Hiro Tanaka still hadn't gotten used to it. One stupid statue-grope later, he was living with six amnesiac Titaness goddesses who turned from legendary gear into stunning women the moment he stopped fighting or traveling. They always clung to the exact body parts their item forms occupied—and trying to register at the guild with a harem of sentient equipment was proving to be a logistical nightmare.

  The Adventurer's Guild of the Royal Capital looked exactly like the starter-town hub from any generic fantasy RPG. A massive wooden hall filled with burly men drinking ale mid-morning, a quest board plastered with notices, and a reception desk manned by a cute but overworked receptionist.

  Haruto stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath.

  "Okay," he whispered. "Simple plan. Walk in. Register as F-Rank. Get a gathering quest. Get money. Buy food."

  {And buy soap,} Themis added in his head. {We require specialized cleaning products. The lemon oil was... adequate, but I desire lavender.}

  {I want a hat,} Theia chimed in. {Something with a wide brim. The sun is jealous of my radiance.}

  "We have zero gold," Haruto hissed at his own clothes. "We buy food first."

  He pushed open the doors.

  The noise in the guild hall died down instantly.

  Every head turned to look at him.

  It wasn't because he looked intimidating. It was because he looked ridiculous.

  He was a scrawny boy in a stained school uniform, wearing mismatched, ancient armor that made him look like he'd looted a museum dumpster.

  A hulking, scarred warrior at the nearest table snorted. "Hey look! It's Sir Scrap Metal!"

  The hall erupted in laughter.

  "Nice breastplate, kid! Did you steal it from your grandma?" "Is that sword glued together?" "Don't trip, you might shatter!"

  Haruto's face burned. He marched head-down to the counter.

  "I... I'd like to register," he squeaked.

  The receptionist, a cat-girl named Milling, looked up. She blinked. "Oh. Um. Are you sure, sweetie? Most new heroes start at the training grounds."

  "I... I want to skip the tutorial," Haruto said, trying to sound confident. "Just give me the F-Rank test."

  "Well," Milling sighed. "The registration fee is 2 silver coins."

  Haruto froze.

  "Fee?"

  "Administrative costs," Milling smiled apologetically.

  Haruto turned his pockets inside out. A single ball of blue lint fell out.

  "I... I can pay later?"

  "No credit," Milling shook her head. "Next!"

  "Wait!" Haruto panicked. "I have... collateral!"

  He slapped Themis (the sword) onto the counter.

  "This! It's a... magical sword! It's worth at least 2 silver!"

  The scarred warrior from earlier walked up, looming over Haruto. "That toothpick? Look at the scabbard, I bet it can't even cut butter!"

  He reached out to grab the hilt.

  Haruto panicked and grabbed the sword first.

  Before Haruto could apologize, Themis flooded his brain with a terrifying wave of pure, concentrated fury.

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  SNAP.

  Before Haruto even knew what he was doing, his arm jerked forward. Themis had forced his hand.

  The heavy, sheathed sword slammed into the warrior's fingers with the speed of a striking cobra.

  "YEOUCH!" The warrior howled, clutching his hand and stumbling back into a table. "You little punk! I'll kill you!"

  The warrior roared and swung his massive, uninjured fist straight at Haruto's head.

  Haruto squeezed his eyes shut and waited to die.

  But his body moved on its own.

  With blinding speed, Haruto's arm shot up, completely against his will. He didn't just block the punch; he parried it perfectly with the flat of the scabbard, redirecting the massive warrior's momentum so smoothly that the giant man spun like a top and crashed face-first into a wooden pillar.

  CRACK.

  The constant noise of the guild hall died in an instant. Everyone stopped drinking to stare.

  Haruto stood there, panting, his arm still raised in a flawless, expert guard position that he had zero idea how to hold. He looked like a master swordsman. He felt like a terrified teenager attached to a violent marionette string.

  "I-I didn't do that!" Haruto squeaked, pointing his free hand at the groaning warrior on the floor.

  "Enough!" a deep voice boomed from the back office.

  An old man walked out. He had an eyepatch, a beard, and muscles that looked like tree roots. This was Guild Master Gorm. He looked down at the unconscious warrior, then at the trembling kid holding a perfectly balanced guard.

  "He swung first," Gorm grunted, looking closely at Haruto's sword. "And your weapon reacted. A sentient guardian blade. Rare."

  Gorm looked back at Haruto's scrawny arms and knocking knees.

  "But a sword that swings itself is useless if the wielder drops it after one parry," Gorm crossed his massive arms. "I'll waive the registration fee as an apology for my guild member's bad manners. But you still need to pass the physical exam."

  Gorm pointed to a massive stone slab in the corner. It was painted with targets. "Hit that. Hard enough to crack it, you pass."

  Haruto gulped. "Crack... stone?"

  "If you can't break rock, you can't break a goblin skull," Gorm said. "Go on."

  Haruto walked up to the stone. It looked solid. Very solid.

  "Mnemosyne," Haruto whispered to his right gauntlet. "Skill Copy. Do you have a monk punch or something?"

  The deep indigo gauntlet hummed with a gentle, scholarly vibration, followed by a sensation equivalent to an ancient librarian confidently handing him a highly destructive spell scroll.

  Immediately afterward, his heavy golden breastplate hummed with a warm, soothing vibration that felt like a gentle pat on the head, reassuring him with a distinct sense of Don't worry, Darling, I'll help too.

  Haruto nodded. He raised his fist—gauntlet and all—and punched the stone.

  He expected resistance. He expected pain.

  He felt... nothing.

  His fist sank into the stone like it was wet clay.

  CRMMPH.

  The stone didn't crack. It powdered.

  Haruto's arm went straight through the slab, out the other side, and instantly pulverized the solid timber wall of the guild hall behind it.

  Sunlight streamed into the dimly lit pub through the massive, perfectly Haruto-sized hole.

  "Oops," Haruto said.

  The guild was dead silent. Gorm’s cigar fell out of his mouth.

  Haruto slowly pulled his arm back inside, a nervous, sweating smile plastered across his face. He frantically tried to brush stone dust off his blazer like it was no big deal.

  The gauntlet vibrated with a scholarly thrum equivalent to a polite cough, while the breastplate radiated an intense, unapologetic sensation of Oopsie! My bad, Darling!

  Haruto completely ignored them, keeping his terrified, rictus grin locked onto the Guild Master.

  "So," Haruto squeaked, pointing to the gaping hole leading out to the street. "Did I pass?"

  CREAK.

  The entire east wing of the guild hall groaned. Dust started to fall from the ceiling.

  "Uh oh," Haruto said.

  "YOU'RE PAYING FOR THAT!" Gorm roared, his face turning purple as he pointed a trembling, tree-trunk-sized finger at the massive hole letting a nice cross-breeze into the guild hall.

  "I have no money!" Haruto shrieked. "But... but you told me to hit it!"

  Gorm looked at the powdered remains of the high-durability testing stone, then at the massive hole in the reinforced timber wall behind it.

  "I told you to crack it!" Gorm bellowed, snatching his own patchy hair. "Not erase it from existence! Do you have any idea how much that enchanted stone cost? Do you know how hard it is to get master carpenters in this economy?!"

  Gorm kept ranting, his volume rising as he started pacing frantically behind the counter. He completely lost focus on Haruto, screaming at the ceiling about supply chain issues, inflation, and the lack of respect magical items got these days.

  The entire guild hall was utterly silent. No one knew whether to laugh at Gorm's meltdown, be amazed at the sheer destructive power displayed, or be terrified of the scrawny, sweating teenager who had just vaporized solid rock.

  Haruto felt a deep, soul-crushing wave of embarrassment wash over him. He slowly started inching backward toward the door.

  As he passed the receptionist’s desk, Milling the cat-girl was staring blankly at Gorm's breakdown. There was a stack of blank wooden F-Rank Guild Cards and an ink stamp on the counter.

  Haruto slowly, quietly reached out.

  Thwump.

  He pressed the stamp onto a wooden tag, slid it into his pocket, and backed out the door while Gorm was still screaming about the price of lumber.

  Five minutes later, Haruto was sitting on the curb a safe distance down the street, clutching his newly stamped F-Rank tag.

  "Well," Haruto exhaled slowly. "That went well."

  The breastplate vibrated softly, sending a wave of intense, motherly apology into his chest.

  "It's fine," Haruto whispered to his armor. "We'll just wait until everything calms down to get some quests."

  "Technically, we passed the exam."