Chapter 35: Chapter 35: WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO

The afternoon sun draped itself across the courtyard in long, golden bands, catching the rough texture of the stone walls and the fine cracks that had been there since before Dominic signed the deed.

He sat on the old wooden bench pushed against the eastern wall, right where the chalk line from Florence’s first training session had faded to a ghost. Most of it was gone now. A few faint streaks still clung to the stone, stubborn.

The back door opened and Florence stepped out.

She’d changed into a fresh shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, her damp hair pulled back in a loose tail. The faint scar along her jaw from the angel’s beam was still visible, a pale line that hadn’t been there before the raid. She crossed the courtyard with the easy stride of someone who owned every space she walked into and dropped onto the bench beside him, close enough that her shoulder pressed against his.

"You’re brooding," she said.

"I’m thinking."

"Are you thinking about the tokens."

Partly. Three hundred left after the pull. Not enough for another attempt. But mostly he kept turning over the system’s note. It wanted to be used. And he was starting to suspect that keeping it entertained was part of the contract.

"Partly," he admitted. "And partly something else."

She didn’t push. She just waited, her shoulder warm against his, her face tilted toward the sun. Her eyes were closed.

"Victor thinks I’m still F-rank," he said.

"He’s in for a surprise."

"He’s confident. You should have seen him at the Trials announcement. He practically wished me luck. Like it was a joke we were both in on."

Florence let out a short breath through her nose. "Let him be confident. That same confidence will be his downfall" She cracked one eye open and looked at him sideways. "You’ve been training for two weeks. You survived a floor ten boss that nearly killed all three of us. You’ve got Theresa’s amplification and whatever scraps of my combat sense the bond is letting through. Victor has a flashy class and an inflated opinion of himself. The math doesn’t favor him."

"He’s Magic Swordsman. A rare class. He’ll have trained hard."

"So have you." She closed her eye again. Her voice was calm, unhurried. "Stop worrying about what he can do and start thinking about what you’re going to do. You’ve got five days. Use them."

He looked at her. Her face was relaxed in the sunlight, peaceful in a way it never was during training. But through the bond he could feel the constant hum of her attention, that undercurrent of evaluation that never fully switched off. Even lounging on a bench, the general was still working.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For the training. For being an active part of this."

She opened both eyes. Turned her head. Looked at him with that flat, measuring stare she’d worn the first time she threw him into a wall. But something behind it had shifted. Softened around the edges.

"I told you," she said. "This is our thing now. I’m not going anywhere."

She held his gaze a moment longer. Then she closed her eyes again and turned back to the sun. He didn’t look away from her right away. The scar on her jaw. The way her shoulders finally looked loose. The steady crackle of her presence through the bond.

They sat together in the quiet. The chalk line faded on the wall. The city kept moving beyond the gate, unaware.

***

The knock came in the late morning.

Three firm raps on the apartment door. Not the front gate. It had to be someone who knew them personally.

Florence pushed off the bench and crossed to the door. She opened it.

Frank Castle stood in the courtyard beyond, framed by the mid-morning sun. He was holding a fruit basket in both hands, wrapped in clear paper, tied with a red bow on the handle, the kind of basket a guild branch manager might send to a retiring clerk or a visiting official. He was holding it like a man who had never held a fruit basket in his life and wasn’t sure what to do with his forearms now that he was.

Florence looked at the basket. Then at Frank. A grin spread across her face, slow and delighted.

"You brought gifts."

"It’s from the guild," Frank said. His voice was level. "Officially."

"And unofficially?"

A pause. Frank’s jaw tightened, then released. "Unofficially, I picked it out myself. Are you going to let me in?"

She stepped aside with a sweeping gesture. "Please. Any person with a fruit basket is welcome in this house."

Frank walked in and scanned the apartment in one quick, comprehensive sweep, the table, the study door with its lock, the halberd propped against the wall, the courtyard visible through the back window.

His gaze landed on Wobbly, which was on the main room floor with a single pink bow perched slightly off-center on its head. He stared at it for exactly one second longer than necessary. Then he visibly decided not to ask.

Dominic stood. "Frank."

"Dominic." Frank set the basket on the table. "Sit. This isn’t an official visit."

They sat. The study door opened softly and Theresa emerged, her silk scarf draped loosely around her neck, Astrielle’s Promise over her shoulders with its gold trim catching the light. She took the chair beside Dominic without a word. Florence stayed on her feet, leaning against the kitchen counter, already peeling a dried fig from the basket.

"I didn’t know guild managers made house calls," she said around the mouthful.

"They don’t," Frank said. "I’m making an exception." He looked at Dominic. "The gold core leaves for the capital tomorrow. Transport is arranged. The Royal Auction House has confirmed the listing. The catalog goes out in two weeks. After that, the core is public knowledge."

"And the questions?" Dominic asked.

"Already coming. The regional office wants to know how a branch that’s never produced anything above A-rank suddenly processed an SSS+ monster core without flagging it for review. I told them we followed procedure, which we did, and that the adventurers wish to remain anonymous, which you do. They’re not satisfied." He paused. "They’ll keep pushing."

"Can they trace it to us?"

"Not through the guild. The consignment is anonymous. The auction house doesn’t publish seller identities. But —" He leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on the table. "People talk. Someone who saw you three walking into the guild looking like you fought a war, and a week later a gold core the size of a boulder shows up on the capital auction registry. They connect dots. The story doesn’t have to be true to spread."

Theresa’s voice was quiet. "How long do we have?" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Before someone puts it together? Could be days. Could be weeks. The auction catalog is the hard deadline. After that, anyone who cares about dungeon loot will know Caldmore pulled something impossible out of floor ten. And anyone who saw you walking around town looking like you’d been through hell will start asking if there’s a connection." He looked at Dominic. "The Trials will make it worse. You’re about to become visible in a way you’ve never been."

Dominic didn’t answer right away. He was thinking about the academy. About Victor’s easy confidence at the fountain. About the way his sister’s eyes had tracked him across the courtyard. About Garrett’s quiet words at the tournament board. Some of us have noticed.

"I’ve been invisible my whole life," he said finally. "It didn’t protect me. The visibility doesn’t change much. I’ll just have to handle things as they come."

Frank held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Then be smart about it. The Trials are public. Victor will be there. His sister. The academy. People who’ve been waiting years to see you fail."

"Let them watch."

From the counter, Florence raised her fig in a lazy salute. "That’s what I’ve been saying."

Frank glanced at her. Something flickered across his face, approval, or the recognition of a kindred pragmatism. Then he turned back to Dominic and laid out the rest. The four phases of the Trials. The scoring criteria. The politics. He explained that noble houses sent observers, that guild scouts looked for talent, that academy rankings shifted based on Trials performance. He noted that rare classes like Victor’s Magic Swordsman looked impressive in front of a crowd, that the judges would favor him unless someone gave them a reason not to.

"Then I’ll give them a reason to favor me as well," Dominic said.

Frank studied him. "You’ve changed."

"I’ve had help."

"I can see that." Frank stood. The chair scraped back against the floor. "One more thing. Your rank has been updated to C at the guild, but the academy board still lists you as E. I could push the paperwork through before the Trials."

Dominic thought about Victor walking into the arena expecting an easy joke. About the crowd settling in to watch the F-rank summoner get crushed. About the moment that expectation met reality.

"Leave it," he said. "Delay it if you can."

Frank’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was closer than Dominic had ever seen on him. "I was hoping you’d say that."

He walked to the door. Then he paused. He looked around the apartment one last time, the courtyard framed in the window, the study door with its lock, the halberd against the wall, Wobbly and its single pink bow, the quiet warmth of a home that three people and one mystery had built together.

"Your father had a place like this," Frank said quietly, looking at Dominic. "He would have liked this. He would have been proud of who you’ve become."

He left before Dominic could respond.

The door clicked shut. The apartment settled into silence. Dominic stared at the space where Frank had been, the words still settling around him like dust after a collapse.

Florence pushed off the counter. She didn’t speak. She just walked over, set another dried fig on the table in front of him, and made her way out to the courtyard. The back door swung shut behind her with a soft thud.

Theresa’s hand found his under the table. Her fingers laced through his and squeezed once. She didn’t speak either. She didn’t need to.

They sat together in the quiet, the fruit basket still wrapped on the table, Wobbly’s bow bobbing slightly with each of its slow wobbles. Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, the words Frank had left behind hung in the air.

He would have been proud.

Dominic tightened his grip on Theresa’s hand. Then he let go, stood, and walked out to the courtyard where Florence was waiting.