Chương 55: Chapter 53. Building A Team

Slurrrrrp"And then, like, we could totally set up camp in those alcoves the seniors mentioned. You know, the safe spots? Imagine having an actual fire going down there, cooking whatever we hunt..." Sam took another loud sip of his frosty, the ice crystals crackling against his teeth.

"Hmm," Adom responded, eyes scanning the exam papers. The streets were getting dark, the guild stamps barely visible in the fading light. Slurrrrrp"Oh! And remember what that clerk said about rare monster parts? My cousin, who's a merchant too, told me there's this thing, like a crystal lizard, that lives in a particular region of the dungeon. Super valuable stuff."

"Hmm." Sam paused his enthusiastic slurping.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm." Adom took another absent-minded sip of his own frosty, leaving a blue mustache he didn't bother wiping away. His eyes narrowed at something on page three.

"I bet if we went in naked and painted ourselves purple, we'd have better chances-""Interesting theory," Adom muttered, flipping to page four. Sam slouched against the wall they were using as an impromptu reading spot.

"You know, when I suggested getting frosties, I was thinking we'd actually talk. You've been staring at those papers for twenty minutes."

"These requirements..." Adom frowned, straightening up slightly.

"Did you actually read them?"

"Of course! Well, I skimmed them. The important parts. You know, the 'don't die' parts." Adom's frown deepened. He flipped back to page two, then forward again, then back.

"Okay, that's your serious face," Sam said, pushing off the wall.

"What's wrong? Did they say we need special equipment? Because my uncle knows this guy who-""Sam."

"Yeah?"

"We need four people." The sounds of the street seemed to fade away as Sam processed this. His frosty hung forgotten in mid-air, a drop of blue liquid falling unnoticed onto his shoe.

"What do you mean we need four people?" Adom held up the paper, pointing to a paragraph.

"Minimum party size for D-rank dungeon entry: four registered members."

"That... that can't be right. Let me see that." Sam grabbed the papers, almost dropping his frosty in the process.

"No, no, no... there has to be a special provision or something. For students maybe?"

"Already checked. The only exception is for C-rank adventurers and above." Adom took another sip of his frosty, but the sweet taste had gone bland.

"We need two more people."

"But..." Sam's excitement from earlier deflated like a punctured balloon.

"But we had it all planned out! The training schedule, the equipment lists, even that special map I got from-""We need four people," Adom repeated, letting the words sink in. They stood there in silence, watching people hurry past, their frosties melting in the late afternoon heat.

"Well," Sam finally said, trying to sound optimistic, "how hard can it be to find two more people?" Adom just looked at him.

"Right," Sam sighed.

"We should probably talk to Crowley about this."

"They can only be fellow exam-takers," Crowley said, arranging some papers on his desk.

"Either students or civilians registered for the same examination period. No veterans, no professional adventurers, no one who already holds a license." Sam slumped in his chair.

"But that makes it even harder." Crowley's office was smaller than most students imagined. No dramatic shadows, no mysterious artifacts. Just shelves of books, a worn desk, and a window that needed cleaning. The afternoon light filtered through dusty glass, making patterns on the stack of papers he was very deliberately not looking at.

"The point is to test your abilities," he said, "not your connections." Adom sat quietly, mind already working through the implications. Fellow exam-takers meant inexperienced partners. Inexperienced partners meant more risk. More risk meant... Crowley sighed, setting down his papers.

"If I could offer some advice..." Both students straightened slightly.

"Every successful dungeon party needs certain essential roles. The first, and most crucial-" he tapped his desk for emphasis, "-is the healer."

"Healer?" Sam asked.

"Think about it. You're deep in a dungeon. Someone's bleeding. Or poisoned. Or both. What's more valuable in that moment - another attack spell, or someone who can keep you alive?" Adom nodded slowly.

"But healing magic is specialized. Most battle mages don't-""Exactly." Crowley leaned forward.

"Find someone with at least basic healing knowledge. Someone who's studied it, practiced it. They don't need to be master healers, but they need to know more than just emergency patches."

"Okay," Sam said, pulling out a small notebook.

"Healer. Got it. What else?"

"A tank."

"A... what?"

"Someone to take hits," Crowley explained.

"To stand between the monsters and the squishier members of your party. Someone with strong defensive magic, good armor, ability to control the flow of battle." Adom's mind was already scanning through their classmates, categorizing abilities.

"Then there's the sharpshooter," Crowley continued.

"Someone who can-""Oh!" Sam perked up.

"I can do that one!" Crowley paused, staring at Sam.

"You?"

"Yeah! I mean, I've been practicing precision spells, and my targeting is pretty good, and-" Sam's enthusiasm faltered under Crowley's stare.

"Um, never mind, I guess..." Crowley grunted.

"I didn't mean it like that." He shuffled some papers.

"If you think you're up to it, then do it, Mr. Harbinsky." The words hung in the air, delivered with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. Sam blinked.

"Really?"

"The role requires focus, precision, and the ability to stay calm under pressure." Crowley still wasn't looking at them.

"Also good spatial awareness and quick decision-making. If you think you can handle that..." He shrugged.

"I can!" Sam sat straighter.

"I definitely can!"

"Hmm." Crowley finally looked up.

"Then you'd better start practicing. A sharpshooter who misses is just dead weight." Adom watched his friend's face cycle through several emotions before settling on determined. He knew that look. Sam would probably spend the next week shooting targets until his mana pool ran dry. Please don't do that.

"There's one more critical role," Crowley said, leaning back in his chair.

"The tactician."

"Let me guess - they come up with tactics?" Sam grinned at his own joke. Crowley ignored him.

"The tactician reads the battlefield. Understands positioning, timing, when to press forward and when to retreat. They coordinate the team's movements and make split-second decisions that keep everyone alive."

"I could handle that," Adom said quietly. Crowley nodded.

"I don't doubt it."

"So," Sam counted on his fingers, "healer, tank, sharpshooter, and tactician?"

"Yes." Crowley paused.

"Though if you can manage it, you should also consider a porter."

"A porter?" Sam repeated.

"The porter," Crowley continued, "is arguably the most important role after the healer." That got their attention.

"More important than a tank?" Sam asked.

"Think about it. You're seven days in a dungeon. Everyone's tired, tensions are high. Someone finds a rare item. Another person claims they did more work. Suddenly your team is fighting over loot instead of watching for monsters." Sam winced.

"That... sounds bad."

"The porter manages all of that," Crowley explained.

"They track everyone's contributions. Keep detailed records of who killed what, who found what, who used what resources. When it's time to divide the spoils, there's no arguing because everything's documented."

"Like a referee?" Sam asked.

"More like an accountant. But yes." Crowley straightened some papers on his desk.

"They're also usually the ones who handle camp setup, cooking, resource management. Good porters are worth their weight in gold."

"Because they keep track of the gold?" Sam's grin faded under Crowley's stare.

"Right. Sorry. Serious conversation."

"Any other questions?" Crowley asked, already reaching for another stack of papers. They looked at each other, then back at Crowley.

"No questions for now," Adom said.

"Then you'd better start looking for your future team members," Crowley said, already absorbed in his paperwork.

"Close the door on your way out." The hallway was quieter now, most students gone for the day. Their footsteps echoed against the stone floors as they walked.

"What about Titus?" Sam asked.

"He's pretty good with shields."

"Too aggressive. He'd make a terrible tank."

"Rachel?"

"Can barely cast a light spell."

"Sarah from combat class?"

"Which Sarah?"

"The tall one. With the weird accent."

"Already has a team." Sam groaned.

"This is impossible. We don't even know who's free." Adom stopped walking.

"Maybe that's the problem."

"What?"

"We're just throwing names around. We need to be more... organized about this." Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Organized how?"

"We could host interviews," Adom said slowly, the idea taking shape.

"Put up announcements at the guild. See who's interested."

"Like job postings?"

"Exactly. List the roles we need, basic requirements..." Adom started walking again.

"Anyone interested could come talk to us."

"That's..." Sam yawned mid-sentence.

"Actually not a bad idea."

"We could start tomorrow morning. Set up in one of the guild's meeting rooms."

"Morning?" Sam stretched, his joints popping.

"Can't we do it later? I'm beat. My brain stopped working somewhere between 'porter' and 'tank.'""The sooner we start-""Tomorrow morning," Sam said firmly.

"After I've slept. And eaten. And maybe slept again." Adom looked at his friend. Sam's eyes were drooping, his usual energy completely drained. It had been a long day. All this worrying about timelines and consequences was making him cranky, self-absorbed. And sometimes, especially now, he wished he could be like Sam - just tired after a long day, no weight of alternate futures pressing down on his shoulders.

"Fine," he said.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Great." Sam yawned again.

"Now let's go back to the dorm before I fall asleep right here. These floors don't look comfortable."

Morning. Adom and Sam had been at the guild since dawn, putting up notices and claiming one of the smaller meeting rooms. It felt strange not heading to classes - they wouldn't have any until they got their licenses. The halls of Xerkes would stay empty of third years for a while, except for the diviners. That last bit of information had been a surprise they'd discovered on their way back yesterday.

The dungeon requirement applied to everyone - druids, healers, elementalists, even more the theoretical magic students like runicologists and alchemists. Everyone except diviners, who apparently had their own special evaluation system.

"What about Mia?" Sam asked suddenly.

"Did you ask if she wanted to join? You two know each other pretty well."

"Already asked," Adom replied, organizing the papers on their table.

"She's on a team with Kellen and two others from her advanced alchemy class."

"Oh." Sam drummed his fingers on the table.

"What about—""Don't even think about Eren," Adom cut in. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"He's overpowered though!"

"He's also a first year who's still learning basic spells," Adom pointed out.

"Being able to accidentally blow up half the training field doesn't make him dungeon-ready." Sam sighed.

"I guess you're right." They'd already gone through most of their contacts. The handful of other students they'd worked with on projects were all committed elsewhere.

"Turns out spending most of our time by ourselves has a downside," Sam said, slumping in his chair.

"Everyone else has been forming their groups all year."

"That's why we're doing this," Adom gestured to the notice board.

"We need to cast a wider net."

"At least we have options," Sam said, munching on a meat pie they'd bought from old Mari's.

"Lots of potential teammates out there." They weren't the only ones with the team-building idea. The guild's notice board was covered in similar announcements - "Experienced Tank Seeking Team," "Healer Available," "Porter with Previous Experience." Some people had even included their academic rankings or special skills.

"Think anyone will actually show up?" Sam asked, flicking crumbs off the table. Adom was about to answer when the door creaked open. Three students stood there, looking uncertain. The tallest one - a girl with short black hair - cleared her throat.

"Um, we saw your notice?" She glanced at her companions - a stocky boy who looked like he might be part dwarf, and a smaller girl with glasses who kept fiddling with her sleeves.

"About needing team members?" Sam straightened up, brushing off the last of his pie crumbs.

"Yes! Come in! We have chairs and everything!" The three exchanged looks before stepping inside. The tall girl spoke again.

"I'm Maya. This is Dren-" she gestured to the stocky boy, "-and Lin." The girl with glasses gave a tiny wave.

"I'm Sam, and this is Adom." Sam grinned.

"Want some pie? We've got extra."

"No, thank you," Maya said politely, taking a seat. Adom watched Sam interact with the newcomers noting the small changes in his friend. The way he maintained eye contact now, how his shoulders stayed relaxed instead of hunching forward. He still stuttered occasionally, especially when caught off guard, but those moments were becoming rare.

During their three months in Kati, Sam had spent hours poring over two books he'd bought from a street vendor - "The Ultimate Guide to Talking to Girls (Without Fainting)" and "How to be THE Male: Assert Your Inner Alpha." Adom had raised his eyebrows at the titles, but held his tongue. Whatever worked, worked. And it was working - Sam was making real progress, even if his source material was questionable. Well, he could talk to Emma now, anyway.

She found his awkwardness "cute," which somehow made Sam even more awkward, but in a way that actually suited him.

"So," Dren suddenly interrupted Sam, leaning forward.

"Are you Adom Sylla?"

"Yes." The three visitors exchanged meaningful looks. Maya's eyes lit up.

"We followed everything that happened last winter. The way you were involved in that situation with the rogue prince."

"It wasn't just-" Adom started.

"And that thing with the battle at the gates!" Lin added, speaking for the first time.

"The papers talked about it for weeks." Sam's smile dimmed slightly as the conversation shifted entirely to Adom. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against his empty pie wrapper.

"We're actually a team of three," Maya said, "and we'd love to join you. We've been looking for the right fourth member, and when we saw your name..."

"And Sam," Adom said firmly.

"Oh, yes, of course," Maya replied, though her eyes barely flickered toward Sam.

"As I was saying, we think we'd make excellent additions to your... to the team." Sam cleared his throat.

"What, uh, what can you all do?" His voice had lost its earlier enthusiasm, coming out smaller, more hesitant.

"We're all healers, actually," Maya said, still focused on Adom.

"Top of our class. Lin specializes in combat healing, Dren in toxin removal, and I handle major injuries."

"Three healers?" Adom asked, his mind already working through the implications.

"Yes! With your combat abilities and our combined healing power-""How much combat experience do you have?" Maya blinked.

"Well, we've done the standard training courses..."

"Actual combat," Adom pressed.

"Not training." Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"Maybe we could work out a-""What we could do," Lin cut in, leaning toward Adom, "is set up a rotating healing schedule. That way you'd always have fresh support during combat." Sam's mouth closed, his suggestion dying unheard. He sank back in his chair, fingers picking at the pie wrapper. Yep. That does it.

"What about resource management?" Adom asked, his tone cooling.

"Dungeon navigation? Trap detection?"

"That's what we have you for," Maya said brightly.

"Everyone knows how good you are at-""A team needs balance," Adom cut in.

"Different skills, different perspectives. Three healers means three people with similar training, similar blind spots."

"But-""What happens when we need someone to tank? To scout? To manage supplies?"

"We could learn-""In a dungeon?" Adom shook his head.

"That's not the place for learning basics." Maya's smile had frozen. Lin was staring at her hands. Dren looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the words.

"I appreciate the offer," Adom said, keeping his voice neutral, "but I don't think it would work."

"You mean you and Sam don't think it would work," Maya corrected quickly, finally acknowledging Sam's presence.

"Yes," Adom said.

"We don't." The rejection hung in the air for a moment before Maya stood, her chair scraping against the floor.

"Well, thank you for your time." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Come on," she said to her teammates.

"Let's go." After they left, Sam stared at the empty pie wrapper.

"They weren't wrong about needing a healer."

"We'll find one," Adom said.

"The right one. Someone who sees us as a team, not just..." He gestured vaguely.

"Your backup dancers?"

"Exactly." Sam managed a small smile.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"You know what." They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Sam straightened up.

"So, who's next?" Another knock at the door, and so began the parade. A burly guy who claimed he could "tank anything" but couldn't explain basic aggro management. A girl who spoke entirely in rhymes and insisted it was part of her "bardic healing technique." Three different self-proclaimed assassins, each wearing more black than the last.

"I can conjure infinite arrows," said one applicant.

"How?" Sam asked.

"Magic."

"Yes, but what kind?"

"The arrow kind." A pair of twins wanted to join as a package deal - both specialized in fire magic. When Adom pointed out that doubling up on the same element might be limiting, they set his pie wrapper on fire and stormed out.

"I'll take sixty percent of all loot," announced a scrawny kid who looked like he'd never seen the business end of a sword. Adom raised an eyebrow.

"And your experience level is...?"

"I've read every dungeon manual in the library."

"All of them?"

"Well, the first chapters."

"And you want sixty percent?" The kid puffed up.

"Are you questioning my worth?"

"Yes." They had to dodge a poorly aimed fire bolt after that one. And it just kept going. A merchant's son offered to bankroll their entire operation in exchange for "just" ninety percent of any magical artifacts. A self-proclaimed "monster whisperer" demonstrated her skills by trying to communicate with Sam's empty pie wrapper. Nobody knew why she did that. The wrapper was a wrapper. And of course she was rejected. Someone showed up in full plate armor that turned out to be painted wood. For real.

"I can see the future," claimed one girl.

"Really?" Sam asked.

"What's going to happen next?"

"You're going to say no to me joining your team."

"Well, you got that right." Why the hell did she even come?! By midday, they'd seen everything from legitimate candidates to what appeared to be three actual goblins in a trench coat. You couldn't make this up. Sam had gone through four more pies, and Adom had developed a twitch in his left eye.

"Please tell me it's over?" Sam groaned, head on the table.

"I can hear someone coming."

"Kill me now."

"Save that for the dungeon." The door creaked open again, and Adom started his now-practiced greeting.

"Hel-" He stopped, neck craning up. And up. And up. The man had to duck to get through the doorway. He was massive - taller than Adom's golem by at least a head, with broad shoulders that nearly filled the frame. But it wasn't just muscle - there was a layer of softness to him, like a bear that had eaten well for winter. Three parallel scars ran down his left forearm, old and faded. His face was young though, maybe early thirties at most. Sam's elbow jabbed into Adom's ribs. Adom barely noticed.

His mind was already calculating - someone that size as a tank would be perfect. He had to be mixed blood - freeman ancestry maybe, or something else? Pure humans didn't get that big. The man's eyes swept over them, and something flickered across his face - doubt, maybe disappointment. His gaze lingered on their youth before he spoke.

"Saw your notice on the board," he said, voice surprisingly gentle for someone his size.

"I know I'm late, but..." He shifted, making the floorboards creak.

"You still taking applications?" The hesitation in his voice was clear - he'd seen they were kids, and he wasn't sure about it. Adom could practically see him reconsidering whether to stay or just turn around and walk out. Sam's hand flicked, and the door clicked shut behind the giant before he could change his mind. In two quick steps, Sam was there, taking the man's massive hand and practically dragging him toward their table.

"Please, sit down. We're absolutely still taking applications. Actually, we really need a tank, and you'd be perfect for-""Oh." The big man let out an awkward laugh, carefully lowering himself into a chair that looked comically small beneath him.

"I, uh, actually wasn't applying for a tank position." Adom blinked.

"Huh?"

"What position were you looking for then?" Sam asked, already reaching for the application forms. The man rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Well... I'm here to apply as a healer." The silence that followed was so complete you could hear the pie crumbs falling from Sam's frozen hand. Sam turned to Adom, then back to the man, then to Adom again. Finally, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Dude. What did we do to deserve this?"

"I, uh, expected that reaction," the man said with another shy laugh.

"Get it a lot, actually." Adom leaned forward, actually intrigued. All day they'd been dealing with people trying to impress them, show off, claim abilities they clearly didn't have. But this guy - this giant of a man who could probably lift both Adom and Sam with one arm - was sitting there looking almost embarrassed about his chosen profession. He wasn't trying to prove anything. If anything, he seemed to be bracing himself for the usual dismissal. Something clicked in Adom's mind.

The scars on the man's arm were definitely from combat - three deep gashes from something with claws. But that fit too. Some of the most scarred people Adom had ever met were healers, especially the battlefield medics. They were always in the thick of it, rushing to fallen allies while the fighting was still hot. Combat healers didn't get to hide in the back. They had to be right there, in the danger zone, keeping people alive.

"How long have you been healing?" Adom asked, ignoring Sam's exasperated gesture.

"Ten years," the man said.

"7th Platoon, Northern Front. Soldier plate 44-921. Graduated Xerkes fifteen years ago." He straightened in his chair.

"Name's Yann Thorne." The shyness had vanished, replaced by the crisp precision of a veteran stating his credentials. Sam gulped audibly. This wasn't just some random applicant - this was their senior, by a long shot.

"I'm Adom Sylla," Adom said, sitting up straighter himself.

"This is Sammuel Harbinsky. We apologize for our earlier reaction, sir."

"Please, no 'sir' needed," Yann said, his thick eyebrows drawing together.

"Makes me feel old. And I totally get your reaction earlier. Most people see me and think 'tank' or 'warrior' or..." He gestured at his massive frame.

"Well, you know." Adom frowned.

"I'm not sure we can actually accept someone with your experience-""We can!" Sam straightened up so fast he almost knocked over his chair.

"Crowley said we could take fellow exam-takers - either students or civilians registered for the same exam period. No veterans, no professional adventurers, no one who already has a license." He turned to Yann.

"You're not any of those, right?"

"Nope." Yann's wild hair bobbed as he shook his head.

"Spent all my time in the army as a field medic. Never got around to getting a proper adventurer's license. Figured now was as good a time as any." Adom and Sam exchanged another look. The latter's eyes were practically gleaming.

"You're perfect," Sam blurted out, fumbling with the papers.

"Here, sign this before someone comes and snatches you away. Please. I'm begging you."

"Hold on." Yann held up one massive hand.

"First, I'd like to know what I'm getting into. What do you boys do?"

"I'm the sharpshooter," Sam said, still clutching the papers.

"And Adom's our tactician." Yann nodded, considering this.

"Combat experience?" Sam's face reddened.

"Well... this would actually be my first dungeon."

"And you?" Yann turned to Adom.

"He went into one alone," Sam jumped in.

"Stayed there for a month and made it out alive. Rank B dungeon at that." Yann's eyes widened slightly.

"Ah. So you're that boy." He studied Adom's face more carefully.

"The one they wrote about in the papers." Adom shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes."

"You know, I saw your father once. Arthur Sylla." Yann's voice softened with memory.

"Dark-Ravines. Harpy ambush. Saved my whole platoon that day." He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn photograph.

"Here." Adom took it carefully. The image showed a group of soldiers, grinning despite their obvious exhaustion. His father stood in the center, looking younger but just as stern as Adom remembered. A much younger Yann towered over everyone else in the back row.

"World's quite small, isn't it?" Yann said quietly.

"If you're the Commander's son..." He took the papers from Sam's hands.

"Well, that settles it." Sam snatched the signed document before the ink was even dry.

"No taking it back now!" Yann laughed - a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to fill the small room.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He extended his enormous hand, and somehow both Adom and Sam's hands fit inside it.

"Let's work well together."

"Yes!" the boys said in unison.

Two days after meeting Yann, and they were still one person short. Adom sighed loudly. He and Sam had gone out for what they called a "tactical retreat" - which really meant they needed a break from sitting in that stuffy guild room, watching potential recruits walk in and out.

"You know what's weird?" Sam kicked a pebble down the street.

"Most tank candidates we've seen are trying too hard to be tanks. Like that guy yesterday who kept flexing his muscles while filling out the application."

"The one who ripped three forms because he was gripping the pen too hard?"

"Yeah. What was his name? Boulder? Stone?"

"Rock," Adom said.

"Just... Rock."

"Right. Who names their kid Rock?"

"Someone hoping they'll grow up to be a tank, apparently." They turned a corner, heading back toward the guild. The morning crowd was starting to pick up - merchants setting up stalls, students rushing to early classes, the usual chaos of a city waking up.

"Most decent tanks are already taken," Adom said, dodging a cart loaded with vegetables.

"Same with porters. Everyone's been forming teams already, building synergy, running practice drills."

"And here we are, still shopping." Sam's shoulders slumped.

"We've got what, eleven days left?"

"A week and four days."

"Right. And we still need to buy gear, run combat drills, figure out how to work together..." Sam counted off on his fingers.

"Can't do any of that without a full team."

"We'll find someone."

"Will we? Because it feels like we're running out of options. Maybe we should consider postponing until the next exam period-""No." Adom's voice was firm.

"We're not waiting for more weeks."

"But-""We'll find someone." Sam stopped walking.

"How can you be so sure?" Adom turned to face his friend. Sam looked tired - they both did. The past two days had been a string of disappointments, each potential candidate either completely unsuitable or already committed to another team.

"Because we have to," Adom said simply.

"So we will." Sometimes, life had a funny way of working things out. You could spend days, weeks even, searching desperately for something, turning every stone, knocking on every door, only to come up empty-handed. And then, right when you were about to give up, fate would tap you on the shoulder and say "hey, you know that thing you've been looking for? Turn around." Adom had experienced this before. Once, when he was seven, he'd lost his favorite wooden book.

He'd searched the entire house, the yard, even retraced his steps through the town. Nothing. Three days later, he'd tripped over a root while chasing a cat, landed face-first in a bush, and there it was - his book, probably tossed there by that same cat. This felt like one of those moments. The commotion caught their attention first - raised voices from a fruit stall they were passing.

"I said two silvers!" A well-dressed woman was waving a pouch of coins.

"You gave me change for one!"

"No, ma'am." The girl behind the counter - maybe around Morgana's age, with auburn hair tied back messily - didn't raise her voice.

"You gave me one silver. I counted it twice." She pulled out a small notebook, flipping it open.

"Here - one silver at third bell, purchase of six oranges."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Just showing you the records, ma'am." The woman's face reddened.

"I want to speak to your employer!" A heavyset woman emerged from behind some crates.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Your girl here-""Gave you exactly the right change," the girl cut in, still calm.

"And I can prove it." The girl turned to the customer next in line - an elderly man who'd been counting out coppers.

"Sir, you were right behind this lady. How much did you see her pay?"

"One silver," the man said without hesitation.

"Remember thinking I should've brought silver instead of all these coppers." The woman's face reddened.

"Well... you should have reminded me I only gave you one."

"You're right," the girl said, surprising everyone.

"I apologize for not being more clear. Would you like to purchase more oranges?" The woman stormed off.

"Waste of time," the employer snapped.

"Got a line forming now."

"Better than losing customers," the girl replied, already writing something in her notebook.

"And now we have witnesses if she comes back." Her employer grunted and walked away.

"Hey." Sam nudged Adom.

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The 'I just figured something out' look." Sam followed Adom's gaze to the fruit stall.

"What are you thinking?"

"Sammy. Let's go buy some oranges."

"Oranges? Why? Is the-""Let's just go." Adom said, dragging Sam by the hand. They approached the stall. Up close, the girl looked tired - the kind of tired that came from long hours and longer days. But her counter was immaculate, everything labeled and organized.

"Welcome," she said, not looking up from her notebook.

"Oranges are three coppers each, six for a silver, special on bruised ones in the back crate."

"The ones in front look better," Sam said.

"They should. I arranged them by ripeness this morning." She finished whatever she was writing and looked up.

"How many would you-" She stopped, eyes widening slightly.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Sam asked.

"Nothing. Sorry. You're just... you're Adom Sylla, aren't you? From the papers?" Adom nodded, watching her reaction carefully. But instead of the usual excitement or awe, she just nodded back and reached for a bag.

"How many oranges?"

"Six," Adom said, placing a silver on the counter. She took it, checked it quickly but thoroughly, then started selecting fruits. Not just grabbing the first six - actually checking each one.

"These three are ripe now," she said, placing them in the bag.

"These two will be perfect tomorrow. This one's for the day after. I arranged them so you can eat them in order." A crash from the next stall made them all turn. Two men were arguing over spilled vegetables, getting louder by the second. The girl sighed, set down their bag, and walked over. Within thirty seconds, she had calculated the value of the damaged goods, suggested a fair split of the cost, and had both men paying their share.

"Sorry about that," she said, returning to her counter.

"Where were we?"

"The oranges," Sam said.

"The ones arranged by ripeness."

"Right." She handed them the bag.

"Here's your change, counted twice." She wrote in her notebook.

"Six oranges, one silver received, five coppers returned, third bell plus quarter."

"Very thorough," Adom commented.

"Has to be. Numbers don't lie, but people forget them all the time." She shrugged.

"Anything else?"

"Actually," Adom said, leaning slightly on the counter with a small smile, "I'm putting together a team. And I think you might be exactly what we're looking for. Are you looking for a better job?" The girl took a step back, her face scrunching up like he'd just tried to sell her a moldy orange or hit on her with the worst pickup line ever. Or both. Adom did not care. Perfect records, professional dispute handling, evidence over arguments.

The way she'd handled those oranges showed an attention to detail most people wouldn't bother with. Quick math in her head, stepping in to mediate between those merchants, staying honest when she could have easily pocketed that extra silver. She'd kept calm through it all, managed her inventory like she was born to it, even thought ahead with those ripeness arrangements. Yeah. Thorough girl looked like the perfect porter!