Jaro’s hand, calloused from years of silent warfare and recent mop-wielding, gently pried the spherical device from Solon’s dead grip. It felt cool, a morbid contrast to the heat radiating from the still-twitching Hydra-Wyrm. A tiny, almost imperceptible hum emanated from it, a high-frequency thrum that Jaro knew intimately. He crushed it. The low thrum died with a soft crackle.
“Emergency comms beacon, tuned to orbital relays,” Jaro muttered, scraping a smear of grease off his thumb. “Broadcasted the whole circus. Probably summoning a scrub team.”
[ANOMALY DETECTED. PRIMARY SATELLITE CONTACT LOST. INITIATING PROTOCOL: 'RECALIBRATE REWARDS AND REPUTATION'.]
[HEROIC CLASS: CHOSEN ONE — REVOKED. REASON: LACK OF VALOR. PUBLIC DISPLAY OF COWARDICE. FAILURE TO PROTECT SCHOLASTIC ASSETS.]
[NEW CLASS ASSIGNED: SCRAPPER. REASON: EXEMPLARY DISPLAY OF DEDICATION TO JANITORIAL DUTIES.]
A new pop-up appeared, shimmering directly over Rodel Vance’s head. The 'Golden Soul-Seed' mark, now a dead husk, dissolved into black dust. His shimmering, elaborate academy uniform, which had just moments ago been stained with vomit and fear, now transmuted into the dull gray tunic and canvas trousers of a common janitor. A mop and bucket, appearing from thin air, clattered to the ground beside him.
Rodel stared at his hands, then at his new attire, then at the mop. His face, still pale from the acidic gullet, crumpled. A high-pitched wail ripped from his throat, echoing through the cavernous space where the monster’s carcass steamed. “No! My status! My… my glory!” He snatched up the mop, not to wield it, but to beat the ground in impotent fury. “It’s all his fault! That trash-tier fake!” He pointed a trembling finger at Jaro, who just yawned.
[REPUTATION UPDATE: RODEL VANCE. -99% PUBLIC OPINION. NEW TITLE: 'THE COWARD OF ZIRCOL'.]
On the massive jumbotrons, which had just broadcast Jaro’s brutal exposé, Rodel’s face was now superimposed with a cartoonish dunce cap. Mocking laughter, faint at first, then growing louder, filtered in from the surviving students gathered outside the devastated courtyard.
Inessa watched Rodel dissolve into a sniveling heap, then turned her gaze to Jaro. Her previous anger had been replaced by a complicated mix of awe and something warmer. Milla, meanwhile, rushed forward, burying her face in Jaro's acid-splattered tunic.
“Jaro! You were so brave! You… you saved everyone!” Milla’s voice was muffled, thick with tears and relief. Her 'Honorary Vanguard' mark, now a harmless tattoo-like symbol, pulsed faintly on her chest, a memory of the danger, now inert.
Jaro patted her head, a soft smile touching his lips. “Just doing my job, Milla. Someone had to clean up the mess.” He winked, then his eyes flickered to Inessa, who was approaching, a fierce intensity in her gaze.
“Cleaning up the mess, huh?” Inessa’s voice was low, almost a growl. She moved with purpose, closing the distance between them. Before Jaro could react, she spun him around, pinning him against a jagged shard of crystal that had once been part of the spire. Her hands landed on either side of his head, caging him. The lingering scent of ozone and her unique, fiery essence surrounded him.
“So, the legendary Dusk-Walker, the ‘Scrapper’ who moves like a phantom and hits like a meteorite, just ‘cleaned up’?” She leaned in, her eyes boring into his, a dangerous spark igniting within their depths. “No more hiding, Tenza. No more excuses. You owe me a real date. No more pretending you’re too lazy to tie your shoes, no more deflective nonsense. Just you, me, and… I don't know, a non-acid-filled restaurant. Tonight.”
Jaro’s usual lazy smirk faltered slightly. He opened his mouth, but before he could formulate a suitably evasive answer, a sharp, indignant cough cut through the air. Milla stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, a formidable glare fixed on Inessa.
“Hey!” Milla snapped, planting herself squarely between them. “Don’t you dare threaten him, you brute! He’s delicate!” She puffed out her chest, a pint-sized barrier sheltering her supposedly frail kin. Irony hung heavy over the scorched flags.
Inessa blinked, momentarily taken aback by Milla’s protective fury. She straightened up, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Delicate, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced at Jaro, a challenge in her eyes. “So, Tenza? Delicate enough for a dinner invitation?”
[EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAMS INBOUND. ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: THREE MINUTES. PREPARE FOR DEBRIEFING AND MEDICATION.]
The cheerful voice of the Architect, now sounding slightly strained and tinny, announced the imminent arrival of authorities. Jaro sighed, shaking his head. He subtly slipped his twin daggers, *Shadow’s Kiss* and *Void’s Embrace*, into their hidden sheaths, their obsidian surfaces absorbing the lingering dungeon light.
“Look, Davor, Milla,” Jaro said, adopting his most aggrieved tone. “It was just… an accident. A really big, inconvenient accident. I was trying to sweep, and then… boom. Giant worm. Things got out of hand. Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over so I can finally get back to my shift. These floors won’t clean themselves, you know.”
As the first hover-stretchers and heavily armored medics descended into the pit, Jaro immediately adopted his most hunched, exhausted posture. He hobbled over to where Rodel was still sobbing over his new mop, plucked the neglected janitorial tool from his grasp, and began to half-heartedly sweep at a pile of dust, carefully avoiding any actual debris.
“Just an ordinary maintenance scrub, officer,” Jaro mumbled to a stern-faced medic who eyed him suspiciously. “Saw a big monster, tripped over my broom, next thing I know, it’s all… quiet.” He yawned, a wide, genuine yawn that stretched his jaw.
Inessa watched him, a slow, knowing smile gracing her lips. Milla, meanwhile, glared at the approaching officials, ready to defend his 'heroic accidental' stumble. The world outside, the one with the Benevolent Architect’s main orbital fleet, might still be looming, but for Jaro, the day’s work was done.
He looked up at the fractured sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear through the dust. He tucked his terrifying assassin daggers deeper into their hidden pouches, adjusted his grip on the broom handle, and let out another profound yawn. The apocalypse was going to have to wait. He had a nap to catch, and possibly, an ‘unwanted’ date to begrudgingly attend.