Ain studied Dojin’s face carefully.
The shadows under his eyes weren’t as black as they’d been in the dungeon, and his face wasn’t that sickly blue anymore, but the air he gave off and the way he talked were honed to a razor’s edge, and his movements were rough. The look in his eyes was vicious, too. Like, given half a reason, he’d start hurling awful things at him.
Back in the dungeon there were times I thought Dojin might kill me.
“...”
Ain decided not to jump to conclusions. Coming to the human world had taught him something: act in a hurry, and you’ll get hurried results right back.
Staying calm, scanning his surroundings, reading the mood of the people around him — that was one of the ways Ain had settled into the human world so fast. He thought back to how gentle Dojin used to be.
Once Dojin’s doin’ a little better, I’ll bring it up. He’ll understand for sure.
“Talk. What are you?”
The look in Dojin’s eyes darkened further. When the furious breathing right next to him grew even louder, Ain bent down and pulled out what he’d brought with him from under the cleaning cart.
“I told you. I’m a person who cleans. And here, this.”
“...What is it?”
Caught off guard, Dojin put out a hand and took it. What landed on his palm was a white T-shirt. Letting out a breath of relief that he’d accepted the clothes, Ain spoke, clear and deliberate.
“I wrecked your shirt yesterday. I felt bad, so I brought you one.”
“You think this is going to fit me?”
“That’s the biggest one there is.”
Dojin unfolded the shirt and grimaced. It’s definitely a little... no, a lot too small... Sensing the air turn ominous, Ain quickly grabbed the handle of his cart.
“Well, I’ll be going. I’ve gotta clean the training rooms before people show up.”
“Hey.”
This time it was Dojin calling him. Ain was about to push the cart off, but he turned around. Dojin stood there with the T-shirt in his hand, staring at him.
Those sharp pupils touched Ain’s eyes, his nose, his mouth, one after another. Dark eyes that welled up at him like a puppy’s, a nose that was pert and cute and sized exactly right for that small face, red lips...
Why’s he lookin’ at me like that? The tension made Ain swallow without meaning to. Dojin’s gaze dropped to the movement of his throat. After a few seconds of boring holes into him, Dojin blurted out,
“Haven’t you seen me somewhere before?”
“...!”
He’d seen him plenty. Unable to fight the impulse, Ain slipped a little of the truth in.
“I’ve seen you, yeah.”
“Where.”
“Uh, um... well, where it was, it was...”
“...Ha. Forget it. I’m an idiot for asking.”
While he hesitated over the answer, Dojin, looking disappointed, shoved Ain’s cart roughly aside and pulled open the training room door. Ain staggered, and the door slammed shut with a bang. Ain stared at the closed door for a while, then let out a small sigh.
“Aigoo. Why’d he turn out like that? He’s gettin’ awful close to a hissy fit.”
With an ache in his chest he looked once more at the spot where Dojin had vanished, then dragged his reluctant feet toward Room 4. His ears and his nose, though, were both aimed far off at the room next door — Room 5.
Bang.
Dojin, who’d slammed the training room door behind him, all but threw the T-shirt down onto the bench. Then he went straight to the lockers and strapped on his guards. His head, though, was still on that weird man he’d just run into.
What is he? I figured he was just a fan. Guess not.
Meeting him at the café had put him in a seriously foul mood. Total stranger, and there he was calling him by name and grabbing at his arm again and again. He’d even wrecked his clothes.
Every last thing about it had rubbed him wrong, and he’d had to clamp down hard to keep the cursing in. If the guy had been a hunter instead of a civilian, he wouldn’t have bothered holding back. After that he’d assumed he’d never see him again — and then today, here, he’d run into him a second time.
Dojin was all but certain.
That bastard isn’t a fan. He’s a stalker, no question.
Maybe he’d used the cleaner job as an excuse to follow him all the way to the new training hall so he could pull his stalker routine. Take the T-shirt. He had no idea what trick the guy had used, but ripping a T-shirt with bare hands wasn’t easy unless you were a hunter. He’d have had the whole thing planned out already.
Tore up my shirt so he could get me into one he picked out, that’s the play.
He’d had this happen a few times in the past, so the man’s scheme wasn’t all that surprising.
No way that’s a uniform. Could be a couple’s tee, something like that.
Grinding his teeth, Dojin pulled on his training goggles. A hologram backdrop and a status window came up in front of his eyes.
Player 1, would you like to begin training?
He pressed Yes, and a mass of square panels poured onto the screen — the dungeon map selection stage. Dojin reached out for the city terrain he always used, then stopped, caught by one of the images.
A cave.
As if under a spell, he pressed it. The screen shifted and a cave walled in with pitch-black stone sprang up around him. It was a little different from the place he knew, but the terrain had the same feel to it.
Feeling a pang of longing, Dojin took a step forward.
If only he were here.
A hollow laugh escaped him — thinking that, about a virtual reality.
MISSION CLEAR!
Player 1’s training session has ended.
When the training that had gone on for hours finally finished, Dojin dragged in a breath and yanked the goggles off. His black hair was mussed and sticking up, and there was sweat on his neat forehead. After hanging the goggles back in place, he dug through his duffel bag for his sports towel. It wasn’t there.
“...I didn’t bring a towel.”
As he looked around, his eyes landed on the white T-shirt tossed carelessly on the bench. Dojin stared at it for a moment, then started walking.
It’s gross, but it beats not wiping off at all.
That was what he was thinking as he lifted the T-shirt up — and froze.
A blue logo stamped large across the chest. No mistake about it, that was his own guild’s logo. Dojin hurriedly flipped up the tag at the collar.
What the hell. It really was a cleaning team uniform?
He stared down at the T-shirt, baffled.
So it wasn’t what I thought.
But then it hit him that the man had been wearing one exactly like this underneath. A dry laugh escaped him. So that was the angle — hand it over so they’d be in matching shirts. People like that all thought the same way. And the ones who came sniffing around him didn’t care about man or woman.
Is he even really a cleaner? What if he’s undercover?
The white T-shirt crumpled in his fist.
The next day, Dojin headed for the training room in a sour mood. When he got there, some black plastic bag was hanging off the door handle.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
He meant to go in without touching it, but short of breaking the door down, opening it obviously meant grabbing the handle. He turned it, reluctantly, and one side of the bag slid open on its own, showing him what was inside.
A towel?
The second he saw it, he remembered what he’d said yesterday after training.
‘...I didn’t bring a towel.’
I said that inside the training room. How the hell did he hear it?
This was that stalker’s doing, no question. Dojin yanked the door open and strode into the training room. Then he swept his eyes over the whole room. Nothing looked off anywhere. He checked for suspicious devices too, but there was no trace of energy he could pick up.
Doesn’t look like he used an item. Then how did he do it?
These days people bought strange items off the black market — things even he, a hunter, had never heard of — and pulled all sorts of tricks with them. He wondered if it might be something like that, but... somehow he didn’t think so.
He looked too dumb to even know a black market existed. And the way he talks is weird, too.
That was when it happened. The training room door clicked open and he heard someone come in. He turned, and there stood that same stalker. The stalker’s eyes were wide, his face saying he hadn’t known Dojin was inside.
Dojin snorted. You already knew I was here. Quit acting surprised.
The stalker’s eyes were so wide they looked ready to roll right out. Dojin stared into those clear, guileless eyes, and only once the man’s pupils wavered slightly did he open his mouth.
“What do you want?”
“Ah... I left my bag.”
Then he looked over at the bench. Sure enough, there was a bag there, a tiny thing no bigger than a palm. Carries around something that looks just like him. That was what he thought, with no idea it was standard free issue for the cleaning team. When Dojin stayed sullenly silent, the man asked, timidly,
“Can I come in?”
“Come in, then.”
At that, Ain’s face lit up visibly, and he stepped carefully into the training room. The sneakers he had on were enormous for his frame, and filthy besides. The uniform looked reasonably clean, at least.
The little thing came pattering over fast and picked the bag up off the bench with both hands. Then, relief all over his face, he cradled it to his chest like a treasure. The moment Dojin saw that, someone came to mind — someone who used to keep everything he was given like it was precious. Why he’d thought of him just then was anyone’s guess.
Probably because he’s all I’ve been thinking about, like a madman.
He was watching him with a blank face when the man suddenly started dithering there, bag in hand. The sheer dawdling of it made Dojin’s brows pull together.
“If you’re done, get out.”
“Ah, wait, um, just a second...!”
As if he’d made up his mind about something, the man hurried to unzip the bag and started rummaging around inside. Then he pulled something out and held it out to him.
A small, brightly colored packet.
The gummy bears he used to give the slime.
