"Then it means, he defeated the rogue rift boss in less than two minutes?!" Kim Hang blurted out.
"Hang, calm down," Vedant held up his hand, sitting on his bed.
Kim Daechan, who was standing on the other side of the bed, also shook his head, saying, "If what you said—that we were in there for less than three days in this world—was true, then there's a 10:1 time dilation between our world and the world inside that rift. We were only there for a bit less than seven hours."
Which means, Asher didn't clear the rift in 20 minutes, he cleared it in 2 minutes.
Two. Minutes.
So that was why he got S-ranked clearance. No, scratch that, even S-ranked clearances usually needed more time before you got in, after you got in, plus a whole circus of preparation.
But man just strolled in with no equipment, straight from his inn, like it was a casual grocery run.
"Father, be honest with us," Daechan asked solemnly, "What did you give him in return?"
Hang rubbed his face, the universal gesture for I am so done with life. "That's the problem, son."
Daechan and Vedant braced for the worst.
"I didn't get to give him anything."
***
Namgoong Hwi was the son of the world's number three, Namgoong Yoon.
Lim Miao was the daughter of the world's number two, Lim Songbai.
They were the perfect match. A match made in goddamned heaven. When they stood side by side, it was like someone had ripped a wuxia romantasy painting right off the scroll and given it legs.
And Asher, an inn master, sat behind the counter and said, "Need a room?"
The handsome young man smiled tenderly. Genuinely.
"Master Fourstorms, nice to meet you. My name is Hwi," he said.
Asher nodded. "Nice to meet you too."
Silence.
The breakfast hour had barely ended when Namgoong Hwi suddenly popped into the inn. And yes, although only most of the top rankers who got express intel already knew Namgoong Hwi had officially become Lim Miao's fiancé, it was an open secret anyway.
"Can I help you?" Tired of babysitting the quiet, Asher finally asked.
Hwi blinked, then started bowing at a speed that could be politely described as "ceremonial." "Thank you for doing our Miao'er a favor," he straightened up and continued, "Please, I want to give you a lot in return. Can you please take the favor from me and not Miao'er?"
Asher didn't answer. He stared at him.
This man didn't know Asher had asked Lim Miao to have dinner with him. He also didn't know Asher had been resetting her bath, or had been in her room several times. He didn't know about the time Asher brought her a hairdryer when she asked. He also didn't know about the premium toiletries Asher had bought her, just because. (For the last one, no one who mattered knew either.)
Hwi only knew Asher had gone to save number twelve for a favor he didn't owe. That he'd willingly put himself in debt to number seven. All for an elixir he could've gotten for free from two other people waving the exact same shit in his face.
Namgoong Hwi came to make his pitch anyway. "Please do me a favor and don't accept hers. In return, I will give you a lot more favors from me."
Asher looked at him, remembering how Lim Miao had asked for the elixir for her dowry. To marry him.
But perhaps Hwi only saw it as her coming to make a scene. Deliberately or not.
Because deep down, Hwi questioned everything. What did Lim Miao see in him? Ang Elixir? As her dowry? What did that say about their wedding?
Was the wedding supposed to be romantic, or just a headline: Bride Orders Mythical Innkeeper to Fetch Dowry While Groom Watches Like a Moron? Was she trying to make sure their marriage announcement came with fireworks and a side of "what the actual fuck"?
Sure, it was normal to think like that. Perfectly normal for a sane, reasonable groom-to-be suspicious of his bride's sanity. Right?
Hwi put a hand to his chest, trying for sincerity. "Can you accept my favor, Master Fourstorms?"
"Don't be like that, Lord Namgoong," Lim Miao said, her voice drifting down from the stairs. Every head turned toward her. Asher rose from his seat, quiet as a shadow.
Hwi smiled in that perfectly groomed, public-friendly way. "Miao'er. There you are."
She was draped in her qixiong ruqun, glittering with accessories, half her face veiled behind a delicate round silk fan. The picture of refinement.
And yet, why the hell did she want this insane dowry?
In Hwi's head, the answer was obvious. To raise her own value. To humiliate him. To grab the upper hand in the wedding and the marriage. To fuck with him.
"Don't make Inn Master uncomfortable like that. Why don't you talk to me first?" she said sweetly, her frozen eyebrows as unmoving as her supposed grace.
Who the fuck had put the idea in her head to stir the entire goddamn world for sport? She'd always been dignified, tender, graceful, virtuous… and now she was pulling this? What the fuck was this?
She smiled as she descended, slow and regal, as though she wasn't detonating his dignity in real time. "Let's talk about this later. Inn Master already agreed to two of my favors, so changing it now would be disrespectful to him. You understand, right?"
This fucking bitch. If only his father were number two instead. Or hell, if only his family had a higher standing than hers to begin with, he wouldn't have to swallow this like bitter tea.
And Asher stood there, taking in the picture of a perfect couple arguing in what sounded like gentle conversation.
Hwi followed her gaze as she floated down the stairs, all silk and poise, every movement a subtle fuck-you to his entire worldview. Every step she took made his chest ache with the humiliating awareness that he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing here.
She wanted favors. She wanted a dowry. She wanted a story so absurd it would make their entire social circle choke on their tea. And he… he was supposed to smile and nod like a trained puppy while this goddess measured him for inferiority.
She's calculating the exact ratio of embarrassment to dread in my brain, Hwi realized. And here I am, standing like a fucking idiot, thinking I can negotiate her favors with a literal retired god.
He glanced at Asher, who was just as calm and unimpressed as ever.
Lim Miao finally spoke again, repeating her words, voice gentle, smooth, deliberate. "Gege, you understand, right?"
Hwi's blood boiled. Disrespectful? Oh, sweetie, it's disrespectful to my dignity, my manhood, my very existence!
He wanted to say something clever. Something biting. Something that would at least show he wasn't entirely a sap for this meticulously orchestrated political napalm. But every thought of rebellion evaporated under the soft tyranny of her gaze.
I should be plotting her downfall. I should be burning that conceited silk fan in the fireplace and telling her to take her perfect poise and shove it.
But this wasn't his territory. This was Asher Fourstorm's territory.
Instead, he nodded, and muttered something entirely too polite.