The twins exchange a quick glance, their matching smiles curving just a little wider.
"Rewrite, huh? Interesting name," the boy remarks as he pulls a small leather-bound ledger toward him. His penmanship is quick yet graceful as he flips to a blank page.
"Please write your names here, along with your role in the party," the girl says warmly, sliding a quill and ink across the counter. The boy turns the ledger so it faces us, the fresh page already bearing our party name at the top in neat script. Three columns divide the space — names on the left, roles in the center, and on the right, a place for talent and current rank.
"Go ahead, Quill. You should write yours first," Powder nudges me forward.
"Quill, huh... what a unique name," the girl murmurs under her breath. It’s quiet—barely more than a whisper—but I catch it. Our eyes meet for a split second before she turns away, her cheeks flushing like she’s just been caught peeking into my diary.
"Alright... let’s see." I scrawl my name in the first column, then pause at the next. "Should I just write ’Leader’? Or do I need another role as well? Like... a combat role?"
"You’re spot on—you’ll need a combat role too," the boy replies with a bright smile, eyes narrowing in an almost dreamy way. He leans forward, fingers drumming on the counter, practically vibrating with excitement. If he had a tail, I swear it would be wagging right now. "Would you like us to give you an example of what each role does?"
"S-sure," I reply, leaning back—only to bump into something big, soft, and perfectly round.
Behind me, Roxy stands completely still, making no move to step away, which means I’m just... sinking right into her watermelons.
Feels good... NO! Snap out of it, Quill. Focus!
I brace to slip away, but Roxy’s arms suddenly wrap around my waist, holding me in place. I don’t want to make a scene, so I let it happen—but if I end up remembered as the guy who got hard while listening to a lecture on combat roles... well, that’s not my fault.
It’s fine. I’ve got this...
"First comes the Vanguard," the boy begins, "arguably the most important role in any party. And... I see you don’t seem to have one." His eyes sweep over us, noting the absence of shields. Roxy is... well... definitely not a traditional vanguard.
"Me! I’m the vanguard!" Roxy raises her hand, and I seize the chance to wriggle free—only for her to hold me in place with one arm. Effortlessly. Shit.
"Ah? R-really?" A bead of sweat rolls down the boy’s temple. His gaze flicks to the massive axe leaning beside Roxy—not exactly the image of a shield-bearing guardian. Clearing his throat, he presses on. "The Vanguard is responsible for protecting the party from monster attacks up front. Your job," he says, locking eyes with her, "is to ensure danger never reaches your teammates—unless they’re close-range fighters. Even then, you must prevent enemies from charging them. This is why most adventurers die early."
"Next is the Damage Dealer, or DPS as adventurers call it," the girl chimes in with a smile. "Which one of you fills that role?"
I hesitate. I hadn’t really thought through my own role yet.
"L-likely me," Powder says, raising his hand. A few heads turn toward him—he’s built like a proper fighter, and the sword I crafted for him gleams in the light. I catch some lingering stares from nearby poachers sizing it up, but I’m not worried. If I want, I can erase them from existence with a single thought.
"Great!" The girl claps her hands together, smiling like a fox. But... why is she looking at me instead of Powder? He’s the one who spoke. Only now do I realize her gaze keeps flicking down to my crotch, then back up to my face—over and over. My stomach drops. Oh no... she knows. I’ve been exposed. It’s all Roxy’s fault. I almost cry, but I force myself to act like nothing happened.
"The DPS is responsible for aiding the tank and damaging the monsters, making sure they take the fatal blows. Good DPS are also skilled at protecting healers and control experts. The tank can’t always keep track of smaller threats, so a good DPS covers the gaps."
"Understood!" Powder replies with deadly seriousness, like he just signed a life-or-death pact.
"Next is the healer. Would you be the healer, Quill?" the boy asks.
I glance at my scythe. "No... I don’t think so. I’m more suited to something else."
"No matter. Let me tell you about them anyway." The boy leans in, and for once, I feel almost safe in Roxy’s hold. "Healers are magic specialists who keep the party alive. They often form strong bonds with spirits and can mend any injury. The most skilled can even regrow limbs—though I don’t recommend losing one. I’ve heard it’s far more painful growing it back." He chuckles, then the girl picks up the explanation without missing a beat. Do they always do this? Tag-teaming lectures with zero room for questions?
"And last is the control expert—or ’control’ for short. Perhaps you’d suit this role best." Her eyes flick down to my crotch again. PLEASE. STOP.
"Can you... explain it to me?" I ask, gulping down my saliva.
"Of course!" she exclaims, far too eagerly. "Control experts usually specialize in long-range attacks, though some excel at close quarters. They support the party with rapid strikes, and if the control is a mage, they can make entire groups of monsters explode. They also use protective barriers—not physical shields, but magical ones that wrap around the team. It’s best to have at least two control units: one ranger and one mage."
She pauses suddenly, eyes shifting to the door. The entire guild goes silent.
"Like the hero’s Glorius Party," she breathes, her voice dripping with reverence.
"Glorius is here!" someone shouts.
"Glorius!" the crowd roars, voices swelling into a chant.
I turn toward the entrance. The golden armor blazes under the lamplight, his green eyes brimming with the same old hatred, and that arrogant smirk carved into his face.