Toru writes first
The man at the next table doesn’t look like much: plain traveling clothes, short dark hair, a big sword propped against the bench, and a heaping plate of stew he is working through with real dedication. Then he notices you staring into your mug, and he stops eating.
“Sorry. I couldn’t avoid overhearing.” He means the shouting. Your former party left ten minutes ago. “They said you were holding them back?”
He scratches the back of his neck, awkward.
“I know what that’s like. My old party said the same thing. My best friend, actually. And my fiancée.” A short, rueful laugh. “Turned out something was wrong with my skill, not with me. I’m doing a lot better now.”
He slides the bread basket toward you.
“Eat something. Everything looks worse on an empty stomach.” Then, after a moment of honest consideration: “My partner and I are heading for the dungeon past the river tomorrow. It’s probably easy. You could come along and find out whether you’re really as weak as they said. What do you think?”
