[Hairu's POV]
What are they doing over there? Hairu's jaw tightened as he watched the two figures at the edge of the crowd.
The timer at the top of his vision ticked down—34:28.
They're wasting time. Just talking like this isn't a crisis. He squinted. That guy... Rin, was it? He's too calm. Too neat. Everyone else is panicking or forming groups. But him? Like he belongs here.
Hairu didn't like that. His instincts, sharpened by another life, whispered danger.
Before he could approach, a soft voice interrupted.
"U-um… I can be the tank."
Hairu turned.
A girl stood hesitantly in front of him—mid-twenties, petite frame, black hair with faint bronze highlights, and thin-rimmed glasses. She looked like she'd break if someone breathed too hard near her.
Then his heart skipped a beat.
Wait a second… that can't be—
His voice caught halfway. "Oh yeah, sure…" he muttered, stunned. That aura. That posture. It's her.
The Shield of Fallsholm. His mind whispered the name like a secret.
He blinked hard. "Are you okay?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Huh? Oh—yeah. I'm fine," Hairu replied quickly.
Could she be the same person? Same soul? Slim build, quiet tone, those same glasses… This can't be coincidence.
He focused. "Can you show me your stats?"
She nodded and brought her hand up to summon the window.
---
NAME: Yokuta
AGE: 26
STR: 2 (Rare)
END: 5 (Legendary)
INT: 2 (Uncommon)
STA: 3 (Epic)
MAGIC: 0 (Common)
COUNTER: 3 (Epic)
---
Hairu's breath caught in his throat.
Counter? That's not on the standard list...
And it wasn't just any stat. It was ranked Epic.
The standard progression echoed in his mind:
Common → Uncommon → Rare → Epic → Hero → Semi-Legendary → Legendary
A hidden stat. Only those with special backgrounds or memories got those.
That's why she was called the Shield of Fallsholm. That's why she always survived.
He smiled genuinely, for once. "Alright, Yokuta—you're our tank."
She nodded quickly, still unsure, but grateful for the trust.
Hairu turned to the forming crowd. "We still need a healer, a fighter, an archer, and a mage."
Then a voice rang out behind him—clear, smooth, and unbothered.
"I'll be the scout."
Hairu turned slowly.
Rin.
He approached with relaxed confidence, Nariku trailing behind him like a smaller, frightened shadow. Rin's posture was open, his expression calm—too calm. He smiled easily, but Hairu felt the edges of it were too sharp.
There he is again. Always smiling.
"You want to be scout?" Hairu asked.
Rin nodded. "Sure. I'm fast. Quiet. Observant." His voice was warm, casual. Like nothing about this situation concerned him.
Hairu kept his own tone light. "That's useful."
But inside, his thoughts narrowed.
Scout. Flexible position. Unmonitored movement. Strategic. Dangerous.
He's planning something. I just don't know what.
The others were looking around uncertainly, drawn by the sudden shift in leadership. Hairu couldn't afford suspicion yet—not out loud. He needed cooperation first.
"Alright," Hairu said loudly. "Let's get into formation."
The group began to shuffle. The beginnings of order forming from chaos.
Hairu glanced at Rin again.
I don't know what your game is yet... but I'm watching.