[ Boren POV ]

Boren Stonehelm had always imagined the Adventurer Guild would reek of blood. Not actual blood, mind you, though he wouldn't have been shocked, but rather the scents of iron, sweat, rust, and that sharp, masculine aroma clinging to warriors who wielded steel daily.

That was the image etched in his mind, shaped by tales spun in noble halls and exaggerated by drunken mercenaries boasting in taverns.

Instead, every morning welcomed him with polished marble floors, warm wooden accents, and the faintly comforting fragrances of ink, parchment, and freshly cleaned stone.

It still felt surreal. Boren stood behind the imposing receptionist desk, hands neatly folded in front of him, his posture straightened in a way that felt foreign.

The desk itself was enormous, far too grand for someone like him if he were honest. Its dark surface reflected light softly; when he leaned forward just a bit, he could see his own round face staring back at him.

He blinked at his reflection before quickly straightening again. "Don't slouch," he reminded himself. "Boss said posture matters."

The thought made his lips twitch into a small smile.

"Good morning!" Boren exclaimed a bit too loudly as another adventurer approached the desk.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, clearly experienced. Fresh scratches marred his armor, and dust still clung to his boots from the road. He looked down at Boren with mild surprise, a flicker that vanished quickly, but Boren caught it nonetheless.

"I'm here to register," the man stated.

"Yes! Of course!" Boren responded immediately as he fumbled for the registration ledger.

He opened the book carefully, turning pages as Sage had instructed, firm yet gentle; no bending corners or smudging ink.

"Name?" Boren asked eagerly.

As the adventurer replied, Boren listened intently, nodding and repeating the information back exactly as directed. He wrote slowly but deliberately; his handwriting was large yet neat with each letter formed with care.

Sweat gathered at his temples, not from fear but from effort. This... this was harder than he'd anticipated.

He was accustomed to physical pain, gods knew: hauling himself up staircases or enduring constant aches in his legs and heaviness in his chest, it was something he'd lived with all his life.

No, this required attention to detail, judgment, responsibility. Every name mattered. Every number counted; every rank and stamp held significance. Sage had made that painfully clear:

"This desk decides who eats and who starves."

Those words echoed in his mind as he pressed down on the stamp over parchment, leaving a crisp mark behind.

The adventurer took his documents and left with a nod of thanks.

Boren exhaled slowly. "I did it again," he thought. "I didn't mess it up."

It was a small victory, tiny, perhaps insignificant to anyone else, but to him, it felt monumental.

He glanced around the Guild Hall. It was bustling but not cramped. Adventurers filled the space, their voices overlapping in a constant, vibrant hum. Some clustered around the mission board, while others gathered near the training schedules pinned along the walls.

A group lingered suspiciously close to the bar counter, eyeing it like hungry wolves watching a locked pantry.

Boren suppressed a chuckle. He enjoyed observing people; it was oddly comforting.

For most of his life, he had been overlooked, people looked through him rather than at him. Servants bowed to his family name but avoided his gaze. Relatives spoke around him as if he weren't even there, and insults were often indirect, whispered behind polite smiles.

But here, people looked at him directly. Some with curiosity, some with confusion, and a few with amusement. They spoke to him; they needed him.

"Excuse me," said a hesitant woman's voice.

Boren turned quickly, nearly knocking over his inkpot before catching it just in time.

"Yes! I mean... sorry... yes?" he stammered, feeling his cheeks flush.

The woman wore clothing that marked her as a commissioner, not noble but well-off; perhaps from the merchant class. Her eyes darted nervously as her fingers twisted together.

"I… I want to post a mission," she said softly.

Boren straightened up again. "Of course," he replied more calmly this time. "Please take a seat. We'll go through the details together."

As she sat down, Boren reached for a Mission Docket. His fingers brushed against the thick paper, and for an instant, an odd thought crossed his mind:

"My hands are touching something important."

It seemed absurd, after all, paper is just paper, but this particular sheet represented work: danger, coin, survival. Lives would change because of what he wrote here.

That realization sent a flutter through his stomach, not fear but something dangerously close to pride.

As the woman explained her request in detail, Boren listened intently, recalling Sage's words:

"Desperation sounds different from manipulation.Fear is sharp, greed is smooth."

He didn't fully grasp it yet, not like Sage did, but he tried hard to understand. Gods knew he tried.

When she finished speaking, Boren repeated her words back slowly and precisely.

She nodded with relief flooding her face. "That's… that's exactly it," she said gratefully. "Thank you."

Boren smiled widely and genuinely. "You're welcome."

As she left clutching her receipt like a lifeline, Boren watched her go for quite some time before turning back to his desk, the ledgers spread out before him along with stamps and neatly organized documents, and reflecting on where he stood now:

"I have a job," he thought.

The idea still felt delicate, as if it might break apart if he held on too tightly. His gaze drifted unconsciously toward the lounge area.

Sage was there. The Guildmaster sat with one leg crossed over the other, relaxed in posture but with sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything without directly focusing on anyone. Although Sage wasn't looking at Boren, he could feel the weight of his attention.

Boren swallowed hard, recalling the first time he had stepped into the Guild, heart racing, palms slick with sweat. He had braced himself for laughter, mockery, or outright dismissal.

Instead, Sage had listened. Not just to his name or his family background but to him as a person. That memory tightened something deep within Boren's chest.

He had been called many things throughout his life: useless burden, embarrassment, fat pig.

And yet...

"You can start tomorrow."

Those words echoed in his mind, simple and unadorned yet carrying more weight than any noble decree he'd ever heard.

Not "go away," not "we'll see," but tomorrow.

Boren shifted his weight slightly, feeling his belly jiggle as he adjusted his stance.

He didn't mind the jokes anymore, the stares or the names. For the first time, they felt… insignificant.

Another adventurer approached, then another; soon a line began to form.

Boren got to work. He stamped documents, wrote notes, asked questions. He corrected mistakes and apologized when he misspoke. He laughed at jokes and remained polite even when someone tried to test him.

Time slipped by unnoticed. When his hand started to ache, he flexed his fingers quietly and kept going.

When his back began to hurt, he straightened up and breathed through it. When sweat dampened his collar, he discreetly wiped it away but smiled nonetheless.

Because this... this mattered. At some point, Mina dashed past the desk with a laugh that felt like a gust of wind. She glanced at him briefly and playfully stuck her tongue out before running off again.

Boren chuckled. He didn't even mind being called names anymore because here, behind this desk, he wasn't a disgrace.

He was needed.

As the noise of the Guild swelled around him, voices overlapping and footsteps echoing through stone and marble, Boren Stonehelm stood firm.

A nobody? Perhaps. But a nobody with a desk.

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A/N: Bonus Chapter for reaching 100 Golden Tickets and entering the top 50 Golden Ticket Ranking.

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