Chapter 141. I Feel Considerably Underprepared Compared to Everything Else
William considered Ellie’s words. He let them settle, weighing them against the absurd suggestions of Kaela and the cold calculations of Lia.
For a man who had spent most of his life measuring risk in terms of blade reach and mana burn, the idea of a ’normal day’ felt foreign almost dangerous in its vulnerability. But there was something about the simplicity of it that resonated deeper than any investment or enchanted weapon.
It wasn’t about securing the future; it was about inhabiting the present.
"That’s actually a good idea, Ellie," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
"I have them occasionally," Ellie added with a knowing smirk before turning back to her book, leaving him alone with the implications.
...
He found Catherine later that afternoon. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long, amber fingers across the stone corridors of the academy.
Her office was a fortress of parchment and ink. She looked exhausted, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from carrying the weight of an entire institution on one’s shoulders.
She was buried under a mountain of security review paperwork, her quill scratching frantically against the page.
William stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary. He was used to facing down corrupted monsters and supernatural horrors without breaking a sweat, but as he prepared to speak, a strange, unfamiliar tightness coiled in his chest.
Months of measured conversations about trauma, duty, and survival had prepared him for almost everything except the sheer, terrifying awkwardness of this.
"Catherine."
She looked up, blinking against the lamplight. "Mm? William...? Is something wrong?"
"Is there an alert?" Her hand instinctively moved toward the dagger at her belt, a reflex he had seen too many times.
"No, nothing like that." He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly like a recruit on his first day of training. "I... I got a bonus."
It was a terrible opening line. He knew it immediately.
He wanted to say something profound, something that acknowledged the hell they had walked through together, but his brain had stalled on the most mundane fact available.
Catherine blinked, then a genuine, amused smile broke through her fatigue. "Congratulations, William~! That truly is wonderful news!"
"I want to take you somewhere... with it." He took a step into the room, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite the sudden urge to flee. "Tomorrow, if you’re free... A real day out like we used to."
"No training schedules. No emergency council briefings. No crisis management. No discussing ward frequencies or monster incursions."
"Just... the two of us, enjoying a normal afternoon. For once."
He watched her closely. He expected confusion, or perhaps a polite deflection. Instead, he saw something entirely new.
A flush crept up her neck, and her usual composure, the steel-plate-confirmed confidence she wore like armor, faltered. A visible tremor touched her fingers as she set her quill down.
"You mean like a... date...?" she said, the word coming out soft, almost reverent, as if she were tasting something unfamiliar.
"Yep. A date," William confirmed, his own voice rougher than intended.
Catherine let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh mixed with a groan. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.
"This is ridiculous, William... We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for weeks."
"We’ve fought things that should have torn us apart... I’ve cried in your arms more times than I can count, and I’ve trusted you with my life more than anyone alive." She looked up at him, her eyes bright with something between amusement and genuine fluster. "And yet, the concept of a formal date is somehow the one thing making my hands feel unsteady."
"I noticed," he said, a small, rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"It’s absurd... We’re trained to face death, not... dinner."
"I don’t know... I think it’s a little bit endearing, honestly."
Catherine laughed a real, unguarded sound that cut through the stale air of the office. The tension in her shoulders visibly drained away.
"Alright... Yes. I’d like that very much, actually." Catherine nodded. "Properly, formally, whatever ridiculous rules apply to something called a date."
William nodded, feeling a genuine sense of relief. "I don’t think there are any official rules."
"There should be," she muttered, already reaching for a fresh piece of parchment to close out her work, though her movements were lighter now. "I feel considerably underprepared for this compared to everything else we’ve faced together."
...
The market district hummed with its usual chaotic, vibrant energy the following afternoon. Stalls were packed shoulder to shoulder beneath a patchwork of sun-bleached awnings, creating a maze of narrow alleys that smelled intoxicatingly of roasted meats, yeast-heavy fresh bread, and sharp, unfamiliar spices that still occasionally made William’s nose wrinkle.
For the first time in months, there was no sense of impending doom, no tactical assessment of exits, and no scanning for hostile mana signatures. There was only the pleasant, rhythmic scrape of boots on cobblestone as he and Catherine wandered through the crowd.
They moved slowly, deliberately. For William, the simplicity was almost disorienting.
His mind kept trying to calculate the crowd density as a potential hazard, but every time he caught Catherine’s relaxed expression, the way her shoulders weren’t braced for impact, he forced himself to relax too.
However, Catherine’s formidable combat prowess, which could dismantle a corrupted knight in seconds, proved utterly useless when faced with the practiced, relentless psychological warfare of an elderly merchant at a handwoven textile stall.
The merchant was a wiry man with eyes that twinkled with a dangerous level of shrewdness. He held up a scarf of deep, forest green with the kind of theatrical flourish usually reserved for royal proclamations.
"For you, dear customer, a special price, truly exceptional!" he crooned, leaning over his counter. "Ordinarily forty silver for such fine weave, but for someone with such obvious elegance and wonderful taste... I could possibly manage thirty-five."
Catherine didn’t hesitate.
"That seems fair," she said, her hand already moving toward her coin purse with the efficient certainty of someone who dealt in hard facts and decisive actions.
"Wait." William’s hand shot out, gently but firmly catching her wrist before she could part with the silver. "You haven’t even tried."
Catherine blinked at him, genuinely baffled. "Tried what?"
"Negotiating."
"Negotiating, but why...?" She frowned, her brow furrowing in that way that usually preceded a tactical briefing. "William, he named a price."
"The quality appears sufficient... There is no need to complicate a simple transaction."
"That’s exactly what he wants you to think." William leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "In this arena, Catherine, the first price is never the real price... It’s just a challenge."
"I don’t ’challenge’ prices, William... I fight monsters," Catherine sighed.
"There’s very little overlap in the required skill sets." She looked at the merchant as if expecting him to produce a weapon. "He offered a discount, and that... is a concession."
The merchant, sensing blood in the water, opened his mouth to reaffirm his ’generous’ offer, but William cut him off with the smooth, practiced confidence of a man who had navigated countless markets in a life that no longer existed. His voice dropped an octave, becoming pleasant but edged with a subtle, unimpressed steel.
"Thirty five?" William asked, tilting his head.
He didn’t look angry; he looked disappointed, as if the merchant had just insulted his intelligence. "For this weave? I’ve seen better work from the apprentices in the southern quarter."
"And the dye looks like it might run after two washes."
The merchant’s theatrical smile faltered. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Now hold on, young man, this is top quality—"
"It’s passable," William interrupted smoothly, already beginning to turn away. "But honestly, thirty five is a bit steep for something that’s only passable."
"Wait, wait!" the merchant called out, his desperation rising as he realized he was losing a potential sale. "Twenty-eight! Twenty-eight silver, and I’ll throw in the blessing of the guild!"
William didn’t turn back immediately. He waited three seconds, the perfect amount of time, to show he was genuinely considering leaving before turning with a skeptical glance.
"Twenty two... And you include that blue one over there! The one she liked!"
The negotiation became a tense, verbal dance. William watched the merchant’s micro expressions the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he was nervous, the way his fingers drummed on the counter when he was considering a concession.
It was a different kind of combat: no blood was spilled, no bones were broken, but the merchant’s pride took several precise stabs.
Twenty minutes later, they walked away from the stall. Catherine carried a small bundle containing not just the green scarf but also the blue one she had only admired from a distance. Both had been purchased for barely more than the original asking price for the single green scarf.
As they moved further down the street, William noticed the merchant watching them go. The man’s expression was no longer delighted; he looked like he had just survived a minor ambush, rubbing his temple as if nursing a headache.
"How did you do that?" Catherine asked. She sounded genuinely impressed, her eyes wide with wonder. "You didn’t even raise your voice. and you didn’t threaten him."
"You just... dismantled him... like you used to do, I guess." Catherine said it with a little tone of sarcasm.
"Years of practice, Catherine," William said with a faint smirk. "In any world, you learn to read what someone actually needs to hear to feel like they’ve won, even when you’ve taken everything they had to give."
Catherine shivered slightly. "That’s a little unsettling, coming from you."