silent Man stepped forward half a pace, instinctively shielding me.
Sethiel lifted a hand, signaling him not to move.
He stared at the Rose Envoy and spoke softly—soft enough to sound like a basic fact.
"I don't believe words," Sethiel said. "In a duel, I can read what someone is."
The Rose Envoy nodded, accepting the rule.
"Then by the old rules," he said.
I looked at Sethiel and realized—
We'd only just sat down inside something like ordinary life.
We'd only just tasted what normal felt like.
And the world had already reached in to take it.
Sethiel placed his hand on the door handle and turned it lightly.
The lock clicked.
He looked back at me.
"Don't be afraid," he said, casually—like saying water's in the fridge. "People who want to negotiate should be willing to bleed, first."
Silent Man's breathing grew heavier, something instinctive waking up.
I stood under the tattoo shop lights, and the rose on my chest warmed slightly—reminding me:
That flower was never decoration.
It was a tag.
It was also an entrance.
Outside, the city lights still glowed.
Inside, normal life began to warp.
The Rose Envoy lifted his head, expression calm.
"Please," he said.
Sethiel smiled like he'd finally found something worth playing with.
"Fine," he said. "Let me see whether your 'weariness' is humanity—"
"—or a more precise kind of calculation."
Then, at the same time, the Rose Envoy and Sethiel said:
"Rose Duel—begin."