The morning at the inn "Cradle of the Sea Breeze" always began with the smell of salt. Beyond the window, a wind from the Coral Sea crossed the stone pavement, and the bustle of the harbor drifted from afar. The sound of cart wheels, bird calls, fish vendors' voices. Torma—the largest port city on the continent and headquarters of the Pyrite Merchant Consortium—had a sharpness to its morning energy, like the edge of a blade. Shota was gazing at the map Luna had brought while chewing on half a piece of baked bread in the dining hall. There was one thing he'd been thinking about since last night. Where to source the Fluffies from. The southern edge of the Midra Plain—the outer reaches of the continent's grain belt—had records of Fluffy herds being sighted there once. A place Luna had noted down in her notebook. "Once we're ready, let's depart." Luna said this while retying her silver-long hair at the back. Her water-blue eyes were fixed on the map, her fingertip indicating a single point. Roughly three hours' journey from the inn. If they left early, they'd be back before noon. "Let's go." Shota shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth and stood up. The Fluffy in his arms swayed, its white fur spreading softly. ◆ The problem arose right after they reached the main road. At the entrance to the southern path—where stone pillars stood in a row—two men were standing. Both wore drab-colored cloaks, and neither had a sword at their hip. But what they held in their hands caught his attention. Thick, sealed wax paper. "We'll need to see your travel permit." One of the men spoke. His voice was polite, but his eyes weren't smiling. Shota and Luna exchanged glances. The man unfolded the paper. It was covered with complex seals and fine writing. Luna finished reading it in seconds, and her eyebrows moved slightly—Shota had learned over these past few days that this was Luna's way of signaling "this is bad." "What does it say?" "The lands along the southern edge of the Midra Plain have been designated as a restricted entry zone as of today by the Pyrite Merchant Consortium—the continent's largest commercial association—and its affiliated landowners. Entry for the purpose of collecting, capturing, or making contact with spirit-responsive organisms is not permitted without authorization." Her voice as she read was emotionless. But the weight of the content accumulated quietly. "It's dated last night." "Yes." Shota confirmed the date on the notice. Sure enough, last night's date was stamped there. One night. In just one night, they'd been outmaneuvered. They'd arrived in Torma yesterday evening. Dropped their luggage at the inn, eaten, talked a little, and slept. In the time it took to do just that, the other side had already moved. (I thought we'd have time to prepare. I was naive.) Something slid down inside Shota's chest. He had an instinct that this wasn't something optimism could overcome. Gon caught up from behind. His chestnut-brown short hair caught the morning light, and his amber eyes quickly read the situation. He approached with his hands swinging, but the moment he saw the two men, his stride immediately shortened. "What's this? They're holding some huge paper." "It's a road closure." "Seriously?" "Dated last night." "That organization's got genius-level speed." Gon spoke with what sounded like genuine admiration, and Luna turned her gaze toward him quietly. "This is not the time to be impressed." ◆ The three of them, having lost their supply route, returned to the center of Torma to search for their next move. Sedra's Ring—the circular market spanning two hundred meters in diameter that spread across the central plaza of the port city of Torma—was already crowded with people by morning. About three hundred fifty stalls, with permanent shops lined up as well. Colorful goods were displayed, and the sweet smell of baked pastries mixed with the salty smell of preserved fish. Shota's target was the exhibition section. Rather than selling Fluffies directly, he wanted to rent a space for a "hands-on experience." He wanted to use the method that had worked in Haze here as well. The section management reception was in a small stone building on the north side of the plaza. The man who came to help was middle-aged with a broad forehead and a gentle appearance. When Shota explained his business, the man listened silently while taking notes. Then he checked the ledger—and his hand stopped. "I'm terribly sorry, but..." The man's voice dropped a tone. "Starting today, we've been instructed to temporarily suspend renting sections to merchants not affiliated with the Pyrite Merchant Consortium." Shota's eyebrows drew together sharply. "Since when?" "Last night, we received the notice..." The man averted his eyes as if making excuses. Shota said nothing. Or rather—he didn't say anything because he understood that saying something wouldn't change anything. The three of them moved to the edge of the plaza. A single bird landed on the stone pavement and pecked at breadcrumbs. "Gon, do you know any stall owners by face?" "Yeah! Leave it to me!" Gon walked off energetically, swinging his hands as he disappeared into the depths of the market. Shota and Luna waited at a distance. Luna opened her notebook. She began writing something. Shota tried to peek from the side, but the fine characters were too small to read. "Are you keeping records?" "Organizing the situation. Given the scale and speed of the blockade, it's natural to assume there was advance preparation. It's possible information about our activities in Haze had already leaked by that point." "Yeah, we were pretty visible in Haze's plaza." Shota felt the weight of that, but strangely, he wasn't despairing. He understood the situation was bad. But he didn't feel like they were "finished." He couldn't quite put into words why. After a while, Gon returned. "...It didn't work." His usual energy had dropped a notch. "I asked an old guy who runs a dried goods shop that I know, and he said, 'I won't be able to eat if I do that.' He looked sorry about it. I think he really didn't want to refuse." Shota listened silently. (It's not pressure on individuals. It's affecting everyone connected.) If the Pyrite Merchant Consortium—which controlled nearly forty percent of commercial transactions on the Verdia continent—moved seriously, a single stall owner couldn't stand against it. Twenty-three member merchant houses, with forty-five hundred traveling merchants and brokers under their umbrella. The whole thing had become a network of pressure. The bird finished eating the breadcrumbs and flew away. ◆ They returned to the inn a little past noon. The dining hall of the "Cradle of the Sea Breeze" was quiet even during lunch hours, with only two or three regular customers. The sound of the innkeeper Mylene cooking bean soup in an iron pot could be heard. When Shota put his foot on the stairs to the second floor, Mylene poked her head out from the kitchen. "Shota, got a minute?" Her tone was low. Shota gestured to Luna and Gon to "wait in the room first," then stepped into the edge of the kitchen. Mylene lowered the heat on the pot and handed Shota a folded piece of paper. "This arrived this morning." Shota took it. A familiar seal was pressed into the wax. The Pyrite Merchant Consortium's. "A tax audit notice. Targeting this inn. Since it's proper procedure, there's nothing we can do about it legally." Shota handed the paper back. "If you wanted to kick us out, you could just say so." "That's not it." Mylene shook her head. Her eyes were calm, like those of a former adventurer. "I don't want to kick you out. I just wanted you to know exactly what you're fighting against before you stayed here. I'm worried that staying at this inn might put you at a disadvantage." Shota was quiet for a moment. The meaning of those words slowly seeped in. Not to kick them out, but to inform them. To let them choose after knowing the situation. (She's kind, this person.) He thought that, and at the same time—those words struck deepest in Shota's chest. Being worried about meant the situation was truly serious. "Thank you. Could we stay a bit longer?" "Of course." Mylene answered briefly and turned back to the pot. When Shota stepped into the hallway, the Fluffy in his arms vibrated with unusual intensity. The white ball of fur trembled in small movements. The resonance vibration through which he perceived emotion via spirit—this creature was properly sensing something Shota was desperately suppressing inside. Shota paused for a moment and buried his face in the Fluffy's fur. (I know. It's not over yet.) ◆ At dusk, as the sky beyond the Coral Sea began to turn orange, Shota invited Gon to head to the Red Anchor Tavern. The Red Anchor Tavern—where adventurers in the port town of Torma gathered—suddenly became lively in the evening. The smell of fried small fish, the smell of ale, tobacco smoke. Behind the counter, a stubborn-looking old man silently wiped a mug. The two sat by the window. Gon ordered ale, and Shota ordered the same. Luna stayed at the inn, facing her notebook. "We got pretty beaten down in one day." "We did." Gon took a sip of ale. Outside, a cart passed by. For a while, both were silent. Shota didn't feel the need to rush. He thought it was better to let Gon speak when he wanted to speak rather than to force words out of him. Gon set his mug down on the table. "Shota, I've got a record with the Consortium, you know?" "A record?" "A failed escort job. I took two jobs simultaneously from Consortium-affiliated merchant houses, thought I could handle both. I didn't make it to one of them." His tone was light. He spoke like usual Gon, mixing in laughter. But his right hand holding the ale mug paused slightly partway through. "An adventurer I was working with told me, 'You've ruined my reputation.' Since then, we've worked separately. Or rather, I think he doesn't want to work with me." Shota listened without speaking. He was searching for the right moment to respond, but it felt wrong somehow, so he just listened. "After that, I stopped getting jobs from Consortium-affiliated merchant houses. I'm registered as someone with a contract violation record. Now I just take small jobs unrelated to the Consortium, and I get by that way." "So that's why you understood the Consortium's methods so well." Gon paused for a moment. "...I hate staying defeated." That was all. Not an explanation. Not a justification. Just one statement of fact. Shota took a sip of his own ale. He didn't ask follow-up questions. He didn't ask him to tell him more. The fact that Gon said "I hate staying defeated"—that was enough for Shota. A harbor bird cried outside the window. ◆ Deep night. The three of them gathered in a small room at the inn. Candlelight flickered low. Luna had her notebook open on her lap, Gon sat on the edge of a bed, and Shota stood by the wall. Shota spoke. "Let me summarize. The supply route is sealed off. We can't rent display space at Sedra's Ring. The inn has received a tax audit notice." He listed the points matter-of-factly, like reading from a checklist. "Do we give up?" The air in the room stopped for a moment. It was a question directed at all three of them. And at himself. Gon answered first. With a slight laugh, showing his fangs. "I already said I hate staying defeated." The words from the tavern came back exactly as they were. The corner of Shota's mouth naturally rose. Next, Luna closed her notebook. The sound of it closing—*pat*—echoed quietly in the room. "There's something I want to tell you." Luna looked at Shota and Gon in turn. Her voice was calm as always, but beneath it lay a tension—as if she were finally putting into words something she'd carried alone for a long time. "In the rec