When she declared her intention to become an Adventurer, it felt as if she had to wrestle the words from her throat with both hands.

The words didn't flow easily; it emerged like a confession spoken under duress, akin to an oath taken while swallowing poison.

The air around her grew taut and trembled. not because she exuded more killing intent, but because she was forcing a part of herself to yield, something that had resisted for years.

Her fists clenched so tightly that the sound of creaking bones echoed in the silence, a harsh reminder of a body grappling with its own choice. The mercenaries behind her did not cheer or soften their expressions.

Instead, they observed her with faces etched in conflicting emotions, shock, pride, guilt, relief, all colliding in ways they struggled to comprehend.

Yet amidst this turmoil, one understanding united them without words: their leader had just swallowed her pride and animosity toward Mina, and toward them.

This wasn't due to a sudden change of heart or newfound kindness; it was born from being cornered into a decision where the only path that safeguarded what mattered required sacrificing something she cherished as fiercely as her strength, her refusal to kneel before any man.

They were mercenaries. They lived by contracts and blood, the brutal calculus of survival.

Strength might win battles, but reputation fed mouths and kept doors open. A good reputation meant kingdoms would hire you instead of eliminating you.

In that moment, they all recognized the precipice on which she stood. If she chose to dismantle the Guild and forcibly take Mina away, the repercussions wouldn't end at the gates.

Word would spread, it would twist into rumors and accusations until certainty took hold: The Crimson Devil does not abide by rules.

The Crimson Devil cannot be negotiated with. The Crimson Devil is a threat to employers. Such poison wouldn't kill quickly but would surely destroy, not just Valeria's leadership but also their collective future and stability for which they had fought hard.

None among them wished to operate under a system dominated by men; many bore their own scars from such dynamics, but they understood life's harsher truths: sometimes choices come at a cost.

The "escape door" always existed but never came free; it demanded sacrifice, and the more desperate one's situation became, the greater that demand grew.

At the corner of Sage's mouth appeared a fleeting smile, sharp and quick like a blade catching light before retreating into its sheath.

Outwardly calm with relaxed posture and steady eyes, he embodied control even as his nerves tightened beneath that composed exterior, so tight that even breathing felt like an act of discipline.

He hadn't been arrogant enough to think he could dominate her through force; he couldn't afford such illusions.

The Guild's power offered him safety within these walls but didn't grant him omnipotence or guarantee events would unfold according to his desires.

A plan, no matter how well-crafted, ultimately hinged on the choices of the person you were trying to influence. The sister was not a mere pawn to be moved at will.

She was a living weapon, a leader, a storm with her own name.

It struck Sage as ironic, so ironic that he almost laughed at himself. Here he was, the Guildmaster. He controlled the desk, rang the bell, enforced the rule book, managed the system interface, he held authority.

Yet the decisive factor that would determine whether his plan succeeded had never truly been in his hands; it had always rested with her. From the very beginning.

He could arrange everything: set up the room, position players on his board, decide which information reached which ears.

But he could not force her into accepting constraints unless her own priorities led her there. Ultimately, the strongest chains were those people wrapped around themselves.

And therein lay Sage's insight, the cold truth he'd learned long before his first death. In his previous life, he had seen offices operate under invisible chains: ambition, fear of poverty and humiliation, and a hunger for validation.

No one needed to physically lock doors; people stayed put because leaving came at too high a cost. That logic was universal. This world may have swords and mana, but human psychology remained unchanged.

He hadn't "forced" the sister into anything.

He simply ensured that all alternatives became unacceptable to her.

Sage's gaze drifted across the hall to take in the onlookers by the entrance: Adventurers clutching their rule books and mercenaries standing like drawn blades behind their leader.

And then there was Mina, small and silent, watching with an anxious expression. He didn't know what was going through that little girl's head but that expression tightened Sage's chest in an uncomfortable way.

For a moment, he wondered if the cost of his perfectly laid plan was the trust in a little girl's eyes. A necessary cost, perhaps. But a cost nonetheless.

Taking a slow breath, he let his thoughts flow clearly, not driven by emotion but focused on clarity.

The first escape route Mina's sister might have taken existed long before she entered this hall: ignoring it altogether. Had she been selfish or reckless, if she'd been a leader who believed the world owed her obedience, she wouldn't have come here at all.

She would have told Mina to drop her badge and go home. She would have kept things private or pretended that being part of the Guild was just a passing phase.

Sage had shut that door before Valeria could reach it.

How? Not through threats or force or deceit, but through Mina. He recognized Mina's nature from their first conversation: mischief wrapped in innocence; honesty sharpened into something dangerous by childlike spontaneity.

Mina didn't merely report events, she brought them to life. And her elder sister, she was someone whose anger could be ignited with just the right spark.

Sage placed that spark into Mina's hands and trusted what would follow naturally.

The moment Mina came second in the competition and he awkwardly comforted her that was when he totally understood her.

He comforted Mina, built rapport with her, earned her trust. And that's when he allowed her to carry critical information home like a lit match: I work for a man.

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