Principal Light sipped his tea slowly, the soft clink of porcelain echoing in the office. His gaze lingered on the trio across his desk. Suri couldn’t sit still, Boris was trying not to sweat, and Kana… Kana’s face was unreadable, her calm unsettling even now.

  This will be difficult, Light thought.

  “I heard everything from Wor-en,” he said finally, his voice smooth, measured. “The three of you. As a Dungeon Scrappers.”

  The words landed like a hammer.

  “First, I want to know why.”

  “Coin?” Suri blurted. Her voice wavered, uncertain.

  Light’s brow lifted. “You each receive monthly allowances. Is that not enough?”

  “It’s enough for me,” Boris muttered. “But I don’t think I can say the same for them. Suri buys new clothes every week. Not to mention, the monster in her stomach.”

  Suri’s cheeks flushed. She hesitated, then—strangely—nodded. “Right. Because of that.”

  Light’s eyes shifted to Kana. “And you?”

  Kana sighed, the faintest of exhales. “The same. For coin.”

  “Very well,” Light said. His tone cooled. “Let us say it was for coin.” His gaze sharpened, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. “They successfully raided the fruit dungeon in one cycle. You are part of the triumph. But do you know the cost?”

  He set his teacup down, the porcelain tapping sharply against wood.

  “Eight copper-rank adventurers. Seven dungeon scrappers like you. Dead.”

  The trio froze. Boris swallowed hard. Suri’s hand clenched into her skirt. Even Kana’s expression faltered. For a moment, they’d forgotten—too caught in their own victories. But others were not like them and someday they might end up like them.

  “You could have been one of them,” Light said softly, but the weight of his words pressed down like a stone.

  No one spoke. The silence lingered, heavy, suffocating.

  “Since you’re currently enrolled here, according to academy rules,” Light continued, “your punishment is expulsion. Permanently.”

  Boris flinched. Suri’s eyes widened.

  Light’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “But this is your first offense. And your record—your… contributions—these past months cannot be ignored. So you will be given one chance.”

  The three of them inhaled, a shaky breath of relief.

  “In exchange,” Light said, his voice turning to steel again, “you must vow never again to enter a dungeon as dungeon scrappers.”

  The words hung in the air, binding before they even spoke.

  “I have already warned Asha and Opel. They took the vow. They will not set foot in a dungeon with you again as a dungeon Scrappers.”

  Boris slumped, defeated. Suri chewed her lip, silent. Kana finally nodded, though her eyes seemed to flicker with something else.

  One by one, they spoke the vow. The words came out heavier than they expected—like chains settling on their shoulders.

  When it was done, Light leaned back, studying them with an expression they could not read. Only the faint steam from his forgotten tea curled in the silence between them.

  Kana though stepped back, her head over the door and asked, “What’s the item drop this time?”

  “You’re really curious about that?” Light face reddened,”Now… now that you think of it.. You guys must be after that..”

  “I’m just kidding—” Kana quickly ran.

  “What is she doing?” Boris asked.

  Suri pulled him, and ran,”Let’s just follow our leader.”

  ….

  As they stepped out of the principal’s office, the afternoon sun felt colder than the morning chill. Kana stopped.

  “We should stick to mid-low and lower dungeons for now.”

  “I agree,” Boris said immediately, relief plain in his tone.

  But Suri, leaning on the rail with a mischievous smile, shook her head. “Since you two leveled up, I think we should push for higher dungeons.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “No way,” Kana and Boris said in unison.

  Suri rolled her eyes, exhaling. “We’re not killing dungeon bosses, alright? Just clearing out the small monsters around them. They are worth it—and safer than you think. Isn’t that right, Kana?”

  Kana hesitated. With Suri’s illusions acting like a scouting skill, it was possible. Too possible. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

  She glanced away. “Do you think Duke Stark would give us the right to enter, even if we asked?”

  Boris groaned, as if realizing something important, his voice booming in the open air. “Uhmm…Sorry girls but did you forget? We swore a vow with the principal’s skill. He’ll know the second we step foot in a dungeon.”

  Suri clicked her tongue, unfazed. “Then we won’t enter as dungeon scrappers. Just… simple curious people. Slip in quietly, like before. Simple as that.”

  Boris blinked, speechless for a long moment. “…Will that even work?”

  Kana ignored him. “But I doubt the Duke would ever agree to it anyway.”

  “There’s only one way,” Suri said, grinning as though the solution were obvious. “Bribes. We go back to our old operation. Same as before.”

  Boris rubbed his face with both hands. “Why are you in such a rush? We’re still young.”

  Kana’s voice dropped,“The shadow man.”

  That silenced them both.

  Her eyes narrowed, scanning the busy courtyard as if expecting him to step from the crowd. “I can feel it. He’ll come for us. Soon.”

  Or maybe just me.

  ….

  The trio kept their heads down for the rest of the day. Too many eyes seemed to follow them across the academy halls, whispers trailing behind their backs like shadows. Someone was watching. They could feel it.

  The next morning, winter’s bite clung to the training field. Frost clung to the grass, crunching under boots as students lined up in shivering rows. Suri, bleary-eyed, slipped behind Yuri and wrapped her arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

  “You’re freezing,” Yuri muttered, but didn’t pull away.

  “I was supposed to just attend the nightly patrol assembly,” Suri yawned. “But then Mica and the other scouts started talking. And talking. Hours gone.”

  Yuri smirked faintly, rolling her eyes. “Figures.”

  By noon the north class was dismissed, and the cafeteria filled with the usual flood of chatter and clattering trays. The warmth inside steamed the air, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Kana sat quietly with her plate when Roy slid onto the bench beside her, eyes gleaming with excitement.

  “Kana, I discovered something.”

  She looked up, chewing slowly. “About your skills?”

  Roy nodded eagerly. “You remember the [Bowman] who ambushed us?”

  Her gaze sharpened. She nodded.

  “I kept him as a summon. At my home. And guess what? He’s stronger than the others. Much stronger.”

  Kana blinked. “So… the stronger the dead, the stronger your summons.”

  Yuri, sitting across from them now, leaned forward with interest. She no longer seemed out of place among the copper class. “That’s interesting. Would my skills work on them?”

  “I can test it. I’ll bring his bones tomorrow,” Roy said. Then his voice dropped, almost conspiratorial. “Or should I just keep him sealed in the casket?”

  Suri, still nibbling on bread that came out of nowhere, spoke around her food. “You should come with us next month.”

  Kana and Boris exchanged a look. Both frowned. Boris set down his fork. “We… have plans next month?”

  Suri blinked, then grinned sheepishly. “Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. Mica’s planning to hunt a rare egg. She asked for my help.”

  Then Suri’s gaze locked on Roy, her smile sharpening into something predatory. “If you come, you might get something better than bones. A flying monster’s corpse.”

  Roy’s eyes widened, excitement flooding his face. “Flying bones… I haven’t tried it yet. But if they flew in life, their bones should fly too. Right?”

  Boris grunted, unimpressed. “I’ve never seen bones flying around. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  But Kana didn’t respond. She pushed her food around her plate, the unease from earlier returning.

  And somewhere, she could almost feel it—that someone was still watching.

  ….

  The inn doors shut behind them with a thud like a judge’s gavel. Warmth struck immediately—smoke and spice, the heavy perfume of luxury meant to remind guests that every coin was worth it. The wards etched along the lintels prickled across Kana’s skin. Someone had invested more than money into this place.

  A guard bowed them up three flights, each step creaking as if aware of the secrets carried above. On the third floor, the wards flared again—old magic, layered deep, meant to repel more than thieves.

  The room was waiting. Roa sat stiff in her chair, eyes sharp, posture tighter than any bowstring. Beside her was a man in a brown hat, his round spectacles reflecting the lanternlight. He looked ordinary. Unthreatening. Which made Kana trust him even less.

  “Pit.” He introduced himself, “Let’s get down to business.”

  Pit’s voice was like a soft instrument. “The one hunting you is a man named Flowel. Top executive of the organization knows how to use strong puppets. Not figuratively.” He let the last half of the sentence hang like a dropped coin. “He mixes a monster’s corpse with his puppets. Controls it from miles away. A grotesque stitchwork.”

  “His class?” Boris asked.

  Pit shook his head. “Nobody knows. He keeps what he is the way some men keep their knives—hidden, sharp, almost sacred. Location? No one here can say. He moves like a rumor.”

  Suri’s eyes narrowed, “So we wait for the puppet to come.”

  Pit’s smile was small and not kind. “You can wait. Or you can locate him. I have a skill— [Trace]. I can follow mana back to its source—so long as some physical remnant of his connection exists nearby. His puppet is the best bet.”

  Boris leaned in. “So you can find him if we lure him?”

  Pit rubbed his hands together, the sound dry as parchment. His smile came thin, “But my fee is… expensive.”

  Kana’s gaze snapped to him. Crimson eyes burned across the table, sharp as drawn steel. Pit faltered, his smile twitching at the edges. That look—he’d seen it before. Same color and pressure. The look of someone who had already decided your life was theirs to take or spare.

  His mouth went dry.

  “You should know by now,” Kana said. Her voice dropped low, steady, cold. A verdict rather than a threat. “Coin will not matter.”