The night was unnaturally quiet.
Clouds hung heavy over the moon, drowning the world in a curtain of silver-gray mist. The inn behind him faded into silence, its warm light now a distant memory—like the warmth of the bonds he had just lost.
Ryouma walked aimlessly through the empty town streets, his steps hollow, like a ghost with no destination.
The words still echoed in his mind.
"You're out of the party from now on.""I just didn't want you to die on me… that's all."
That's all.
He clenched his fists.
So that was the weight of everything they'd shared? Years of memories, battles fought shoulder to shoulder, the fragile warmth of childhood friendship—reduced to just two indifferent words.
A faint pain squeezed in his chest. It wasn't rage. It wasn't sorrow. It was colder… emptier.
Something inside him was dying.
As if led by instinct, he found himself standing beneath a lone Sakura tree, its pale petals glowing softly under the moonlight. He sat beneath it, back against the bark, and gazed up at the sky.
A vast, endless sea of stars sparkled above him. A million lights, each shining in the silence.
Ryouma sighed.
"The sky is filled with so many stars… yet it still feels distant and lonely."
He closed his eyes.
The silence wrapped around him like a shroud.
And then, across the night sky, a shooting star streaked past—cutting through the darkness like a blade of light. The atmosphere shimmered in its wake.
Ryouma's eyes followed it until it disappeared.
And in that quiet moment, a thought sparked within the hollow ache of his chest:
"Even the faintest star, though seemingly insignificant against the overwhelming darkness, possesses the power to pierce it, to leave its mark, if only it burns with unwavering intensity."
His breath hitched.
Something shifted within him. A realization. A seed.
He stood up slowly, brushing the petals from his lap.
A weak laugh escaped his lips—bitter, but honest.
"Heh… how pathetic of me."
He looked back up at the stars, no longer just watching—but daring to shine among them.
Then, with quiet defiance burning in his voice, he made a vow—not to the world, not to the ones who abandoned him—but to himself.
"From now on… I'll become strong. No—the strongest."
"Like that katana warrior who once saved me… the one who appeared from nowhere, saved lives, and disappeared without asking for recognition. No fame. No glory. Just purpose."
His eyes gleamed under the starlight.
"I'll walk that path—not for revenge, not for validation—but to be that kind of adventurer. A true one."
He turned away from the Sakura tree, the petals fluttering behind him like a farewell.
"My goal may have changed… but my determination hasn't."
And with that, Ryouma walked into the night—not as the boy they had cast aside…
…but as a star, faint for now—but burning truer than ever.
The next morning,Ryouma burst into the guild building, his steps urgent, his eyes unwavering.
The hall was alive with the usual noise—mission talk, clinking weapons, laughter, even the distant sound of sparring steel-on-steel. But to Ryouma, it all passed by like wind. Nothing could drown out the fire that now burned inside him.
He went straight to the front counter.
"I want to speak with the Guild Master. Giest."
The receptionist blinked in surprise, but didn't argue. She could feel it too—this meant something to him. Something important.
Inside the quiet of Giest's private office, the atmosphere was vastly different. The walls were lined with maps and old weapons, the scent of parchment and steel lingering in the air.
Ryouma sat across from his mentor.
"I was kicked out of the party last night," he said plainly.
Giest closed his eyes.
A long, heavy sigh escaped his lips.
He said nothing.
But to Ryouma, that silence said everything.
It was the silence of someone who'd seen this coming.A silence that carried disappointment—not in Ryouma, but in the fragile bonds that had finally snapped.
Yet, when Giest opened his eyes, what he saw in Ryouma wasn't grief.It was something else.
Resolve.Fierce. Steady. Alive.
"What an interesting kid…" Giest mused silently, leaning back.
He didn't bother asking what Ryouma planned to do next.
He already knew.
Strength. Solitude. Purpose.
Giest extended a hand toward him. "Your adventurer card."Ryouma didn't ask why. Without hesitation, he handed it over.
"Mina!" he called.
"Coming, coming~!" echoed a familiar cheerful voice.
Mina stumbled in, as usual, a little out of breath with a clipboard tucked under her arm.
"Yes, Guildmaster?"
"Update his card. Solo registration. Rank C."
"Eh?! But isn't he—" Her eyes shifted from Ryouma to Giest, then caught the weight in the room.
"…Understood."
She hurried off.
A few minutes later, she returned and handed Ryouma a bronze-plated card, newly inscribed.
Her usual clumsiness faded as she offered it to him with quiet respect.
"Solo adventurer. Rank C. Here you go."
Ryouma accepted it, feeling the light weight in his palm.
It was just a card, but in his grip, it felt like a weapon forged from resolve.
He looked at the card. Then at Giest.
"…This is what you wanted, right?"
Giest smirked internally.
Normally, we'd never approve solo status for anyone below A-rank… but sometimes, the will to grow bends even the strictest rules.
Ryouma stood up.
He didn't need teammates.Didn't need praise.He would walk forward alone—and carve his path with his own two hands.
"I'll be on my way."
He turned to leave.
But just as his hand reached the door—
"Ryouma," Giest said.
He paused, looking back.
"I know what Yui did hurt you… But try to understand her too."
A long silence.
Then, as Ryouma stepped into the golden light of morning, he replied—
"…I'll think about it."
And then he was gone.
The next day, Ryouma stood alone in a wide, open field.
The sky above was clear, but the silence of the wind carried a strange weight. A low-ranked mission scrolled across his vision—Goblin Subjugation. Rank E.
He exhaled slowly.
"This is my first official mission as a solo adventurer... No need to push myself. Just get used to fighting alone."
Despite being a C-Rank, slaying a few goblins was no challenge for him. But packs? That was different. When alone, there were no eyes watching his back, no sword to cover his blind spots, no one to cast healing or barrier spells.
Every breath, every move, had to be calculated.
But even so, Ryouma completed the mission. Not flawlessly—but efficiently.
It became a routine.
Day after day, Ryouma took missions suited for solo adventurers—fighting beasts, clearing minor infestations, escorting cargo. Nothing too risky. He was training his body, sharpening his instincts, building the core of a fighter who relied on no one.
And just like that… a month passed in the blink of an eye.
The rumors spread faster than he expected.
"Ryouma's no longer part of Team Phoenix."
But the news caused little stir. Most simply nodded and moved on.
"He was never that useful anyway." "Sure, he had some talent, but no awakening? What can he even do?"
The world didn't care.
But the absence of Ryouma left a quiet, growing void—not in the world, but in Team Phoenix.
To outsiders, Ryouma had always seemed like the least important member. He didn't fight on the frontlines. He didn't dazzle with spells. But what no one saw was the brain behind the battles.
He was the strategist.
The voice behind every command.
He analyzed enemies, crafted formations, and ensured each member played their role perfectly. When chaos erupted, it was Ryouma's calm voice that steadied them. When morale wavered, it was Ryouma's tactics that brought victory.
Without him…
Small cracks began to form.
At first, they were subtle—Kevin's spells were slower, less synchronized. Persia and Ronald kept leaving the front and back unguarded, slowing down their movement through dungeons. They took more damage. Used more potions. Got tired faster.
And most importantly—they started to argue.
Again and again.
"Why do I have to guard the back? I'm the vanguard!" Ronald snapped one day.
"Well, maybe if you didn't charge in like an idiot, I wouldn't have to waste my mana healing your sorry ass every time!" Persia shot back.
Yui tried to endure it. She tried to lead, to stay strong—but day by day, the pressure mounted.
Until one day, it burst.
"How long are you two going to keep this up?!" Yui shouted, her voice trembling not with anger—but exhaustion.
The inn room fell silent.
"Our performance has dropped drastically because you two won't stop fighting! We're supposed to be building a clan—for that, we need to become a national-level team! And this is how we act? Like squabbling children?!"
It was the first time she had spoken from the heart like that. The first time the weight of leadership had cracked through her calm.
The rest of the team froze, stunned by the raw emotion in her voice.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Ronald stepped forward, lowering his head.
"…We're sorry, Yui. We didn't realize how much pressure you were under because of us."
Persia followed suit.
"We were so focused on ourselves… we forgot we're a team. And we've been acting like selfish brats."
Yui's shoulders relaxed, though her eyes were still clouded with guilt.
"I… I shouldn't have yelled like that either. I should've guided you better."
That day, something shifted in Team Phoenix.
For the first time since Ryouma left, they opened up to each other—not just as comrades, but as people.
Bonds re-formed.
And slowly—painfully—their teamwork began to improve.
Not just return to what it was before…
…but grow even stronger.