Danmachi: Exception

The package clinked softly as Cyrus set it on their kitchen table. Shadows stretched across the wooden surface, lengthening with each passing moment. Through the window, stars had begun piercing the deepening purple sky. Still no sign of Quet.

His stomach growled, reminding him dinner hadn't factored into their shopping expedition. He grabbed a scrap of paper, ink bleeding slightly as he penned a quick note: "Gone to the Hostess. Back soon. Try not to buy another wardrobe while I'm out."

The streets had transformed in the gathering dark. Lanterns cast pools of warm light across the cobblestones, their glow catching on windows and gilding the edges of buildings. The evening air carried hints of cooking fires and fresh bread, underscored by the ever-present scent of steel and stone that marked Orario's heart.

The Hostess of Fertility's windows blazed like a beacon, spilling light and laughter onto the street. Even from outside, the rich aroma of Mama Mia's cooking wrapped around him like an old friend's embrace. The carved wooden sign creaked gently in the evening breeze, its crossed utensils worn smooth by years of weather.

The instant he pushed open the heavy door, Ryuu's sharp eyes found him. She paused in her graceful weave between tables, empty tray balanced on one hand. Something shifted in her expression - a slight softening around her eyes, though her face remained carefully neutral.

"Welcome to the-" Recognition smoothed her professional tone into something warmer. "Ah. Welcome back."

Before he could respond, a blur of gray hair and green fabric materialized beside him. Syr's familiar scent preceded her voice.

"You came back!" Joy lit her features before dimming slightly. "Though... not quite when expected."

The memory of their rooftop conversation hit him like a physical blow. He rubbed the back of his neck, heat creeping up his collar. "About that..."

"I waited, you know." Her words carried no accusation, just a hint of something deeper. "Until Mama Mia made me close up."

"I owe you an explanation." He met her gray eyes directly. "And an apology. That next morning..."

"Yes?"

"I became part of the Quetzalcoatl Familia. Everything happened so fast - the blessing, the training, the dungeon runs." He spread his hands. "But that's no excuse for standing you up."

Her expression brightened instantly, previous melancholy vanishing like morning mist. "Really? That's what happened?"

"Really. And I'd like to make it up to you."

"Well..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, though her eyes danced. "I suppose I could be persuaded to forgive you. Follow me."

She led him through the maze of tables with practiced ease. The common room pulsed with life - adventurers sharing tales over steaming plates, merchants arguing prices between bites, young couples leaning close in shadowed corners. Wooden beams overhead had soaked up years of cooking smoke, giving them a rich patina that matched the well-worn floorboards.

Syr stopped at a table where a young man hunched over an enormous bowl of pasta. White hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he muttered about prices between bites.

"Your seat, sir." Syr's smile turned sly. "And you'll be having the special tonight... right?"

He recognized that tone. "How much is it going to cost me?"

"Now, now." She waggled a finger. "You did say you wanted to make things up to me."

"That I did." He sighed, settling onto the bench. "Fine. The special it is."

"Excellent!" She clasped her hands together. "I'll make quite a profit tonight!"

"Mind if I join you?" Cyrus asked the white-haired youth.

The young man looked up from his pasta, red eyes widening slightly. "Oh! Please, go ahead." He hastily shifted his enormous bowl to make space. "I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings."

"Cyrus Valentine. And you're eating like someone who just came up from the dungeon."

A sheepish smile crossed the boy's face. "That obvious?" He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Bell Cranel. And yes, just finished a run actually."

Bell Cranel. The name clicked into place. Cyrus's palm met his fist. "Ah, the minotaur blood boy."

Bell's shoulders hunched slightly, his earlier openness dimming. "You... heard about that?"

"Hard not to. The Guild's been buzzing about Level Ones taking on minotaurs." Cyrus leaned back, studying the younger adventurer. No obvious injuries, though exhaustion lined his face. "Though from what I gathered, Ais Wallenstein handled most of it."

"She saved my life." Bell's voice softened, a hint of color touching his cheeks. "I... I couldn't do anything. Just ran."

"Smart move." Cyrus accepted a mug from Syr, who'd materialized beside their table. "Running's underrated. Especially when you're outmatched."

Bell blinked. "You're not going to tell me I should have stood my ground?"

"Against a minotaur? At Level One?" Cyrus snorted. "Living to fight another day isn't cowardice - it's strategy."

Some tension eased from Bell's posture. He pushed his half-empty bowl aside. "Most adventurers I've met... they talk about never backing down. Always pushing forward."

"Those adventurers usually end up dead." Cyrus's fingers drummed against his mug. "Or they're strong enough that retreat's never necessary. Speaking of which..." His lips curved. "You're Hestia's child, aren't you?"

"You know Goddess Hestia?"

"Met her at her potato stand. She and my goddess had an... interesting exchange."

Understanding dawned in Bell's eyes. "Oh! You're Lady Quetzalcoatl's adventurer? The one she was comparing me to?"

"Guilty." Cyrus took a long sip of his drink. Rich and smooth - Mia never skimped on quality. "Though I try to stay out of divine competitions. They tend to get..."

"Intense?" Bell offered.

"Explosive." He set his mug down.

That earned a genuine laugh from Bell. "Goddess Hestia came home that day muttering about 'that flashy sun goddess' and her 'perfectly trained adventurer.'" His impression of Hestia's voice was surprisingly good. "She spent hours listing all my good qualities."

"Quet did the same. Though with more Spanish cursing." Cyrus shook his head.

Bell's shoulders slumped. "Goddess Hestia can be... competitive."

"They all are. Though some hide it better than others." Cyrus glanced toward the kitchen, where Syr had vanished. "Speaking of competition - how much did she charge you for that pasta?"

"Eight hundread valis."

Cyrus let out a low whistle. "She got you too, huh?"

"The prices weren't posted!" Bell's hands waved in distress. "And she kept saying how fresh everything was, and how rare the ingredients were..."

"Let me guess - she mentioned making a special trip to get them? Just for valued customers?"

"Yes! And something about limited availability..."

"Same here." Cyrus chuckled.

Their conversation flowed easily after that, trading stories about divine quirks and dungeon adventures. Bell's initial hesitance melted away, replaced by genuine enthusiasm. His hands moved constantly as he spoke, painting pictures in the air.

"And then the goblin just... appeared! Right behind me!" Bell's arms windmilled, nearly knocking over his water. "If Goddess Hestia hadn't updated my status..."

"Goblins are sneaky bastards." Cyrus caught the teetering glass. "Everyone underestimates them because they're weak individually. But in groups? With surprise on their side? They'll ruin your day."

"Exactly! And the Guild manual doesn't mention how fast they are." Bell's nose wrinkled. "Or how bad they smell."

"The manuals miss a lot." Cyrus accepted a steaming plate from Syr - some kind of meat dish that smelled divine. "They can't capture the real experience. The way sound echoes differently on each floor. How the air changes as you go deeper."

Bell nodded eagerly. "The temperature shifts too! And sometimes there's this feeling, like..."

"Like the walls are watching?"

"Yes! I thought I was imagining it."

"The dungeon's alive." Cyrus cut into his meat, savoring the perfect sear. "Not like we are, but... it has awareness."

Bell's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. "About the dungeon being ali-"

"Nya! The big party with the reservation just arrived nya!" Anya's voice cut through the tavern's usual din.

The ambient noise dropped to whispers as nine figures entered. They commanded attention without effort, their presence alone reshaping the room's atmosphere. At their head strode a diminutive man with scruffy blonde hair, his bearing betraying his true stature. A red-haired goddess draped herself over his shoulders, grinning like she'd just heard the world's best joke.

Behind them walked an elegant high elf, her jade hair catching the lamplight. A younger elf practically orbited her, clutching a staff and stealing glances at her mentor. The contrast between their expressions - one serene wisdom, the other barely contained enthusiasm - spoke volumes.

Twin amazons followed, mirror images save for their hair length, breast size, and the way they carried themselves. The short-haired one bounced with each step, while her sister maintained a more measured pace. A weathered dwarf with an impressive beard brought up the rear guard, sharing some joke with a grey-haired werewolf whose permanent scowl somehow deepened at the punchline.

And then... ah. The Sword Princess herself. Golden hair, golden eyes, and the kind of beauty that made people forget to breathe. She moved with unconscious grace, like every step was part of a dance only she could hear.

Cyrus returned to his meal. High-class adventurers weren't his concern, impressive as they might be.

"Would you look at that," a merchant whispered two tables over.

"Look at the emblem, dumbass." His companion elbowed him. "That's the Loki Familia."

The whispers spread like ripples in a pond.

"I heard the Captain once killed a dragon with just his thumb..."

"The Nine Hells can freeze time, you know..."

"That dwarf? Lifted Babel to kill a monster..."

"The twins once wrestled Goliath bare-handed..."

"The wolf guy's actually part god..."

"Better watch your mouth - that's the Sword Princess. She once-"

Cyrus turned back to make a crack about tavern gossip, but the words died in his throat. Bell sat frozen, chopsticks forgotten, face flushed crimson. His eyes remained locked on the Loki Familia's table - or more specifically, on a certain blonde swordswoman.

"Oi, Bell." Cyrus snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face. "Your noodles are getting cold."

No response. Just that same star-struck expression.

"Bell." He waved his hand. "Orario to Bell. Anyone home?"

Bell's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. A string of pasta slid off his chopsticks, landing with a soft plop in the bowl.

"Bell."

"She's... she's here." Bell's voice came out strangled. "Ais Wallenstein is here."

"Yes, and your dinner's here too." Cyrus pushed the bowl closer. "Though not for long if you keep gawking."

"But..." Bell's eyes darted between his food and the Loki table. "She..."

"Is probably trying to enjoy her evening without some guy staring holes through her." The words came out sharper than intended, but they finally snapped Bell out of his daze.

"Sorry!" He ducked his head, face burning brighter. "I just... ever since she saved me..."

"You've been pining?"

"No! Well... maybe? She's just so..." Bell's hands flailed, nearly upending his water again. "Amazing. Strong. Beautiful. Kind."

"Kind?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "Have you actually talked to her?"

"She didn't have to save me." Bell's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Could have left me to die. But she didn't."

Ah. There it was. Not just a crush then - genuine admiration mixed with gratitude. Still...

"First crush, huh?"

Bell's chopsticks clattered against his bowl. "Is it that obvious?"

"You've got the look." Cyrus leaned back, crossing his arms. "Tell me something - you have much experience with women?"

"N-no." Bell's entire face turned scarlet. "But my grandpa, he taught me everything I need to know about girls!"

"Did he now? And what pearls of wisdom did gramps share?"

"He said a true hero must aim to have a harem!" Bell's eyes lit up with an alarming fervor. "That the greatest achievement isn't slaying monsters, but capturing the hearts of many beautiful maidens!"

Cyrus's mug stopped halfway to his lips.

"And the best part is when they fight over you!" Bell continued, hands gesturing enthusiastically. "Grandpa said nothing shows a man's worth like having multiple women vie for his attention!"

The mug lowered slowly.

"Oh, and the jealousy! He said that's crucial - you have to make them all jealous of each other. Keep them uncertain about who you like best."

Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And then there's the accidental encounters! Walking in on them bathing, falling into compromising positions..." Bell counted off scenarios on his fingers. "Grandpa had a whole list of essential romantic situations every hero needs to experience!"

"Bell."

"Yes?"

"Your grandfather was a menace to society."

Bell deflated at Cyrus's blunt assessment. "But... he always said those were the secrets to becoming a true hero."

"Listen." Cyrus pushed his plate aside. "Your grandfather wasn't entirely wrong. Strong men often attract attention. But there's a difference between natural attraction and actively pursuing a harem."

"Really?" Bell perked up.

"Take the Sword Princess." Cyrus nodded toward the Loki table. "How many marriage proposals do you think she gets?"

"Hundreds?" Bell's eyes widened. "Thousands?"

"All rejected." Cyrus tapped the table for emphasis. "You know why?"

Bell shook his head.

"Because she's focused on getting stronger. On pursuing her goals." Cyrus leaned forward. "The same drive that makes her attractive is exactly why she's not interested in romance. At least not yet."

"Oh." Bell's shoulders slumped.

"But here's what your grandfather missed - strength isn't about getting harems or romantic mishaps. It's about having the power to protect what matters." Cyrus's voice dropped lower. "To stand between danger and those you care about. To make sure the people counting on you make it home."

Something shifted in Bell's expression. The starry-eyed admiration faded, replaced by genuine interest.

"Think about it. What good is a harem if you can't keep them safe? What's the point of romantic drama if you're too weak to face real challenges?" Cyrus gestured toward the Loki table. "Look at them. Every executive there could have a string of lovers. But they chose to focus on becoming strong first."

"Even the twins?" Bell asked.

"Man, I don't know. But what I do know is if you want to catch the Sword Princess's attention? Stop thinking about romance and start thinking about growth."

"But how?" Frustration crept into Bell's voice. "She's so far ahead..."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Having someone to chase makes you stronger." Cyrus's lips curved. "The gap between you pushes you harder than any training regime. Every time you feel like giving up, you'll remember her strength and push yourself further."

Bell's red eyes lit with understanding. "Like a goal to reach..."

"Exactly. And here's the thing about strong women - they respect strength in return. Not just physical power, but strength of character." Cyrus caught Syr delivering their bill with a knowing smile. "The will to keep going when everything hurts. The courage to face your fears. The wisdom to know when to fight and when to run."

"Is that... is that how you got so strong?"

Cyrus barked a laugh. "Kid, I'm barely started. But yeah, having someone to measure yourself against helps." Though in my case, it's less about romance and more about survival, he added silently.

"Then..." Bell's hands clenched on the table. "I'll do it. I'll become stronger. Strong enough to stand beside her as an equal."

"That's the spirit." Cyrus clapped him on the shoulder. "Though fair warning - by the time you reach her current level, she'll probably be even stronger."

"That's okay." Steel entered Bell's voice. "I'll just have to work harder."

"Now you're thinking like a hero."