The plaque on the desk still looked too new for the room it had been condemned to live in, like somebody had delivered a wedding cake to a garbage fire and expected everyone to clap. Regis Vale sat in the chair behind it anyway, shoulders squared, hands folded, expression carefully neutral in the way only a professional menace could manage. The keys were still in his palm, biting his skin when he squeezed, and he kept squeezing because anger liked a physical outlet. Outside the grimy office window, Graybridge dripped rain onto stone and neon, the streets slick with reflected signage and exhausted pedestrians who moved like they were paid per sigh. Inside, the guild hall smelled like damp carpet, old paper, and something sharp that suggested a long history of cheap cleaning products losing wars. The building hummed with bad wiring and worse morale. Regis leaned into the name like it was armor. Regis, he reminded himself. Not Aurelius. Not the Black Regent. Not the man the world had feared enough to write songs about in terrified whispers. Regis Vale, Acting Guild Master. It was ridiculous. It was also useful. He let his mouth curve into a practiced boss smile, the kind that promised supportive leadership while quietly informing your spine that quitting would not be tolerated. Footsteps approached in the hallway, hesitant, then faster, then hesitant again, like someone was walking forward while reading a list of reasons they shouldn’t.

  The door opened and Seraphine Park stepped in with a binder that looked like it had survived several previous bosses and was eager to outlive this one too. She didn’t ask if he was ready. She didn’t apologize for interrupting. She simply entered, set the binder down, and held his gaze with the steady, disciplined calm of a woman who could refuse to compromise ethics even while the roof was actively leaking on her head. “Acting Guild Master Vale,” she said, crisp and formal. “Welcome to Branch Zero.”

  “Seraphine Park,” Regis replied, voice dry, precise, corporate menace disguised as encouragement. “You’re early.”

  “I’m on time,” she corrected, and opened the binder like it was a courtroom exhibit. “Staff is assembling. Some of them will arrive late. One will arrive dramatically late and pretend it was fate.”

  Regis kept the smile. “Incident metrics first.”

  Seraphine paused, pen hovering over a tab. “I’m sorry?”

  “Incident metrics,” he repeated, still smiling, as if asking for a glass of water. “Crime density by district, response times, NEX yield per intervention, public trust trendlines, equipment inventory, and the number of times this building has tried to kill someone in the last month.”

  Seraphine blinked once, controlled. “We don’t have trendlines.”

  Regis’s smile didn’t move. “Then we’ll make them.”

  A sound drifted up from the lobby, the unmistakable chaos of people who had not been told what to do yet. Seraphine flipped to a sheet that was mostly empty boxes and handwritten notes. “We have basic logs. Paper logs. There is no functioning incident terminal beyond the System dashboard. The previous Acting Master…” She paused like the words were unpleasant. “Did not emphasize data.”

  Regis leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing at the binder pages. “He emphasized what?”

  Seraphine’s mouth tightened. “Motivational speeches. Community hugs. A monthly bake sale.”

  Regis sat back, the chair squeaking like it was offended by competence. “So the branch ran on sugar and denial.”

  Seraphine didn’t smile, but her eyes carried the faintest hint of approval at the conclusion. “That’s accurate.”

  A cheerful ping popped into existence in Regis’s vision, bright enough to feel like an insult. A window hovered at the edge of his sight, glittering, eager.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [MAIN QUEST ACCEPTED! “INSPIRE HOPE IN GRAYBRIDGE.” REWARD: COMMUNITY TRUST!]

  Regis didn’t move his eyes toward it at first, because he refused to give it the satisfaction. “I’m going to inspire hope by not dying in this building.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [SIDE QUEST ACTIVE! “REPLACE COFFEE FILTERS.” REWARD: FUNCTIONAL MORNING!]

  The side quest blinked. It blinked again. It blinked like it had a personal vendetta.

  Regis let his smile drop. “You have got to be kidding.”

  Seraphine’s brows pulled together. “Pardon?”

  Regis’s eyes stayed on her. “Nothing. Continue.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [BONUS OBJECTIVE! “SAY SOMETHING NICE TO SERAPHINE.” REWARD: SOCIAL WARMTH!]

  Regis’s jaw tightened. “I’m going to grind you into glitter.”

  Seraphine watched him a beat too long, not with fear, but with that annoying professional suspicion that came from competence. “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, we can pace the onboarding. The Auditor will be here later. There’s no need to antagonize the System.”

  Regis’s smile returned, thinner. “I don’t antagonize. I restructure.”

  Seraphine closed the binder with a quiet thump. “Then I’ll restructure your expectations. We have no vehicles. No operational computer. One printer that may or may not be cursed. Two radios that work if you hold them at an angle. Our medkit is missing half the contents and the other half is expired. The building’s emergency protocols require equipment we don’t have. The hall’s defensive wards are either inactive or decorative. There is a rat problem. There is also a mold problem. They may be allied.”

  Regis rose and gestured toward the door like a man about to tour a new corporate acquisition instead of a condemned civic hazard. “Show me.”

  The tour of Graybridge Guild Hall felt like walking through the inside of a tired joke that no one had the money to rewrite. The hallway wallpaper peeled in long curls, revealing older wallpaper beneath it, like the building had shed skins and still failed to grow. A chandelier flickered overhead, throwing soft light that made every crack look more romantic than it deserved. Seraphine moved with purpose, pointing out things with a steady voice that didn’t ramble, as if listing hazards was simply a form of honesty. “This is the main hall,” she said, indicating a wide room with mismatched chairs, a stage that had seen better decades, and a bulletin board covered in flyers. “Community meetings. Training sessions. Sometimes press events, when we can convince local reporters that we’re not a punchline.”

  Regis’s eyes tracked corners, exits, lines of sight, structural weak points, places where a competent enemy would enter, places where a stupid enemy would enter, and the places where the building itself would probably collapse just to make the point that it could. Everything was a weak point. The entire guild was a weak point. Even the floorboards creaked like they were gossiping. “Any secure storage?” he asked.

  Seraphine led him to a door with a bent lock. Inside was a small room with shelves and a sad metal cabinet. The cabinet door hung slightly open, like it had given up on secrets. “This is it. We keep basic supplies here. When we have supplies. Which we mostly don’t. The lock sticks.”

  Regis reached out, touched the lock with two fingers, and felt the cheap metal’s story in the way he felt everything’s story when he chose to. He could fix it in a heartbeat. He could also turn the entire cabinet into a sentient bear made of steel if he wanted. He withdrew his hand as if it were nothing. “We will replace it.”

  “With what funds?” Seraphine asked, not sarcastic, just factual.

  Regis turned his head slightly, a small movement that would have been a shrug if he had been human in the way most people understood it. “We’ll acquire funds.”

  Seraphine’s eyes sharpened. “Legally.”

  Regis met her gaze. “As legally as possible.”

  They passed a cramped kitchen area where a coffee machine sat like a wounded animal, surrounded by mugs that looked like they had survived wars. A handwritten sign taped to the cabinet said “Please don’t use the last filter.” Beneath it, someone had written, “We did. Sorry.” Regis stared at the coffee station with the same cold focus he reserved for existential threats.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [SIDE QUEST REMINDER! “REPLACE COFFEE FILTERS.” REWARD: FUNCTIONAL MORNING!]

  Regis muttered, “I will throw you into the sun.”

  Seraphine’s voice stayed even. “You said something?”

  Regis smiled without warmth. “I said we need coffee filters.”

  Seraphine nodded once, like he’d just acknowledged gravity. “Yes. We do.”

  Downstairs, voices rose as more staff gathered. The lobby was trying its best to look like a heroic headquarters and mostly succeeding at looking like a community center that got lost on the way to better funding. A receptionist with tired eyes and stubborn optimism waved at Regis as he emerged. “Guild Master! People are here!”

  Regis lifted a hand in a small, controlled wave that implied welcome and authority without promising intimacy. “Excellent. Gather them.”

  It took less than two minutes for “gather” to become “cluster” because heroes, even entry level ones, did not naturally arrange themselves into professional formations. Caleb Ward stood near the reception desk, tall and broad-shouldered, with the earnest, anxious look of someone who had read all the rules and still worried he’d break them. Nia Kade leaned against the wall like the wall owed her a favor, eyes scanning the room, posture relaxed in a way that suggested she could still move fast if she needed. Otto Pritchard stood near a table with a bundle of cables, already talking to himself like he was narrating a documentary about his own future mistakes. Mara Quell was off to the side, silent, hands in her pockets, looking like she’d walked in, assessed the room, and decided words were optional.

  A crash of the front door announced the last arrival before introductions even began. Juno Alvarez swept in like the lobby was a stage and the world owed her applause. Her hair was a mess of stylish chaos, her jacket half-zipped, her grin too wide to be trustworthy. “Sorry I’m late!” she called, voice fast, quippy, mid-action even while walking. “Destiny traffic. You know how fate is? Always merging without signaling?”

  Caleb blinked. “Destiny traffic?”

  Juno pointed at the ceiling like destiny lived in the rafters. “Yeah, it’s like regular traffic but with more dramatic irony. Also there was a guy with a cart of live chickens and I had to not kill him, so.” She tossed an invisible coin in the air and caught it. “System gave me a NEX for ‘non-lethal commute.’ Which is honestly rude because I’m always non-lethal on Mondays.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED! “DID NOT COMMIT VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER.” REWARD: +1 NEX!]

  Regis stared at the blinking window in his vision, then at Juno, then at the door as if considering whether locking it would be socially acceptable. He chose not to speak immediately because words would have been a crime.

  Juno’s gaze landed on Regis and her grin sharpened into something dangerous and delighted. “Oh no.”

  Caleb glanced between them. “Oh no what?”

  Juno walked closer, eyes bright, voice dropping into dramatic emphasis like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “You’re the new boss. You’re like, super hot in a boss daddy kind of way.”

  Silence hit the lobby so hard even the chandelier flicker seemed to pause out of respect.

  Regis didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just stared at her the way a man stared at a meteor that had decided to flirt before impact. “No.”

  Juno blinked. “No?”

  “No,” Regis repeated, short and precise.

  Juno shrugged with theatrical acceptance. “Okay, boundaries. Love that for us.” Then she leaned toward Seraphine, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “He’s got that vibe, though.”

  Seraphine’s face remained a disciplined mask. “Juno.”

  Juno held up both hands. “I’m just saying. He looks like he could file my taxes and ruin my enemies. That’s a type.”

  Regis inhaled slowly through his nose, then spoke like a man reading a corporate memo about a natural disaster. “Welcome to Branch Zero. You are here to do heroic work. We will keep that work efficient, visible, and profitable.”

  Caleb’s eyes widened slightly at the word profitable. “Profitable?”

  Seraphine stepped smoothly into the gap, voice steady. “He means financially sustainable.”

  Regis glanced at her. “I meant profitable.”

  Seraphine’s stare didn’t flinch. “Financially sustainable,” she repeated, and somehow made it sound like a legal mandate.

  Caleb took a cautious half-step forward, sincerity radiating from him like he didn’t know how to turn it off. “Hi. I’m Caleb Ward. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” He offered his hand.

  Regis looked at the hand like it was a trap, which was unfair because it was just a handshake, and yet he had ended wars over less. He took it anyway, grip firm, measured, the shake brief and controlled. Caleb smiled with relief. “Thank you. I’m really excited to work with you. We’ve had… kind of a rough run.”

  Juno leaned in, stage whispering. “Caleb’s like a golden retriever. Like if a golden retriever found a sword and decided to be morally responsible about it.”

  Caleb’s smile faltered. “That’s not… that’s not what I’m going for.”

  Nia’s voice drifted in, low-key sarcasm, calm in chaos. “It’s accurate, though.”

  Caleb’s ears went red. “It’s not.”

  Juno patted his shoulder like she was consoling a puppy. “It’s okay. Golden retrievers are heroes.”

  Caleb looked mildly wounded. “I wanted to be more like… a knight?”

  Juno beamed. “Golden retriever knight. Even better.”

  Regis released Caleb’s hand and turned his attention to Nia, who remained leaned back, eyes sharp. “Nia Kade,” Seraphine supplied.

  Nia lifted two fingers in a small salute. “Yeah. I’m Nia. I do logistics and not dying. If you’re looking for incident metrics, you should know half our reports never made it to the System because the terminal downstairs hates us.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “The terminal hates you?”

  Nia shrugged. “I think it hates optimism. It works better when you swear at it. Otto once apologized to it and it froze for two days.”

  Otto looked up instantly, bright-eyed, excited. “It was a misunderstanding! I thought it was sentient! It might still be sentient!”

  Seraphine sighed like she’d been holding it all morning. “Otto Pritchard. Our inventor. Technically.”

  Otto stepped forward, grinning like danger was a friend. “Guild Master! Sir! Boss! Acting! I have so many ideas. So many. The branch could have drones. We could have automated barricades. We could have a self-cleaning lobby. We could have a floor that shocks rats. Not enough to kill them. Just enough to make them respect us.”

  Mara’s voice, blunt truth, few words. “No.”

  Otto turned toward her, undeterred. “Fine. Not shock. Maybe vibrating floorboards.”

  Mara didn’t change expression. “No.”

  Caleb whistled softly, impressed despite himself, eyes flicking to Mara as if she had just ended a debate with a single syllable, which she had.

  Regis studied Mara for a moment. Quiet bruiser. The kind of person who moved heavy things and carried morals like weight you didn’t complain about. “Mara Quell.”

  She nodded once. “Yes.”

  Regis’s mouth twitched, a near-smile. “Good.”

  Juno grinned. “Mara’s our anchor. If the building falls down, she’ll hold it up with one arm and judge us with the other.”

  Mara glanced at Juno. “Maybe.”

  Seraphine clapped once, not loud, but sharp enough to pull attention. “Tour is complete. Acting Guild Master Vale has requested incident metrics and an operational assessment. We are doing a branch reset.”

  “Reset?” Juno asked, already vibrating with curiosity. “Like, do we get to delete our trauma?”

  Regis’s tone stayed dry. “No. You get to organize it.”

  A flash of movement near the front desk drew Nia’s attention. She shifted, eyes narrowing, then walked over without being asked. On the way, she plucked a pamphlet from a small stand and held it up. “Who put out ‘Guild Donation Certificates’ with our seal?”

  The receptionist blinked. “Those have been there for weeks?”

  Nia read it fast, then snorted softly. “They’re fake. The QR code routes to a private account. Someone’s skimming donations.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Caleb’s eyes widened. “What? Who would do that?”

  Nia glanced toward the door, calm in chaos. “Someone who thinks we’re too broke to notice. Which is fair, but still rude.” She walked to the stand, flipped it around, and peeled off a second sticker hidden behind it. “And this is a scam flyer offering ‘priority hero response’ for a fee. That’s not us. That’s somebody trying to sell fear. Again, fair market, but not on my watch.”

  Juno leaned over Caleb’s shoulder. “Nia’s like a cat. She can smell scams.”

  Caleb looked impressed. “How do you even see that stuff?”

  Nia didn’t look up. “I assume everyone’s lying until proven otherwise. It’s peaceful.”

  Regis watched her fix two scams without blinking, then quietly take the donation stand to the back like she was removing a piece of rot. He respected that more than he wanted to. “Good instincts,” he said, the closest thing to praise.

  Nia glanced at him, surprised, then nodded once like she’d accept the compliment but would never admit she needed it. “Thanks.”

  Otto clapped his hands together suddenly. “Okay! Since we’re doing a reset, we need equipment! We need supplies! We need… a printer.”

  Seraphine’s head turned slowly. “We do not need a printer.”

  “We do,” Otto insisted, already moving toward a dusty machine in the corner like it was a holy artifact. “Paperwork is power. Contracts. Flyers. Recruitment posters. We can print inspirational quotes. We can print safety signs. We can print wanted posters. We can print coffee filter coupons if the world is kind.”

  Regis’s eye twitched at the coffee reference.

  Otto plugged the printer in.

  The outlet sparked like it was excited to die.

  The printer made a noise that sounded like a small animal choking on ambition, then promptly began to smoke.

  Otto leaned closer. “It’s warming up.”

  Flames licked out from the back panel, bright and cheerful, as if the printer had decided arson was its primary function.

  The receptionist squeaked. Caleb stepped forward with alarm. “Otto! Unplug it!”

  Otto waved a hand, still grinning. “It’s fine! It’s just a little thermal enthusiasm!”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [LEARNING OPPORTUNITY DETECTED! TIP: FIRE IS HOT!]

  Regis stood perfectly still, watching the printer burn with muted fascination, as if this was an educational documentary called “Why This Branch Is In Debt.” He felt Seraphine’s tension spike beside him.

  Mara moved.

  She didn’t run. She didn’t shout. She just crossed the lobby in a straight line, grabbed the burning printer cable with one hand like pain was optional, and yanked it from the wall. The socket came with it. Sparks spat. The printer gave a final little hiss like it was offended to be interrupted.

  Caleb whistled again, more sincere this time. “Holy…”

  Mara dropped the socket on the floor, stepped on it once to flatten the sparks into submission, and looked at Otto. “Stop.”

  Otto blinked at her like he’d just been handed a new constraint. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop. For now.” He pointed at the smoking printer like it was a wounded pet. “But it wants to live. I can fix it. I just need… like… a fire extinguisher.”

  Seraphine’s voice remained steady but carried steel. “We don’t have one.”

  Otto’s grin faltered, then returned stronger, like he’d decided adversity was flirtation. “We can make one.”

  Regis turned to Seraphine. “Add fire extinguisher to procurement.”

  Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “With what funds?”

  Regis’s smile returned. “We’ll acquire funds.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [SIDE QUEST UPDATED! “ACQUIRE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER.” REWARD: NOT BURNING DOWN YOUR JOB!]

  Regis’s gaze hardened at the pop-up. “I despise you.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [THANK YOU FOR YOUR FEEDBACK! IT HAS BEEN FILED UNDER: “EMOTIONAL GROWTH.”]

  The wall phone rang.

  Everyone stared at it like it was a myth.

  The receptionist blinked, then hurried to pick it up. “Graybridge Guild Hall, Branch Zero, how can we help you?” Her expression shifted as she listened. “Yes, sergeant. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, we can respond.”

  Seraphine stepped in, hand out. The receptionist covered the receiver. “Police dispatch. Low-tier robbery. Jewelry store. Market Row.”

  Regis felt the dashboard alert ping in his vision a half-second later, bright and smug.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [NEW INCIDENT AVAILABLE! “BEGINNER NEX.” WARNING: HIGH HUMILIATION RISK!]

  Juno perked up. “Humiliation risk? Oh, I love that. That’s my brand.”

  Caleb swallowed, shoulders tensing. “We should go. People could get hurt.”

  Nia pushed off the wall, calm as ever. “Jewelry store means cameras. Cameras means everybody will see us screw up. Which means we should not screw up.”

  Otto snapped his fingers like he’d found a loophole. “What if we bring the printer? We can throw it at criminals.”

  Mara said, “No,” again, and somehow sounded kinder this time.

  Seraphine moved toward a chalkboard on the wall, except it wasn’t really a chalkboard. It was a slab of painted wood someone had labeled “Planning Board” with a marker. She grabbed a piece of charcoal from a small tin that looked like it had been stolen from a fireplace and began drawing. The fact that the branch’s tactical planning depended on charcoal felt like a personal insult to civilization. “We have no gear,” she said, drawing a rectangle for the jewelry store. “No comms beyond the radios. No vehicle. We’ll run. Roles will keep this clean.”

  Regis stepped closer, eyes scanning the rough map. “Who’s on point?”

  Caleb lifted a hand, earnest. “I can be. I’m durable.”

  Mara nodded once. “I’ll be point.”

  Caleb looked at her, then nodded, sincere. “Okay. You’re point. I’ll be support.”

  Juno bounced on her heels. “I’ll be chaos.”

  Seraphine didn’t look up. “You will be distraction and crowd management.”

  Juno saluted. “Chaos with a mission. Got it.”

  Nia pointed at the charcoal map. “I’ll flank. Cut off exit. Also I’ll watch the bystanders. Jewelry stores have regular people who panic and trip over their own feet.”

  Otto raised both hands. “I have… tools.”

  Seraphine’s charcoal paused. “Do you?”

  Otto patted his pockets. “A screwdriver. A coil of wire. Three zip ties. A half-eaten granola bar. Hope.”

  Regis’s voice went corporate again, the calm of someone assigning tasks in a crisis meeting. “Otto, you are support and improvisation. If you invent something, it should not burn. Mara, you are point and physical control. Caleb, you are de-escalation and rescue. Juno, you are distraction and morale. Nia, you are flanking and threat assessment. Seraphine, you coordinate and keep the System from eating us alive.”

  Seraphine’s eyes flicked to him. “And you?”

  Regis didn’t hesitate. “I’m leading.”

  Juno’s grin widened. “Boss daddy is coming with us. Love that.”

  Regis stared at her. “Do not call me that.”

  Juno shrugged. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Boss sir. Hot boss sir. I’ll workshop it.”

  Caleb cleared his throat, trying not to smile and failing. “Are we… allowed to have the Guild Master in the field?”

  Regis’s tone stayed short. “Today, yes.”

  Seraphine studied him for a moment, suspicion still there, but she didn’t argue. “Then we move now. Market Row is five blocks. Run.”

  The rain hit like cold needles the moment they stepped outside, Graybridge’s sky a low, dirty slate. The street smelled like wet stone, fried food from a corner vendor, and the faint chemical bite of cheap magic used by people who couldn’t afford better. They ran past storefronts with flickering signs, past a bus stop where a couple of citizens watched them with tired curiosity, past an alley where someone had painted “Guild = Joke” on the wall and then added a smiley face like it was friendly criticism. Juno jogged sideways at one point, keeping pace while looking at Regis. “So what’s your deal?”

  Regis didn’t look at her. “My deal is stopping a robbery.”

  “That’s the job,” Juno said, still running like a person born with extra batteries. “I mean your vibe. You’re like… calm. Like corporate calm. Like you could tell me to update my timesheet while I’m bleeding.”

  “That is not calm,” Regis replied. “That is efficiency.”

  Caleb puffed beside them, still earnest even while running. “I think it’s reassuring.”

  Nia’s voice came from behind, low and amused. “Caleb thinks everything is reassuring. If the building collapses, he’ll apologize to it.”

  Caleb shot her a wounded look while still jogging. “I would not.”

  Juno grinned. “You would.”

  Caleb’s cheeks reddened. “I might.”

  Seraphine called over the rain, voice steady. “Focus.”

  Market Row looked like a postcard of commerce and desperation. Bright awnings. Jewelry displays glowing behind glass. People huddled under umbrellas, darting between shops, pretending the city wasn’t trying to chew them up. The jewelry store sat between a bakery and, to Regis’s deep personal disgust, a costume shop with a giant sign that read “Cape Corner.” A rack of cheap branded capes hung in the window like a mockery of heroism and villainy alike.

  The robbery was already in progress, and it hurt to look at it. Three criminals in matching capes, cheap fabric with a stylized lightning bolt logo that looked like it had been designed by someone who’d never been struck by anything harder than accountability. Their masks were plastic. Their swagger was borrowed. One of them held a small pistol with both hands like he was afraid it would bite. Another swung a bat at the air, trying to look threatening. The third was stuffing jewelry into a bag while yelling at the clerk, who looked pale and furious and dangerously close to doing something brave without backup.

  Juno squinted. “Did they buy their uniforms next door?”

  Nia’s mouth twitched. “They did. Receipt’s probably still in the bag.”

  Caleb slowed, hands up, stepping forward with that sincere, simple tone that tried to make the world less sharp. “Hey! Nobody needs to get hurt, alright?”

  The bat guy spun. “Back off! We’re the Bolt Boys!”

  Juno whispered, “That’s a terrible name.”

  Regis’s eyes narrowed. “Agreed.”

  Caleb kept his hands visible, voice gentle. “Listen, Bolt Boys, you can walk away. Drop the weapon. Leave the bag. You still get to go home. You still get to wake up tomorrow and decide to not be this guy.”

  The pistol guy’s hands shook. “We need the NEX! The System doesn’t care if we’re hungry!”

  Juno muttered, “Mood.”

  Seraphine moved to the side, scanning the street, eyes on bystanders, voice clipped. “Mara, point. Nia, flank. Otto, stay behind cover. Juno, crowd.”

  Juno turned to the gathering crowd like she was born for it. She hopped onto a low planter, raised both hands, and shouted with bright, ridiculous confidence. “Hi! Hello! This is a live heroic situation! Please move back and pretend you’re not filming with your soul!”

  People blinked, then, of course, started filming with their phones.

  Juno pointed at a man holding his phone up. “Sir, if you get shot because you wanted a better angle, I’m going to haunt you.”

  The man lowered his phone a fraction, offended. “I’m streaming!”

  Juno nodded solemnly. “Okay. Stream from farther away. Safety is hot.”

  Regis watched Juno’s chaos turn into effective crowd control with grudging appreciation. He would never say it out loud.

  Mara moved like a quiet engine, stepping into the store entrance without drama. Caleb followed, still talking, still trying to pull the situation down from the ledge. “You don’t want to do this,” he said, eyes on the pistol. “You’re scared. I get it. But you’re not trapped.”

  The bat guy barked a laugh, too loud. “You don’t get anything! You’re just a guild puppy!”

  Caleb flinched, because words landed, but he didn’t retreat. “I’m not a puppy. I’m here to help.”

  Nia slipped along the outside wall, moving calm and fast, eyes scanning for the exit. She spotted it, a back door with a small alley beyond. She angled herself into position like a chess piece that had grown tired of being underestimated.

  Otto crouched behind a newspaper stand, rummaging through his pockets like he was searching for destiny in a granola bar wrapper. “Okay, okay, okay,” he whispered to himself. “Zip tie, wire, screwdriver, hope. That’s enough to build a… a… distraction device. A non-burning distraction device.”

  Regis stepped forward, controlled, voice cold and precise. “Bolt Boys.”

  All three criminals looked at him, and for the first time, their expressions shifted. Something about his calm didn’t match their expectations. They wanted fear. They wanted shouting. They wanted hero theatrics.

  Regis gave them a manager stare. “You’re doing crime in front of cameras. In matching outfits. Next to the store that sold you those outfits.”

  The bag guy blinked, thrown. “So?”

  Regis tilted his head slightly. “So it’s humiliating.”

  The bat guy bristled. “We’re scary!”

  Regis’s voice stayed flat. “You’re themed.”

  Juno, outside, cackled loudly enough to carry. “He said you’re themed!”

  The pistol guy’s hands shook harder. “Shut up! Shut up! We’ll shoot!”

  Caleb’s tone softened, sincere. “You don’t want to shoot anyone. You’re not holding that right.”

  The pistol guy glanced down at his grip like he’d just realized that was true, then snapped his eyes back up, embarrassed and angry. “I can shoot!”

  Mara took one step closer, calm, and the air shifted. She didn’t threaten. She didn’t posture. She was simply there, and her presence made violence feel less like a plan and more like a mistake.

  Bat guy swung at her, a wild horizontal arc meant to intimidate.

  Mara moved her head half an inch. The bat whistled past her cheek, missing by nothing. Her hand snapped out, caught the bat near the end, and twisted. The bat guy yelped as his wrist bent. Mara pulled, stepping in close, using leverage like she’d been taught by someone who understood bones. The bat dropped. Mara’s other hand shoved him backward into a display case. Glass rattled but didn’t break.

  Caleb lunged, not to attack, but to put himself between the pistol and the clerk. “Hey! Eyes on me! Talk to me!”

  The pistol guy swung the weapon toward Caleb, panic spiking. “Move!”

  Regis felt time slow in his perception, not because the world actually slowed, but because his mind always had room to breathe when violence happened. He could solve this in a hundred ways. He could turn the pistol into dust. He could rewrite the thief’s intention so he decided to become a baker instead. He could make every piece of jewelry in the bag become a live snake.

  He chose subtle.

  A micro-gesture, disguised as smoothing the cuff of his coat. A thread of power slipped out like a whisper. Probability nudged. The pistol guy’s finger twitched at the wrong moment, not firing, just losing tension.

  The pistol clattered out of his hands.

  The sound was loud in the small store. Every face snapped toward it.

  Caleb’s eyes widened. “Okay! That’s good! That’s good! Nobody wants that thing anyway!”

  The pistol guy stared at his empty hands like they’d betrayed him. “What? No, I didn’t…”

  Juno’s voice carried from outside. “He dropped it! He dropped it like a loser!”

  The bag guy snarled, turning toward the exit. “Forget this! Run!”

  Nia stepped into the back doorway like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact moment. Calm. Still. Eyes sharp. “No.”

  The bag guy hesitated, then tried to bolt past her.

  Nia moved just enough, foot hooking behind his ankle. The trip was clean, almost gentle, but the bag guy hit the floor with a grunt, jewelry spilling like glittering evidence. He tried to scramble up, and Nia placed a boot on the bag, pinning it like it was an animal. “Sit,” she said, weaponizing silence, voice quiet but absolute.

  Bag guy froze, breathing hard. “You can’t tell me to sit.”

  Nia tilted her head. “I can. Look, you’re sitting.”

  Otto popped up from behind cover with something in his hands, eyes bright. “I made a thing!”

  Seraphine’s voice snapped. “Otto, do not throw it!”

  Otto held up a coil of wire wrapped around a small metal disc. “It’s not explosive. It’s a magnet! Sort of! I think! It’s going to yank all the jewelry back into the bag, which is great because then we can return it fast and also it’ll look cool!”

  Regis felt his eye twitch again. “Do not.”

  Otto’s hands shook with excitement. “But it’ll be so cool!”

  Juno yelled from outside. “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

  Caleb turned, sincerity panicking. “Guys, please, no!”

  Mara had the bat guy pinned against the display case with one forearm, calm as a brick wall. “Stop,” she told him softly, and it sounded like a promise.

  Regis made another micro-gesture, almost invisible, and the jewelry on the floor slid a few inches, neatly, back toward the bag, as if gravity had gotten organized. Not enough to look like magic, just enough to make it seem like Nia had swept it with her boot and the world had decided to cooperate.

  Otto blinked, offended. “Hey, my magnet was going to do that.”

  Nia didn’t look at him. “Your magnet was going to set off the store alarms and probably rip someone’s piercings out.”

  Otto’s grin faltered. “That’s… a fair point.”

  The clerk, a middle-aged woman with fierce eyes and shaking hands, stared at the captured criminals with something that looked like rage and relief tangled together. “Are they done?”

  Caleb nodded quickly, voice gentle. “Yes, ma’am. They’re done. You’re safe. Are you hurt?”

  The clerk looked at the broken chaos in her store, then at Caleb, and her eyes watered. “No. I’m just… angry.”

  Caleb nodded as if anger made perfect sense. “Yeah. Yeah, you should be.”

  Seraphine stepped in, voice steady, already shifting into incident management. “We need statements. We need to secure the scene. Police are en route. Mara, hold him. Nia, keep the exit blocked. Juno, keep the crowd back. Caleb, check on the clerk and any bystanders.”

  Regis watched the team move, and for a brief, irritating second, he felt something like satisfaction. They listened. They acted. They didn’t collapse into panic. Even Juno’s ridiculous energy had become useful. It wasn’t leadership yet, but it was potential. Potential was a resource. Regis collected resources.

  Outside, the crowd had grown, umbrellas packed tight, phones raised. Juno was perched on the planter again, gesturing dramatically like she was hosting a late-night show. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have successfully prevented the Bolt Boys from becoming the Bolt Men. That’s growth! That’s character development!”

  A man shouted, “Are they going to jail?”

  Juno grinned. “Probably! Unless they have a really convincing sob story and a redemption arc, which honestly, I respect, but also, don’t rob people!”

  Police sirens approached, the sound cutting through rain like a promise.

  Regis stepped outside and let the crowd see him, let the cameras catch his face, let the narrative take shape. He stood with calm authority, not smug, not theatrical, just present in a way that made people assume he had always been there. He hated publicity, but he understood it. Fear was a currency. So was trust. Trust was harder to mint, but it held value longer.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [INCIDENT RESOLVED! REWARD: +12 NEX! BONUS: “PUBLIC VISIBILITY.” WARNING: “POTENTIAL MEME RISK.”]

  Regis’s mouth tightened. “Meme risk.”

  Juno bounced beside him. “Oh my god, we’re going to be a meme. I’ve never been so proud. Also, you looked so calm in there. Like a shark wearing a tie.”

  Regis didn’t look at her. “Stop talking.”

  Juno nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir.”

  She kept talking anyway, just quieter.

  Back at the guild hall, the rain had followed them in as damp boots and dripping hair, and the building greeted them with the same tired smell, as if it had been waiting to disappoint them again. The heroes filtered into the lobby, adrenaline fading into that shaky post-incident warmth where laughter came too easily and hands trembled a little when no one was looking. Caleb sat on the edge of a chair, breathing deep, eyes bright with the reality that he had talked someone down and nobody had died. Seraphine was already documenting, charcoal replaced by pen now that she had a surface that wasn’t actively wet. Nia leaned against the wall again, arms crossed, but there was a softness at the corner of her mouth that she would deny if asked. Otto paced near the dead printer, talking to it like it was a patient. Mara stood quietly by the broken socket, as if guarding it from future stupidity.

  The guild dashboard flickered to life with new notifications. A small bump in reputation. A tiny flood of comments from locals. A handful of new follower pings. A message from a name Regis didn’t recognize.

  POTENTIAL INVESTOR: GRAYBRIDGE MERCHANTS ASSOCIATION

  MESSAGE: “WELL DONE. LET’S TALK SPONSORSHIP.”

  Regis stared at it, then smiled faintly. “Good.”

  Seraphine glanced up. “What?”

  “A conversation,” Regis said. “With people who have money.”

  Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “We accept sponsorships ethically.”

  Regis nodded once, as if conceding a minor point in a negotiation. “We’ll accept their money ethically.”

  Juno dropped into a chair and threw her arms wide like she’d survived the world. “We did it! Branch Zero, zero chill, one hundred percent success!”

  Caleb smiled, sincere. “We did good.”

  Nia’s voice was low, calm. “We did okay. Good is when the building doesn’t electrocute anyone this week.”

  Otto snapped his fingers. “I can fix that! I can rewire the whole lobby! Probably!”

  Mara said, “No,” and Otto laughed like it was a joke, even though everyone knew it was a prophecy.

  A burst of confetti exploded in Regis’s vision, bright and obnoxious, as if the System had decided subtlety was for people with patience.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [BADGE AWARDED! “TEAMWORK.” REWARD: CONFETTI AND PERSONAL GROWTH!]

  Regis’s eye twitched so hard it almost counted as cardio. “Stop.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [YOU CAN’T STOP ACHIEVEMENT!]

  Confetti kept falling. In his vision. Not on the floor. In his actual sight, like a hallucination designed by someone who hated him personally.

  Regis stood very still, then spoke with the calm of a man choosing mercy by force of habit. “If you do that again, I will find a way to kill a concept.”

  Juno looked delighted. “He’s threatening the mascot AI. That’s leadership.”

  Caleb frowned, anxious. “Is that… allowed?”

  Seraphine’s voice was steady, but tired. “No.”

  Nia shrugged. “Probably.”

  Otto grinned. “We can build a concept-killer. I have ideas.”

  Mara looked at Otto. “No.”

  Regis took a slow breath, then looked at the team, really looked, and felt the irritating truth settle in like a splinter. They were his now. Not by love. Not by choice. By cosmic clause. By accident. By the System’s cruel sense of humor. A broken branch full of rookies, a building held together by mold and optimism, and a city that didn’t trust them yet. He could leave, maybe. He could try to break the clause again and risk the universe dragging him through another living-room feelings cutscene.

  Or he could do what he always did when the world tried to corner him.

  He could take it apart and rebuild it better.

  Regis’s smile returned, softer, almost convincing. “Good work today.”

  The lobby went quiet in that small way people went quiet when praise was rare enough to be meaningful. Caleb’s shoulders loosened. Juno’s grin turned less performative, more real. Nia blinked like she hadn’t expected it. Otto looked like someone had just handed him a new power source. Mara nodded once, accepting.

  Seraphine watched Regis like she was still trying to find the seam in him, the place where the persona ended and something else began. “We need to debrief,” she said. “We need to log the incident properly. We need to respond to the investor message carefully. We need supplies. Equipment. Filters.”

  Regis stared at the coffee station like it had personally challenged him. “Coffee filters are now a priority.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [SIDE QUEST ACTIVE! “REPLACE COFFEE FILTERS.” REWARD: FUNCTIONAL MORNING!]

  Regis didn’t even look up this time. “I hate you.”

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [HATE ACKNOWLEDGED! HERE’S A TIP: HATE CAN BE MOTIVATION!]

  Regis turned back to his team, voice short, corporate, encouraging in a way that suggested failure would be handled efficiently. “Rest for ten minutes. Then we plan. Branch Zero is going to change. Graybridge is going to notice. And if the System thinks it can bully me with confetti and coffee filters, it’s about to learn what a control freak with unlimited power can do when he’s bored.”

  Juno raised a hand like she was in class. “Question?”

  Regis pointed at her without looking. “Ask.”

  Juno grinned. “Are we getting jackets? Because if we’re a real team now, we need matching jackets. But like, cool matching jackets, not Bolt Boys matching jackets.”

  Caleb nodded earnestly. “Matching jackets could help identity.”

  Nia deadpanned. “Matching jackets could help us get shot.”

  Otto clapped. “I can make jackets! With pockets! For gadgets! Fire-resistant pockets!”

  Mara said, “No,” but her mouth almost, almost softened.

  Seraphine exhaled slowly, like she was already drafting the budget in her head and hating it. Regis stared at them, and against his will, the humor of it all landed. Not enough to make him laugh. Enough to make the corner of his mouth lift.

  “Fine,” Regis said. “We’ll discuss jackets after we replace the coffee filters.”

  The side quest blinked harder, smug as a tiny god.

  StarBuddy chimed triumphantly. [OBJECTIVE CLARIFIED! YOU’RE DOING GREAT!]