The walk back from the Central Branch Guild Hall was a masterclass in contrasting perspectives.
To Seraphina, who was walking half a step behind him, Shin'ya looked like the ultimate textbook definition of a cold, brooding prodigy. His hands were stuffed deep into his gray hoodie, his hood was pulled up, and his eyes were fixed forward in a razor-sharp, unblinking stare. She assumed he was mentally calculating the tactical variables of the S-rank suicide mission he had just accepted.
In reality, Shin'ya's brain was a chaotic screaming void.
A blind colossus?! Volcanic stone skeletons with alarm bells in their ribs?! Pure silence fog?! Shin'ya's inner voice was hyperventilating so hard it was losing oxygen. I am a fourteen-year-old high schooler! I am not a stealth-game speedrunner! If I drop a single piece of lint on the floor down there, the whole city becomes a sinkhole!
As they crossed the threshold back into the roaring, busy tavern lobby, the ambient noise instantly dropped by half. The mercenaries and adventurers at the tables nudged each other, whispering and giving Shin'ya knowing, respectful nods.
"There he is... the forty-minute beast."
"Look at that posture. Total confidence. A man of endless stamina."
Shin'ya's left eyebrow twitched violently. Alright, that's it. S-rank disaster or not, I cannot let my social reputation die like this before I even turn fifteen.
Steeling his resolve, Shin'ya marched straight past the tables and slammed his hands onto the front reception counter. Ms. Roxy, who was mid-sentence talking to a bartender, squeaked and jumped backward, her face instantly turning a brilliant, burning shade of crimson.
"S-Sir Arata!" Roxy stammered, frantically gripping her towel. "Can I... help you with something? Do you need... another extension on your room?"
"Ms. Roxy, we need to talk," Shin'ya said, his voice dropping into a deeply serious, dramatic tone. He leaned in, trying to look as professional as possible. "About last night. You completely misinterpreted what you heard through the door."
Roxy's eyes went wide, her hands flailing. "I-I didn't hear anything! I swear! I just—"
"Listen closely," Shin'ya interrupted, delivering his carefully fabricated lie with absolute, deadpan confidence. "The 'forty minutes' conversation you overheard was not... that. As a high-ranking practitioner of unique shadow arts, my body requires a highly specific, magically tethered Forty- minute sacred nap ritual. If I sleep for a single minute longer, my mana core risks a volatile destabilization. I required the maid, Seraphina, to physically disrupt my consciousness at exact intervals to preserve my life force. It is a sacred ritual. Nothing more."
Sera, standing a few feet back, covered her mouth, trying with every ounce of her being not to burst into absolute hysterics at his ridiculous explanation.
Roxy blinked once. Then twice. The intense, romantic blush on her face slowly faded, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated confusion.
"A... sacred nap ritual?" Roxy repeated slowly. She stared at him like he had grown a second head. "Wait. If you just needed to wake up exactly every ten or forty minutes... you dummy, why didn't you just use an alarm clock?"
Shin'ya froze.
The entire world seemed to stop spinning. The ambient chatter of the tavern faded into a distant hum. Shin'ya's eyes became completely blank, staring at Roxy like a statue.
...An Alarm Clock? his brain echoed.
He parsed his memories. He thought about the modern world he came from. He thought about the fantasy novels he read. Then, his eyes slowly drifted to a small, brass mechanical device sitting on the shelf right behind Roxy's head, ticking quietly.
THIS WORLD HAS CLOCKS?! Shin'ya's inner voice screamed in absolute, apocalyptic horror. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! MECHANICAL CLOCKS EXIST HERE?! HOW THE HECK DID I MISS THAT?!
He had spent the last twenty-four hours panicking, hiring a personal maid, suffering immense social embarrassment, and mapping out a logistical nightmare of loop-sleeping, completely forgetting that standard fantasy cities often have basic clockwork technology.
The dead silence stretched for five painful seconds. Shin'ya's outer composure completely shattered, his deadpan face melting into a look of pure, unbridled stupidity.
"..."
"Ahem," Shin'ya cleared his throat, his face turning an even brighter shade of red than Roxy's had been earlier. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. "You know... I am such an absolute idiot. I totally forgot those exist. Hehe... lifestyle habit from my hometown, you know? We... don't use clocks there. Yeah."
Roxy stared at him, letting out a defeated sigh. "You A-rankers are seriously eccentric weirdos, you know that?" She reached behind the counter, grabbed a small, sturdy brass travel clock with a wind-up bell, and set it on the table. "Here. Take it. It's a standard mana-spring alarm. Just twist the dial to forty minutes and it'll ring loud enough to wake a dead goblin."
"Th-Thank you..." Shin'ya mumbled, snatching the clock like a lifeline.
Without looking back, he grabbed the clock, spun on his heel, and sprinted up the stairs toward his luxury suite, his hoodie trailing behind him as he fled the scene of his absolute greatest intellectual defeat.
Sera watched him bolt up the stairs, finally letting out a massive, joyful laugh that echoed through the lobby.
Back inside the safety of his room, Shin'ya collapsed face-first onto the plush bed, burying his face in the pillows to muffle a scream of pure embarrassment.
I'm an idiot. A complete, total, unmitigated anime-nerd brain-rotted idiot, he scolded himself, rolling over to stare at the ticking brass clock on his nightstand.
Well, at least his sleep-management crisis was solved. He could set the alarm for thirty-five minutes, take a nap, wake up, reset it, and loop his sleep perfectly without needing to bother Sera or risk his reputation any further.
But as the ticking of the clock filled the quiet room, the comedy faded, and the heavy reality of the S-rank mission settled back into his chest.
The clock could wake him up in a safe hotel room. But in forty-eight hours, he would be in a zone where sound was eaten alive. A zone where a single loud noise would doom thousands of people.
Shin'ya sat up, his expression hardening. He closed his eyes, extending his hands as faint, wispy tendrils of pitch-black shadow began to bleed out from his fingertips, pooling onto the floorboards.
"Forty-eight hours," he muttered to himself, watching the shadows dance. "Time to grind."