Chapter 37: Long road to freedom

Rain and Peter walked side by side toward Dorm Block A, their shadows stretching long across the dark gravel paths of the northern campus grounds.

The night air had turned crisp, carrying a faint, damp chill that made Peter keep his hands jammed deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched high around his neck. Every few steps, Peter’s eyes would dart toward the dark tree lines bordering the quad, his breathing shallow and quick. Beside him, Rain walked with an easy, measured stride, his dark hoodie covering his head, his expression completely tranquil under the amber glow of the security lamps.

Dorm Block A was where the senior guild-track students lived, a five-story stone structure with tall archways and polished copper trim. But Rain and Peter didn’t head toward the main glass double doors or the carpeted lobby.

Peter led Rain around the rear of the building, down a narrow concrete stairwell that descended below ground level. The air smelled faintly of damp concrete, old copper pipes, and heavy cleaning solvent. At the end of the corridor stood a reinforced steel utility door, its green indicator light glowing dim in the shadow.

Peter knocked twice, paused, then knocked three times quickly.

A heavy latch clicked inside. The door swung inward, revealing Petrov standing in the doorway. The thin, sharp-featured boy didn’t say a word; he simply gestured with a jerk of his chin for them to step inside before closing and locking the heavy steel door behind them.

The room wasn’t a lounge or an office. It was a cold, windowless basement storage area filled with disused metal shelving, empty plastic supply crates, and stacks of folded canvas tarps.

Corwin sat near the center of the room on a low wooden crate, his dark navy jacket unzipped, resting his elbows on his knees. Dax leaned against an iron pillar nearby, his heavy, muscular arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes fixing Rain with a dull, hostile glare the moment he crossed the threshold.

Standing near a cluttered workbench on the far side of the room was an older man.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a faded, completely plain tan courier jacket over grey work trousers. His hair was cropped short, dark with silver streaks near the temples, and his face was entirely unremarkable, the kind of face that vanished into a crowd three seconds after you looked away from it. He didn’t carry a weapon, nor did he wear any guild crest on his lapel.

The moment Rain and Peter entered, the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Corwin didn’t posture or smirk. Petrov stood quietly near the door with his hands folded in front of him. Dax remained motionless against the pillar. The arrogant, loud energy the three guild kids usually carried was completely absent, replaced by a tight, quiet deference toward the older man by the workbench.

The man turned, wiping his hands on a grey rag before tossing it onto a stack of folded tarps. He looked at Rain and Peter with flat, neutral eyes, stepping forward three paces until he stood in the pale light of the overhead fluorescent tube.

"This is the one?" the man asked, his voice low, dry, and lacking any dramatic flair. He didn’t look at Corwin when he spoke; his eyes remained fixed on Rain.

"Yeah, Reeve," Corwin said quickly, his posture slightly straighter than usual. "This is Rain, F-rank baseline. He agreed to take on the quota shift to handle his debt."

The man, Reeve, nodded once, accepting the explanation without a single question about the debt or the terms. He turned his attention directly to Rain and Peter, his tone crisp, businesslike, and completely matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining a routine shift at a delivery warehouse.

"Listen close," Reeve said, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his plain jacket. "I only explain the operational structure once. Startup guilds and low-tier independent clearing teams are always short on budget. They need cheap, extra bodies to clear lower-tier rifts, but they don’t want to pay full guild rates for certified rift raiders or hunters. They hire almost anyone with a bound skill who can sign a basic liability waiver. No background checks, no deep vetting."

Reeve gestured lightly toward Corwin. "Corwin’s team handles the placement. You two will be assigned to these independent clearing crews as basic carriers. Your official job is simple: follow behind the vanguard team, pick up harvested monster cores and raw mana materials, and pack them into the designated transport crates."

He paused, his dark eyes sweeping between Rain and Peter to make sure they were paying attention.

"The harvest mechanic is straightforward," Reeve continued, his voice monotone. "A designated storage crate is marked ahead of time with a subtle white notch on the latch. That is the crate where the primary C-rank or high D-rank cores go during the run. While the clearing party is engaged with the secondary rift sweep or taking a mandatory rest break, the carrier swaps that marked crate for an identical fake crate containing low-grade stone cores and junk mana husks. You walk the real crate out separately,"

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, a small, cold gesture. "No grand magic. No elaborate lock-picking. Simple, fast, and quiet. The independent parties are usually too tired or too disorganized after a clear to do a full inventory recount until they reach the regional exchange center three hours later. By then, our team has already logged the real cores under Iron Vane’s probationary quota."

Peter stood shivering beside Rain, his eyes wide, his hands trembling so hard inside his coat pockets that his sleeves rustled against his sides.

Rain stood completely still, taking in every word with a quiet, analytical focus. The operation was unsettlingly simple. It relied entirely on the exhaustion of small, under-funded guild parties and the total invisibility of low-tier carriers whom no one paid attention to.

Reeve finished laying out the process, letting a beat of silence fall over the cold basement room. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small metal mint tin, popped a mint into his mouth, and snapped the lid shut.

As he put the tin back in his pocket, his gaze drifted back to Rain’s face.

Reeve paused. He took a half-step closer, his narrow, sharp eyes scanning Rain’s jawline, his his frame, and the steady, unblinking calm in his blue eyes.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" Reeve asked softly, his voice dropping an octave.

Corwin glanced up, a faint flicker of surprise passing over his face. Petrov shifted his feet near the door.

Rain didn’t flinch. He didn’t shift his weight, nor did he break eye contact for a fraction of a second. His face remained completely smooth, entirely devoid of stress or hesitation.

"No," Rain said flatly. "I don’t leave the campus grounds much."

Reeve kept his eyes locked on Rain for three long, quiet seconds. The hum of the basement water pipes echoed softly in the background.

"Mmm," Reeve hummed softly in his throat, a noncommittal, considering sound.

He didn’t push the question. He didn’t demand an ID or ask for his name again. He simply turned back toward the workbench, picking up a small black digital ledger and slipping it into his jacket. But Rain internally registered the subtle shift in the man’s posture. Reeve hadn’t fully bought the denial. Something in his mind had filed Rain’s face away for future reference.

"Corwin will give you your assignment time tomorrow night," Reeve said, stepping toward the secondary exit door at the back of the storage room. "Don’t be late. I don’t like waiting on first-years."

Without another word, Reeve unlocked the back door, stepped out into the dark alleyway beyond, and pulled the door shut behind him.

The moment the heavy steel door clicked shut, the quiet, heavy tension in the room snapped.

Corwin stood up from his wooden crate, his sharp, arrogant sneer returning instantly to his face as he smoothed down his dark navy jacket. He walked up to Rain, stopping two feet away, while Dax stepped up beside him, his thick arms flexed, his massive frame looming over Peter.

"You heard the man, carrier," Corwin said, his voice cold, casual, and completely dismissive, like he was talking to a pair of stray dogs. "You do what you’re told, you keep your mouths shut, and you swap the crate clean. If either of you messes up a swap or gets caught by the guild party, we don’t know you. And the fifty thousand credit debt doubles on the spot."

"Got it," Rain said plainly.

"Get out of here," Dax growled, jerking his chin toward the corridor door. "You’re cluttering up the room."

Petrov pulled the corridor door open. Rain turned smoothly, placing a light, steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, guiding the shaking boy out into the cold concrete hallway. Petrov slammed the door behind them, the lock clicking shut with a final, heavy sound.

They stepped out of Dorm Block A’s basement stairwell into the quiet, night air of the northern quad.

The wind had picked up slightly, rustling the heavy oak leaves overhead. The campus was mostly empty now, the broad stone walkways lit only by the distant, amber streetlamps.

Peter walked quickly, his boots clicking against the pavement in a fast, erratic rhythm. His head was down, his hands clutched tight inside his jacket pockets, his entire body rigid with residual panic.

"Rain," Peter whispered, his voice cracking as he looked over his shoulder toward the dark silhouette of Dorm Block A. "That guy. Reeve. He looked like a real criminal. Not just a student bully. A real, professional black-market handler."

"He’s a cutout," Rain said smoothly, his hands resting casually inside his black hoodie pocket as he kept pace beside Peter. "The guild uses guys like him so their own officers stay clean if a crate swap goes bad."

"We’re going to get caught," Peter said, his breath rising in white clouds in the cold air. His voice trembled with raw, helpless dread. "I know it. Our luck is going to run out eventually, Rain. We’re going to get caught swapping a crate, or one of those independent parties is going to realize what’s happening and tear us apart. I can’t sleep at night thinking about it."

Rain walked quietly for a few paces, looking up at the pale moon hanging above the high roof of the library archive.

"Panicking right now doesn’t change what happens tomorrow, Peter," Rain said, his voice calm, level, and deliberately steady. "We will know the route. We will know what the mark looks like. Panicking just makes your hands shake when you reach for the latch."

Peter stopped dead in the middle of the paved courtyard.

He turned around, looking up at Rain with wide, bewildered eyes. The light from a nearby streetlamp fell across Peter’s pale, exhausted face, illuminating the dark circles under his eyes and the deep line of confusion etched into his forehead.

"Why are you like this?" Peter asked directly, his voice quiet, almost desperate.

Rain stopped three paces ahead, turning back to look at him. "Like what?"

"Like this!" Peter said, gesturing vaguely at Rain’s entire posture. "The first time you came to find me, when you asked me what was wrong, you looked worried. You looked genuinely stressed about what Corwin’s crew was doing to people. But now? We just stood in a basement with a black-market fence, we just got assigned to commit illegal theft inside an active rift, and you’re walking back to the dorms like we just finished a library study session! What changed, Rain? How are you this calm?"

Rain stood under the amber streetlamp, looking at the younger boy for a moment. He pulled one hand from his hoodie pocket, scratching the back of his neck with a light, easy shrug.

"Nothing changed, Peter," Rain said gently, his tone completely unbothered. "There’s just no use spiraling over something neither of us can undo right this second. We’re in the situation. We have to go through it. Being positive about it is just a choice I’ve made. It keeps your head clear."

Peter stared at him, his mouth opening slightly as he processed the answer. It sounded almost absurdly simple, so simple it sounded crazy to someone who had spent a month drowning in fear. But looking at Rain’s steady eyes, Peter couldn’t find a single trace of deceit or false bravado.

Peter let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging as he ran a tired hand through his messy hair. He started walking again, stepping up beside Rain as they approached the junction where the pathways split toward their respective dorm blocks.

They stopped near the low stone wall marking the entrance to Dorm Block C.

Peter turned to Rain, his expression softening into something raw, quiet, and profoundly sincere.

"Rain," Peter said softly, looking down at his worn shoes before meeting Rain’s eyes. "I just wanted to say thank you. Seriously."

Rain tilted his head slightly. "For what?"

"For being a real friend," Peter whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "In a place like this, everyone has an angle. The guild kids look at you like dirt, the instructors look at you like a statistic, and everyone else is just trying to climb over you to get a better rank placement. But you, you actually listened to me. You understand what it means to be treated like an F-rank nobody, and you didn’t make me feel alone in this."

Peter took a slow breath, a small, hopeful smile touching his pale lips for the first time in days. "I really hope we get out of this mess, Rain. I hope we get through this quota work, clear the debt, and maybe under better circumstances, we can actually know each other properly. Like normal students."

Rain looked down at the peter.His face remained calm, but his expression softened, a deep, genuine warmth filling his dark eyes.

"We’ll be free of this soon, Peter," Rain said, his voice soft, steady, and entirely reassuring. "I promise you."

As Rain spoke those words, he smiled. It was a warm, bright smile, full of absolute certainty, so warm, so completely devoid of doubt, that a sudden, faint shiver ran down Peter’s spine.

Peter blinked, looking at Rain’s face for half a second longer than usual, feeling a strange, unexplainable prickle of unease settle in his chest. It wasn’t hostility or danger; it was just the sheer, terrifying weight of certainty in Rain’s tone. It was strange but he could only describe it as feeling oppressed by Rain’s sheer positive attitude about all these.

"Yeah," Peter stammered slightly, stepping backward down the path. "Yeah. Okay. Goodnight, Rain."

"Goodnight, Peter. Get some sleep."

Rain watched Peter walk off toward his dorm block until his small figure vanished into the shadows of the lower residential quad.

Rain walked up the concrete steps of Dorm Block C, tapped his keycard against the electronic reader, and pushed open the heavy glass entrance door.

The hallway was quiet, smelling of floor wax and stale laundry detergent. Rain walked to his room, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the blue glow of a phone screen near the far wall.

Jansen was lying on his back on his narrow cot, his head propped up on a thick pillow, scrolling through a news feed with his thumb. He didn’t look up when Rain closed the door, but his voice broke the quiet of the room in its usual flat, detached monotone.

"Someone came looking for you earlier," Jansen said, his thumb flicking rhythmically across the glowing screen.

Rain paused, he pulled his dark hoodie over his head, hanging it on the back of the bathroom door.

"Who?" Rain asked, leaning over to unlace his boots.

"A girl," Jansen replied plainly. "Dorm security called me down to the lobby about two hours ago. Women aren’t allowed in the male halls after six, so the front desk clerk made me go down and verify if you were in the building."

Rain stopped, his hand hovering over his boot laces. He looked over his shoulder at Jansen. "A girl? What did she look like?"

Jansen tapped his phone screen, pausing for half a second to think. "Dark hair, kept it short. Didn’t say much, just asked if you were around and looked annoyed when the desk clerk told her you weren’t back yet."

Rain immediately recognized the description.

’Nyra,’ Rain thought, his eyebrows knitting together in genuine confusion.

Rain hadn’t spoken to her since he was discharged from the hospital.

’Why would she come to the male dorm block in person without messaging first?’ Rain wondered, finishing unlacing his boots and stepping out of them. ’She has my number.’

He sat down on the edge of his cot, pulling his personal smartphone from his pocket.

Rain looked at the smooth glass screen for a moment.

He had never been a heavy phone user. Growing up in the city orphanage, personal electronics were an unimaginable luxury. He had spent his entire childhood without owning a single device, occasionally using the matron’s old, cracked desktop computer to read public guild notices or borrowing a shared landline phone to check entry exam dates. Even now, his phone was practically bare, no social media applications, no news feeds, no games, and exactly one saved contact in his address book.

He tapped open his messaging application and selected Nyra’s contact.

He sat on his mattress, his thumb hovering over the digital keyboard as he overthought the phrasing of a message.

*Hey, Jansen said you came by the dorm. Is everything okay?*

He deleted it. It sounded too formal, almost anxious.

*Did something happen with White Tiger?*

He deleted that too. If she was dropping by in person, she probably didn’t want sensitive topic discussed over basic text lines.

Finally, he settled on something simple and direct.

*Hey. Jansen told me you came by earlier. I was out catching up on class work. Everything alright?*

He hit send.

Rain held the phone in his hand, watching the screen. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.

Suddenly, three small blue dots appeared near the bottom of the chat window, indicating that Nyra was currently typing a response.

Rain sat up slightly, watching the screen intently.

The three dots flickered for five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds.

Then, abruptly, the typing indicator vanished. No message appeared. The chat window remained completely blank beneath his sent text.

Rain waited another two minutes, staring at the screen in the quiet room, but no new dots appeared, and no text arrived.

He let out a short, quiet sigh, tossing the phone onto his nightstand.

’She probably got pulled into something,’ Rain reasoned internally, lying back onto his pillow and pulling his thin blanket up over his chest. ’I’ll check with her again tomorrow.’

He closed his eyes, letting the quiet stillness of Room 204 settle over him.

Jansen’s breathing on the far side of the room slowed down, the faint glow of his phone screen finally clicking off, leaving the room in deep, shadowy darkness.

Rain lay in the quiet, his mind slowly winding down as he prepared to sleep.

Then, just as his consciousness began to drift toward the edge of sleep, an unrelated, unbidden thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.

’Eren Toma,’

Rain opened his eyes in the dark, staring up at the white ceiling tiles above his bed.

The Blue Wave Powerball captain, the one who’d stopped him after that street fight, the one who’d watched him move and called it something more than adrenaline. They had made a verbal agreement to meet outside the athletic complex at two o’clock the previous Saturday.

The previous Saturday.

Rain had been trapped inside the C-rank rift, fighting for his life in the mud against powerful monsters, while Eren Toma had presumably stood outside the athletic complex under the afternoon sun, waiting for an F-rank student who never showed up.

Rain lay still, running a hand down over his face.

There was no way to text him. No way to call him. They’d never exchanged numbers, and Rain had simply vanished for a week without a word, only back on campus since yesterday. He’d have to catch him in person eventually and just say it plainly, whatever came of it.

Rain turned onto his side in the dark, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.