"Oi, bartender! Another beer!"
"...how are you not broke yet? Hey. Show me your money before I serve you again."
The bartender sighed over the sounds of clinking silver and turned to fill a glass mug. Golden liquid flowed from a barrel into the cup, a thick layer of foam frothing at the top as the bartender turned to slide the drink down the table to the happily waiting customer.
The smoky sweet smell of cigars, The pungent smell of alcohol. The nutty aroma of peanuts mixed with a lower tone of pine. The quiet talk of patrons blended into a low hum of noise, pierced by the occasional clinking of coins, the occasional shout, or the slamming of fist onto table.
"Hey. Ever hear of something called an addiction? You should back off a bit, you know?"
The man laughed heartily, downing the beer in a single gulp.
"It's not an addiction! It's a dedication! And I'm dedicated as hell!"
The bartender just sighed. Why should he care if these guys ended up dying of liver failure? Right. These idiots were his lifeline. They gave him money. That wasn't possible if they were dead.
Damn.
"Besides, what does a young scrap like you know about dying?" the man continued, wiping his mouth. "You've got all the time in the world ahead of you!"
The bartender nodded slowly, wiping a glass down.
"Yeah. Fair enough."
He might've said something else, but he was interrupted as someone else called for him. He was a busy man. Well, that made sense. He was the only employee. No waiters. No staff. No manager. Just him.
John.
No one knew where he came from. No one knew who he was. There were rumours, as there always would be around someone as mysterious as he, but no one could confirm or deny anything, so the rumours would only continue to spread.
His bar, The Lucky Myth, was as mysterious as he was. It'd opened a few years back with no indication that there'd been plans to open a bar in the first place. It wasn't the most popular, but it did well enough to keep itself running. Still, anybody with enough common sense and curiosity would've questioned the place's business model. The food and drink were mediocre. The variety was small. So how did this place attract any customers at all?
The answer was the bartender himself.
His looks weren't anything special. Messy black hair and an average build, if not a little on the tall side. One might say his heterochromatic eyes were a little strange. Red in the left, black in the right, but it was nothing special.
If you paid close attention, you might notice the indifference within those eyes of his. The way he looked at people like they were cuts of meat or dolls in a dollhouse. But his smile and cheerful nature were distracting enough that nobody noticed.
His clothing, on the other hand, was a little strange, given the setting. Black hoodie, red short-sleeved shirt, a similarly bright red scarf wound around his neck, no matter the temperature. Black sweats and red sneakers adorned his feet.
But this wasn't modern Earth. These clothes shouldn't exist here.
Nobody questioned it, though. They all just saw him as a normal, average guy.
But maybe it was his averagness that attracted people. He wasn't outstanding or below average. He knew how to listen or yap, whatever the customer needed most at the moment. He was friendly, charismatic, even, but unafraid to be brutally honest, to the point that said characteristic had lost him more than a couple of customers.
But his honesty had brought in far more customers than he'd lost.
"Oi, did you hear?"
John's head came up, responding to the call of the customer.
"Hm? What's up?"
"There's a demon in town, apparently. It's just a rumour, but there's this small girl who begs on the streets. You can see her occasionally, although she's like a ghost, y'know? All mysterious and what. She's, dunno, five, six, but…" He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "I've heard she can kill you with a single touch. Maybe she's a demon who disguises herself as a little girl to lure people in."
John snorted, putting the glass down gently. What a stupid rumour. Well, it only served to remind himself of the world he was living in.
"If this demon is luring people in by disguising itself as a little girl, maybe we should leave it alone, you know?"
The regular laughed.
"You've got a point." He flipped John a coin as a tip, let out a loud belch, and got up to leave. "Just stay safe, alright? I've heard you lack a mana core. I'd hate to see this place vanish."
John scoffed. "Yeah, right. Get outta here, you drunk bastard."
The bar grew quieter and quieter as the hour passed. John began wiping down any empty tables, beginning the cleanup process before the place was even closed.
"Have a good one," a red-headed adventurer nodded, carrying his drunken partner out the door.
Finally, the bar was quiet.
"Damn. Another day wasted," John sighed, leaning on the freshly wiped counter.
As soon as everyone left, the smile on his face dropped into a mask of neutrality, like a robot powering down. He didn't exactly dislike his current job. It was nice. But it wasn't what he was looking for. He closed his eyes, taking in the silence for before a voice came and interrupted his moment of rest.
"You'd get more done by going out and walking around blindly. So, tell me. Why're you here again?"
"Ah, shut the fuck up, Zero. Weren't you the one who suggested this?"
"Maybe I tricked you."
A figure emerged from John's body as if his spirit were leaving him. To anyone watching, they would've assumed just that was happening. A shadowy, see-through version of John floated out of his body, lying on a bed of air.
John wasn't amused. "That's not what you did, and we both know it."
"You're less and less fun these days."
"I'm just getting more and more tired."
"You're always tired. That's why you never get anything done."
"I'd get more done if a certain someone helped me out."
"It's much more interesting to see what you'd do on your own, though."
John ignored his companion and looked out the window. It was raining, but he'd learned something interesting today. Something worth looking into. The first bit of news in a while.
"A demon child, huh…? What are the odds that's the [Protagonist]?"
Zero shrugged, floating upside down. He was clearly unconcerned. "You know what I'd say about that."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Go out there and figure it out yourself."
John sighed, wound his scarf around his face to keep it warm, and packed some food and water. There was no way of knowing what he'd come across. After a moment's thought, he ran upstairs and came back down with a large white cloak, then flipped his hood over his head as he left the bar, the bell over the door giving him a friendly jingle goodbye.
The late April weather was surprisingly cold and damp. The rain didn't help with this, sure to give anybody a chill should they stay out for too long. Despite this, he didn't appear to be affected as he wiped at his eyes and looked left and right. The street lanterns cast their orange glow down the cobble streets, the puddles of water reflecting the dark sky above.
Heading down the dimly lit streets, John's eyes flickered back and forth as the rain obscured his vision. Navigating the roads with ease, he turned into alley after alley, looking for what he imagined to be a child-like figure. However, one does not find what they are looking for by wandering aimlessly.
"Hey, Zero, could you at least point me in the right direction? Or are you just gonna sit back and watch me run around like an idiot?"
The shadowy figure didn't appear as he'd done before, but it seemed that he'd given John directions, because he began to move with more purpose and intent. To anybody else, it might seem like he were lost, but he was definitely getting somewhere. Soon, the sound of two men arguing could be heard, and it was getting louder.
"Hey! What's going on over there?" he called out, wiping the water out of his eyes.
He squinted, making out two figures with bottles in their hands. The way they swayed on their feet and the rosy tint of their cheeks made it clear. These two were drunk. John grimaced. Great, he'd have to deal with drunkards outside of his bar, too. He was about to walk up and tell them to piss off when he noticed something curious.
At their feet was a small child with dirty white hair and rags for a dress, cowering at their feet.
"Whoah, hey, what the fuck?" he exclaimed, grabbing the men by the shoulders. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Demon slayers! That's us!" one man roared, waving a large knife. "We'll be the prophecied hero! Riches and fame beyond measure!"
"Yes! Slay the demon!" the other man yelled, then fell over, completely wasted.
It would've been comedic had it not been so pitifully disgusting.
"You two are clearly drunk. Why don't you get the fuck out of here before you get arrested for public indecency or something?" John said, getting more and more annoyed by the second.
"Huh?" the first man said drunkenly, turning around to look John in the eyes."You a demon, too?"
He swung and missed, and with that, John was done. He let out an exasperated sigh. Really? Well, even if he was reported, he could claim self-defense, and that was all that really mattered.
His fists clenched, he threw a fast, straight punch, smashing the man's chin and knocking his head back. The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter, and John wasted no time in kicking it away where it could no longer do any serious damage.
The drunk was so out of it that he hadn't noticed he'd lost his weapon and swung once more but was met with nothing but empty air. His attack had sent him stumbling forward, throwing him off balanced. That would be the idiot's last mistake. Without hesitation, John grabbed onto the man's collar and pulled him close, pulling at his hair and smashing his head into his knee. The man crumpled to the ground like a piece of paper.
"You little-!" his companion yelled, getting up and charging John like a wild bull.
The bartender just sidestepped and tripped the man, sending him face-first into the ground. Both of them moaned as they struggled to get back up, but the alcohol wasn't doing them any favours.
"Seriously… fuckin' idiots."
John shook his head, dusting his hands off, only to remember that they were wet from the rain. There was no dust to be had. He tossed the unconscious men one more look of disdain before ignoring them altogether. Someone would find them and take them to shelter. And if they didn't, well, who cared? Not him.
Suddenly, he remembered the reason he was here. It wasn't to beat up random men in the streets. Right, he'd been looking for something. Jogging back to the alleyway, he found the girl still cowering. She was trembling, holding her hands above her head as if to shield her face from another attack. In fact, she was shaking so much that John couldn't tell if it was from the cold or fear.
Shit. How was he supposed to help now?
"Hey, I'm harmless. I… uh… I'm not gonna hurt you, ok?"
John cursed himself for not having prepared for something like this in advance. A situation like this wasn't the most predictable, but at the same time, he was drawing a complete blank on what to do next. He should've had at least some kind of plan in the event that he ran into this girl of the rumours. He was starting to regret his lazy nature. Well, no time to think about this anymore.
First things first. He definitely didn't look friendly. The scarf covering his mouth and the hood over his head made it so that the only visible features on his face were his eyes, and how could you trust someone you couldn't see? Damn. Well, it wasn't like he could turn back—scratch that.
He would just have to improvise as best he could.
"Um… are you ok?" he asked, pulling down his scarf to reveal his face. "Do you have someone to take care of you?"
He waited for a moment, but the girl didn't respond. She just stared up at him with blank, empty eyes. Was she going to say anything? Maybe demon children didn't know how to speak. Well, he couldn't just stand here forever. With a shrug, he slipped his bag off his back and pulled out the cloak.
"It's kinda cold, isn't it? Wrap yourself with that. I don't know if it works, but it's imbued with mana or something, some kind of temperature regulation… ah, whatever. Um. It'll help you feel a little better. Probably."
To his relief, the girl took the cloak and put it on. She understood him. That was good. He watched as her body seemed to relax, and some of the shivering stopped.
He was about to ask her something else when he realized he didn't even know her name. Well, now was a good a time to ask as any.
"Uh… do you have a name? Something like that? Anything I can call you?"
There was a pause, but at this point, John would've been perfectly fine with silence. The girl was probably mute or something. The rain continued to pour, but that didn't bother either of them. Eventually, the girl gave in.
"Um… I- I'm Prota."
The girl's voice was quiet, soft, and completely monotone. Despite her shaking, her voice contained no traces of fear or pain. John would've noticed how strange this was had he not been distracted by something else.
Prota. That name. Something seemed off about it. Prota- no. No way. Surely this wasn't a coincidence. There was no way it was this easy. He was one step closer. It wasn't much, but it was infinitely more than he'd had before. Really? Had it been this simple all along? The stupidity of the situation was absurd to the point that he couldn't help but laugh, his voice bouncing off the brick walls and cobbled path.
The laughter didn't last long. As he quieted down, John took a closer look at the child. She was thin, dangerously so, and she seemed afraid, save for a small, almost unnoticeable smile on her face. Somehow, despite her completely neutral expression otherwise, that small smile seemed to light up her face.
Something in John's memory stirred.
"No," he muttered. "You said you wouldn't. Remember. You're not here for a friend. You're here to investigate."
With a bit of effort, he knelt down, feeling incredibly awkward.
"Hey. Um… I'm John."
He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a bottle of water and a bag of something. He tossed both over to Prota, but she didn't catch them. She just watched as they hit her and bounced off softly. John flinched, afraid that he'd hurt her, but she just continued to stare at the packages as they rolled around on the ground.
"Uh… that's food and water. Are you not hungry? If not, you can just leave it there, I'll-"
Prota stared at the two things in front of her, blinking multiple times to make sure they were real. She reached out slowly, keeping eye contact with John, just to make sure he wasn't setting her up for anything, then quickly grabbed the food and drink and greedily tore them open. The instant the jerky entered her mouth, it began salivating like a river.
"Hey, slow down. You're gonna get a stomach ache." John frowned as he watched the girl eat.
Prota must've been deaf to all but the call of her stomach because there were no signs of her slowing down. In no time, the bag was empty, the bottle of water drained. John squatted down, stirring a small puddle of water with his finger, waiting for something to happen.
After a bit, he looked back up at the girl, who was still shaking, but it was considerably less noticeable. Was it out of fear? Was it the cold? John really couldn't tell. Neither was good, but he could only do something about the latter.
"You look kinda cold," John offered after a long silence, hoping he'd guessed right. "You wanna come and warm up by a fire? You look like you could use hot food and some good rest."
The girl looked up again, this time with some suspicion in her eyes, but she got up, like a robot waiting for further orderrs. Now that she was standing, John could see a few things he hadn't noticed before. For one, Prota was so thin that her ribs were showing through the thin, torn cloth that covered her body. Her face was thin and dirty, her hair streaked with mud and grease. But that wasn't the thing that shocked John the most.
It was her expression.
Despite the fact that the girl was still shaking, her face was blank. One would expect her to be sad. Pitiful. For someone living in the streets, one might expect her to look tired, tired of surviving, tired of life, but there was none of that. Her face was blank. Empty. She was like a porcelain doll that had been tossed into the mud and dirtied up. Unchanging. Lifeless. Cold and empty.
Something resonated within John's soul when he saw that face. He wasn't quite sure what it was. But it seemed so familiar…
Well, it didn't matter. He'd confirmed something, and it'd led to something else. He might need this girl, and he needed her alive, not dead. Besides, he wasn't a sadist or anything. He had the means to help, and it wouldn't be hard to do so. Why not help her out?
That was what his mind told him. His heart, on the other hand, ached ever so slightly.
"Dammit. I didn't think something like this would happen," he cursed silently. "Why here? Why now? Why her?"
He didn't know what it was, but something inside told him he'd regret it if she didn't come with him. It was as if it would break a promise he'd made, but he could remember no such promise to anyone
The noise of a small splash brought John back to attention—the reason why could wait. Right now, getting out of the rain was a priority. He extended his hand as an afterthought, but to his surprise, Prota shrunk back as if afraid to be touched. John frowned in confusion, but he didn't care whether she held his hand or not.
"Come on," he said, heading back towards the bar.
The two set out briskly, but John quickly learned that that was a mistake. Prota tripped and fell after less than a minute, her face planting into the ground. John rushed to help, but to his surprise, she got back up and kept walking like nothing had happened. This happened more than once. John tried to slow down to compensate, but even then, it was slow going.
This was slowly getting to be annoying. He sorely wanted to just pick her up and carry her back, but every time he got close, despite her fatigue, she would shrink back in fear. One long, cold and miserable walk later, they were home.
"Come on, this way," he said, heading behind the counter and opening another door that revealed a flight of stairs to the second floor.
Prota obediently went up, leaving puddles of muddy water everywhere.
"Gonna have to clean that up later," Zero reminded John.
"I know," John grumbled.
The second floor was small but cozy. It was meant for only one person to live in. Still, there was a stove, cabinets, a wardrobe, a table with two chairs, but most importantly, a large fluffy bed and a giant sofa stuffed with cushions, enough furniture to comfortably support two.
"Over here," John said, opening a door and revealing a small washroom.
Inside sat things you'd usually find in a washroom, but most importantly, there was a bathtub.
"Wash up, and you can sleep in the bed later. I… uh… don't really have any clothes that can fit you, but…"
John walked over to the wardrobe and opened the door just a crack, rummaging around. Prota took a peek and was confused. The wardrobe appeared to be empty. That couldn't have been true, though, as John emerged with a small nightgown, one that was still way too large for Prota, but it would have to do.
"Look. This is, uh, probably really awkward, but try to calm down, ok? You might have your reasons for having your guard up, but I'm not going to try anything. Just clean up. Relax. This is a safe place."
Once again, the girl just stared at him, making him feel incredibly awkward, but after a moment, she nodded. Immediately afterwards, she walked into the washroom and closed the door just in time to miss something.
"Got it all figured out, miracle boy?"
"You can shut it," John sighed, peeling his wet clothes off. "I don't know what I'm gonna do with… this. So either be helpful or piss off."
"You got it."
Zero vanished, leaving John alone to stare at the closed washroom door. What was he supposed to do with this?
He didn't know.