Quiet Days Don't Stay Quiet
1 day later, morning came to Axel the same way it always did: loud, stupid, and completely lacking respect for personal recovery time. Ruko woke with a sharp breath, hand clenched against the thin mattress. For a split second, the nightmare still clung to him—fragmented images of darkness folding inward, voices echoing where memories should have been. Not screams. Worse. Silence that judged him. He stared at the ceiling until the feeling faded. "…Still there as always," he muttered. His body felt better than it had a day ago but not entirely. Not fully healed—but stable. Whatever damage had been done during the last invasion had finally stopped arguing with his nerves. That alone felt like a win.
From the other room, Aqua's voice exploded through the house. "WHY IS THE FLOOR STILL DUSTY?! I CLEANED THIS YESTERDAY!" "You poured water on it," Kazuma snapped back. "That's not cleaning, that's flooding the entire house." Ruko exhaled slowly and sat up. Good. Everyone's alive. Loud. Annoying. Normal. He pulled on his coat and stepped into the main room just in time to see Darkness standing proudly beside a pile of broken furniture like it was a battlefield she'd conquered. "I have restrained myself from smashing the rotten beams further," she said, breathing a little too hard. "You're welcome." "No one asked you to restrain anything!" Kazuma yelled.
"This is a house, not your therapy room!" Megumin sat cross-legged near the window, staff across her lap, watching the chaos like it was a stage play. "If the house collapses," she said, "we could declare it an explosion accident. Yeah... I like that, "Kazuma pointed at her. "You're not helping." Ruko leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You know," he said evenly, "arguing doesn't make the dust disappear like that." Four heads turned toward him. Aqua squinted. "Wow. He's awake and judging us as always." Kazuma sighed in relief. "Good, you're up. Say something smart before I lose my mind."
Ruko looked around the room—cracked walls, uneven floorboards, a table held together by hope and nails. "Alright," he said. "Rule one: don't fix everything at once. That's how people burn out and start blaming each other throat out." Darkness tilted her head. "So… we should suffer slowly?" "…No, hah... what an ediot," Ruko replied. "We should divide the work evenly." Megumin nodded thoughtfully. "Logical. Efficient. Boring." Kazuma rubbed his temples. "Now I started hate that this makes sense." They split tasks—not cleanly, but enough. Aqua was banned from using water unless supervised. Darkness handled lifting and repairs under threat of expulsion if she broke anything intentionally. Megumin swept—poorly, but with focus. Kazuma handled nails and tools.
Ruko floated between them, stepping in when things went sideways. When Aqua started crying about splinters, he handed her gloves without comment. When Kazuma got frustrated, Ruko reminded him, calmly, that anger wasted more stamina than effort. When Megumin sulked about chores interfering with "explosive creativity," Ruko simply said, "Discipline gives power direction." She stared at him for a long second, then swept harder. By afternoon, the house looked… livable.
Not good. But less like a condemned structure. Kazuma collapsed onto a chair. "I can't believe we actually made progress." Darkness wiped sweat from her brow, smiling far too brightly. "I found fulfillment in constructive labor." "That sentence scares me," Kazuma said.
Aqua flopped onto the floor dramatically. "I deserve praise." "You deserve a bill," Kazuma replied. Ruko sat on the edge of the table, watching them with a quiet expression. This—this was what recovery really looked like. Not resting. Not sleeping. But returning to something resembling ordinary chaos. Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and Axel's streets glowed orange, Kazuma stood near the doorway, unusually thoughtful. "…Hey, Ruko." Ruko glanced up. "Yeah?" Kazuma hesitated. "Back when you were out of it. You kept talking. About choices. About whether strength matters if you don't decide what it's for." Ruko didn't answer right away. Finally, he said, "Strength is just permission. It lets you act. But it doesn't tell you how. Which scares me." Megumin listened quietly. Aqua pretended not to. Darkness definitely listened.
"If you don't decide your values early, then there's a dead end at the road," Ruko continued, "power will decide them for you. And it usually chooses wrong doings." Kazuma smile. "That sounds way too wise for this house." Ruko smirked faintly. "I make exceptions." The next day passed fast. Ruko trained lightly—never pushing past his limits. Balance before force. Control before output. When Kazuma tried copying him and immediately collapsed, Ruko simply said, "Knowing your limit is smarter than pretending you don't have one." Megumin absorbed that lesson in her own way. Darkness… interpreted it incorrectly but enthusiastically.
A day later, Ruko stood outside the house at dawn, watching the city wake up. His body felt steady now. The nightmares still came—but less often. When they did, he faced them awake. Kazuma joined him, stretching. "So… what's next?" Ruko looked toward the road leading out of Axel. "Next," he said, "we stop waiting for trouble and start choosing our steps." Kazuma grinned. "That sounds dangerous."
Ruko nodded once. "It usually is." And somewhere beyond the city, fate shifted—already amused. To kick off a new quest.