The capital teemed with life.
The cobblestones echoed under the wheels of carts, the shouts of merchants blended with children's laughter and the clatter of hooves. The air was thick with the smells of leather, sweat, charred spices, and overripe fruit.
Guts walked slowly, his black silhouette standing out sharply against the colorful crowd. His gaze lingered on nothing, yet everything irritated him. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many faces that knew nothing of pain.
A child bumped into him without apologizing. A group of nobles giggled in the shade of a balcony. A beggar stared at him for a moment, then looked away. He kept walking, with no clear destination—guided only by a quiet need: to be alone, to breathe, to observe.
Then he stopped.
There, a few steps ahead of him, a small stand leaned crookedly to one side. A creaking cart with worn-out wheels. A faded tarp. And behind a pile of round, slightly misshapen fruit… a familiar figure.
Kadomon (rough, gravelly voice):
"Ripe pammes here! Two for one, and if you've got a good face, I swear the third one won't be rotten!"
Guts froze. One second. Then two.
Kadomon:
"Well, well. I know you. Ain't you the guy who knocked over my fruit the other day?"
A long silence.
Guts (barely audible sigh):
"I came back to pay my debt."
Kadomon eyed him for a moment, more curious than wary. Then his gaze scanned the area.
Kadomon:
"You're alone this time. Where's the other one, the half-demon girl?"
Guts raised an eyebrow.
Guts:
"Half-demon?"
Kadomon (shrugs):
"Yeah, or something like that. Y'know, the girl with silver hair. The one everyone talks about."
Guts briefly looked away. He had no idea what that term meant in this world. In his own, demons weren't "half" anything. They were just monsters.
Guts:
"She's busy."
Kadomon:
"Hmph. Shame. You looked more… human with her."
He didn't say it as an insult. Just a fact. Like saying the sky was gray, or dust stuck to your boots.
Kadomon (sighing, returning to his merchant tone):
"Alright. Three pammes? I'll set the freshest ones aside for you."
Guts:
"Make it quick."
He paid without arguing, even giving more than asked.
Kadomon (taking the coins):
"Hey. You might look like a walking prison gate, but at least you're fair. And…"
He chuckled to himself, then handed over a small sack of fruit with a wink.
Kadomon:
"Here. A gift. Looks like you need it."
Guts paused, then simply nodded. He walked off without another word, the sack of pammes in hand.
Behind him, Kadomon resumed his usual shouting like nothing had happened.
Kadomon (yelling down the street):
"Ripe pammes, I'm tellin' ya! And not crushed by some damn giant, I swear it!"
Doubling back, Guts suddenly stopped in front of a small stand that immediately caught his eye. A multitude of colorful packets were carefully arranged in a neat row, like exotic jewels on display at the market. He stepped toward it almost eagerly—like a child before a candy stall.
Guts (thought):
Finally… My damn happiness.
In front of him stood a cigarette stall. Rare, unexpected, almost unreal in this world of magic and monsters. But it was there, undeniably real. He quickly grabbed several packs without hesitation. Six in total, each holding twenty precious sticks. He pulled a good chunk of the gold Roswaal had given him from his pouch.
Guts (thought, smirking):
That clown has at least one merit… He's never stingy with coin.
He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt such simple, visceral joy. His fingers trembled slightly as he tucked the packs into his coat. The smell of tobacco already seeped faintly through the wrappers.
A memory hit him.
A night on a ship's deck. The sky was black, the horizon distant, and only the sound of waves broke the silence. He had been smoking his last cigarette then, lost in heavy thoughts, with only the salty wind for company.
That was… before the island. Before everything turned upside down.
And now, once again, he was walking the stone streets of a capital—only this time, in another world.
As if everything was just part of the same endless cycle.