Chapter 24: Appointment Request

“This is just too crazy. My master is a hero, and my fellow maid is a former princess—like, it makes no sense!”

Waking up in the morning and eating bread for breakfast together, Sylha still hasn’t recovered from yesterday’s shock.

She kept muttering under her breath, “Crazy, crazy, crazy,” over and over.

“At this rate, an ordinary person like me is just going to stick out!”

“No way—a family of pugilists that’s been around for 500 years can’t exactly be called ordinary, can it?”

And I, after all, am the ordinary one.

I may have accidentally died and been summoned to another world, but I was genuinely born, raised, and blessed with abilities all below average—perfectly embodying what it means to be ordinary.

My language cheat, defense cheat, and time magic all hinder my ordinary nature, yet there’s no guy more suited to living—and dying—as an ordinary person than me.

“Anyway, we should probably hurry and buy a table and some chairs.”

“Yeah, definitely. I think so too.”

We were having breakfast in the living room as usual, but because of yesterday’s fiasco, there isn’t any table or chairs.

Because of that, we’re now sitting directly on the floor, and even the plates holding our bread are placed right on the floor.

Through the window—its glass all askew—the wind is howling byu-byu, and beneath the damaged floor, rats are scampering about chu-chu.

At this rate, it’s no different from eating outdoors.

“That’s right—we need to earn money quickly and buy all sorts of stuff. But I wonder if there’s any request that fits? With my rank, the rules say I can’t accept jobs that are too low-tier.”

“Heh, is that so? Well, don’t worry. I’m sure Ao will make money in a flash.”

I suppose that rule exists to protect the reputation of the R-rankers—the very face of the Adventurers’ Guild. If R-rankers swarmed the newcomer requests, that’d be a bit off-putting, wouldn’t it?

But here’s the problem. I was planning to live off Sylha’s earnings, yet it seems it won’t be that simple.

And then there’s Liluria.

What’s with that mysterious trust? Have I ever voluntarily worked even once? I haven’t. In other words, that’s just who I am.

I wish someone would just discard those excessive—no, pointless—expectations right away.

“You know, our master’s got that look on his face like he’s thinking about something utterly ridiculous…”

“Yeah. Even a newbie like me can tell. I bet A‑kun’s thinking something like, ‘I want to see a girl’s panties’ or something like that, right?”

“I’m not thinking that at all! Will you cut it out?! Don’t speak for my feelings!”

Sure, on an ordinary day I might be wondering if I could sneak a peek at the skirt of a girl walking ahead, but not now!

And for some reason, since last night, Sylha has started calling me “A‑kun.”
Is it a sign we’re getting closer, or maybe a change in her mood? I can’t really tell, but one thing’s for sure: “A‑kun” has more characters than my original name “Ao”—doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?

“Honestly, men are such idiots. Anyway, it’s fine. In a little while I’m heading to the Adventurers’ Guild, so Ao, make sure you’re ready, okay?”

Liluria left those words behind as she went back to her room to get ready.

Ugh, I don’t want to work in the slightest, yet my subordinate(?) maid is trying to make me work.

This might be nothing short of boss abuse.

Labor Standards Office! Where is the Labor Standards Office?!

Shouldn’t a maid normally be more in tune with her master’s feelings? I wish Liluria would at least have the guts to earn money for me instead.

“A‑kun? I–I mean, if you really must see a girl’s panties, then… I could show you mine… no, never mind, absolutely not!”

And then Sylha, blushing bright red and exclaiming “No way, no way, no way!” dashed off to the second floor.

What a rookie. It’s rare to see an older gal onee-chan get this flustered over just panties. And that’s downright precious.

If you’re that embarrassed, you really shouldn’t have said anything…

～～～～～～

“Welcome. Ninth Rank. And your companions.”

We arrived at the Adventurers’ Guild and headed straight to the reception amid curious glances.
Then we submitted our party application.

“I want to form a party with these three.”

At Sylha’s words, the entire guild began buzzing.

“Ninth Rank is forming a party?!”
“That solo who was famous?!”
“Is one of the members the B‑rank kid who defeated the branch manager before?!”
“Who is that cute kid?!”
“Damn it, I was aiming for that B‑rank kid!”

I don’t know much about the party system, but it seems that Sylha forming a party is quite a big deal.
Many adventurers are all saying in unison that they can’t believe it.

“I’m sorry. The young lady in your party is not registered as an adventurer, so forming a three-person party is not possible.”
“Well, of course. That was obvious. Then I’ll submit the application with just these two, excluding myself.”
“Understood. Please fill out this form.”

The receptionist said so and handed Sylha a sheet of paper.
It seems we have to fill in many details—our names, addresses, weapons, and more.

While Sylha was writing, I asked the receptionist,

“What’s the benefit of forming a party?”

We came here with the idea of forming a party, but I didn’t know what advantages it held.
Wouldn’t it be fine to just accept requests together on a joint basis?

“Well, for one, forming a party enables you to accept requests that are recommended for parties. Coordination, mutual trust, and shared knowledge of weapons and techniques mean that a small party can complete a request more perfectly than a large number of solo adventurers. Since roughly 70 percent of the requests issued by the guild are party-recommended, almost all adventurers form parties.”

I see.
No wonder everyone wants to team up.

On the contrary, Sylha has completely forsaken those party benefits by reaching Ninth Rank solo, which only highlights her monstrous abilities.

“Furthermore, if you join a party, the material sale commission drops from 10 percent to 8 percent. Statistically, adventurers in parties have a higher survival rate than those who work solo, so the Adventurers’ Guild gives preferential treatment to party members.”

…A higher survival rate?
That’s not a phrase you normally hear.

Do adventurers really just die?
And in statistically measurable numbers, too.

…Perhaps I really should retire from adventuring immediately.
Even though my cheats mean I don’t really die, I can’t handle a job with such risks.

Damn, I want to hand in my resignation to this receptionist right now.

“Alright, thank you. With this, you two are recognized as a party. The leader is set as Ao-san—are you truly okay with that?”
“Yeah. I’m just not cut out to be a leader.”

I’m not cut out to be a leader either!?
What do you think you’re doing, making me the leader without my consent, you gal?
Based on our ranks, you should be the leader.

“Hey, skipping over Ninth Rank and making someone the leader—she’s really something else.”
“It won’t be long before an A‑rank emerges from our branch.”
“That just shows how highly she’s regarded as Ninth Rank.”
“Impressive for someone so young. I can’t wait to see what the future holds.”

And when it was revealed that I, a B‑rank adventurer, would be serving as leader, the entire guild buzzed once again.

Stop it.
Don’t expect too much from me!
I’m such a spineless weakling that if I had the money, I’d be ready to hand in my resignation right now—unworthy even of standing in the wind of adventurers!

“So, is there any promising request? I, for one, want to take on one with a high reward.”
“Alright, please wait a moment. I’ll check now.”

The receptionist left for another room.

“Liluria, you really should register as an adventurer by now. Why haven’t you done so?”
You said the other day you’d only do maid work, but we’re going to carry out requests together anyway. It would make things a lot easier if you registered.

In response to my question, Liluria answered in a small voice,

“You dummy. If I register as an adventurer, the guild will record data like my name, hair color, and height. Even if I use a pseudonym for my name, there’s no guarantee that Rekuria’s pursuers won’t be directed here because of my physical characteristics. There’s no benefit in taking that risk, is there?”

That’s certainly true.
I mean, it’s the first time I’ve heard that simply registering as an adventurer means having all that information on file.
It must be top-secret data known only to the royal family.

If that’s true, could it be that my height of only 168 centimeters has already been exposed?
If so, that would be really awful!

I’m still growing, so I have hope for the future, but if I remain this short even as an adult, I might end up using every bit of my strength to cause havoc at the Adventurers’ Guild.
And I would completely erase that embarrassing record of my height.
If I don’t do something, the record of my short stature will remain for the rest of my life—I have no choice.

While I was brooding over my complex about being short, the receptionist returned, a large bundle of papers in hand.

“Thank you for waiting. These are the most promising requests for now, but there is one you should prioritize.”

The receptionist held out the top sheet for us to see, and said,

“There’s an appointment request for Ao-san. The location is the Xenon Laboratory at Rozy University. If you have companions, please include them—so please handle it as a group.”