Someone Real
The third visit to the succubus shop happened the way most bad decisions in Axel happened: quietly, deliberately, and with Kazuma whispering like he was planning a heist even though the target was a legal business that already knew his name, and this time he didn't sneak out alone because he had learned that Ruko noticed everything anyway, so he leaned over during breakfast and said, "Research round three my bro," in a tone that tried to sound casual and failed completely, while Aqua was outside arguing with a passing priest about brand recognition, Megumin was polishing her staff like it was a national treasure, and Darkness was reading a romance novel upside down, which meant the timing was perfect. Ruko didn't answer immediately; he just looked at Kazuma for a long second, then nodded once, not because he was curious in the same way but because he wanted to understand why people kept going back to that place even after embarrassment, and what he saw will be anguish. The two of them slipped out like co–conspirators who had already accepted that they would regret this later.
The visit to the succubus shop was supposed to be the same as the first and second well almost—quiet, controlled, just another strange Axel experience that Kazuma could turn into research (technically dream experience) and Ruko could treat like observation—but the moment the dream pulled him under he knew something was different because this time it didn't begin with a calm street or neutral space; it dropped him straight into a memory he hadn't wanted to revisit, the girl from his old world standing in front of him with that familiar smile that used to mean comfort and now meant nothing, and when she spoke his name it felt wrong, like a recording playing at the wrong speed, like something that had lost its meaning after his death.
He didn't step toward her. He didn't answer. He just watched, and the longer he looked the more the details twisted, because the curse he carried didn't react to strangers, it reacted to hatred—his or theirs—and as the resentment surfaced the illusion broke down, her face warping into that grotesque pig–like form that symbolized everything he wanted to forget, not because she deserved to be reduced to that but because his own feelings had turned her into it, and the dream tried to correct itself, tried to smooth the image back into something gentle, but he rejected it, turning away, refusing to let a false version of the past trap him again. That was when the dream destabilized, the environment flickering, the scripted memory collapsing, and instead of dissolving completely he felt something pull him sideways, not deeper into illusion but upward, toward awareness, and when he opened his eyes he wasn't in the shop yet—he was in a half–dream state, sitting at one of the waiting tables while someone was talking to him, a real voice, soft but insistent asking. "Are you alright because you looked like you was having a nightmare!"
The girl standing in front of him wasn't part of the dream. She was another customer, an adventurer by the look of her gear, not flashy or dramatic, just practical, someone who had probably come for the same reasons as everyone else and ended up noticing the person next to her instead of focusing on her own session, and when he blinked fully awake she stepped back slightly, embarrassed but relieved, saying she didn't mean to intrude but he looked like he needed help. Ruko sat there for a second, grounding himself, feeling the difference between illusion and reality, and the first thing he noticed was that she didn't try to pry into his thoughts, didn't ask what he saw, just offered a simple, "Do you want some water?" which was so normal that it broke the tension immediately. He nodded, took the cup, and muttered a quiet thanks, and when Kazuma stumbled out of his own dream a few minutes later and saw them talking he raised an eyebrow but wisely chose not to interrupt, giving a small smile by walking elsewhere.
They started with small talk, the kind that didn't demand anything—names, classes, why they were in Axel, complaints about quest payouts—and it turned out she had been an adventurer for about as long as he had, struggling with the same low–tier jobs, the same frustration with party dynamics, the same feeling of being slightly out of place in a world that expected louder personalities, and the more they talked the more the conversation flowed without effort, not because they were trying to impress each other but because they recognized the same quiet approach to survival. She laughed at Kazuma's dramatic retelling of "emotional research," rolled her eyes at the idea of Aqua purifying a business out of existence, and admitted she only came to the shop because someone told her it helped with stress, which made Ruko realize that for the first time since arriving in this world he was talking to someone who didn't treat him like a mystery or a weapon or a walking problem to solve (except Kazuma). She just treated him like another adventurer.
They left the shop together, not as a group plan but because they were already walking in the same direction, and the conversation kept going—favorite food stalls in Axel, which quests were scams, which guild staff to avoid when you wanted a fair payout—and by the time they reached the main street Kazuma had drifted ahead, giving them space without making it obvious, and Ruko noticed that he wasn't forcing the interaction, wasn't analyzing every word, he was just responding naturally, something he hadn't done in a long time. When she asked about his fighting style he gave a simplified answer, avoiding relics and systems, and she didn't push for details, just nodded and said she preferred adaptable fighters over flashy ones because they survived longer, which made him laugh quietly, the kind of small, genuine laugh that surprised even him. They ended up sitting at a food stall, sharing something cheap and overly salty, and the moment felt real in a way the dream never had, imperfect and ordinary but solid.
The shift from conversation to something more wasn't dramatic; it happened in the way they kept finding reasons to continue talking, in the way she suggested teaming up for low–risk quests, in the way he didn't immediately deflect the idea, and when Kazuma later teased him about "finally acting like a normal person, and i tought you won't be normal," he didn't deny it. By the time night came, the understanding between them wasn't labeled yet but it was clear, and when she hesitated before leaving and asked if he wanted to meet again the next day, he answered yes without overthinking it. What mattered wasn't that she replaced the past—she didn't, and she didn't need to—it was that she existed entirely in the present, not as a memory, not as a projection, not as something shaped by his regrets, and when he thought back to the dream the earlier rage felt distant, like something that belonged to a different version of himself. The curse had shown him the distortion of hatred; this meeting showed him the possibility of something unaffected by it.
That night, when the others asked why he looked different, he didn't give a speech or try to explain, he just said he met someone and left it at that, and the reactions were exactly what he expected—Aqua demanded details, Megumin declared it a narrative development, Darkness asked if it involved emotional suffering, and Kazuma grinned like he had been waiting for this outcome all along—but underneath the comedy there was a quiet shift in how they looked at him, less like a detached observer and more like someone finally participating in the life around him. He didn't call it love, didn't rush into declarations, but when they met again the next day and took a simple quest together, walking side by side without needing to fill every silence, he understood that what he had found wasn't a dream partner or a replacement for the past, it was someone real, someone who chose to be there without illusions or scripts, and that was enough to change the way the world felt, not dramatically, just slightly warmer, slightly more grounded, like the difference between watching life happen and actually living inside it.