This Life, I Will Be the Protagonist

A small flying creature hovered in midair—what kind of species was that?

An owlk? Its wings had a faint shimmer.

Following the little owlk's gaze, the moonbear finally "noticed" the elf beside her—clearly cloaked in some spell that made others overlook her presence.

Ah. A wild Lightchaser.

The druid came to a full stop, staring at the elf. Feeling the gaze, Lightchaser turned slightly, gave the druid a glance, then turned away as if she'd never seen her.

The druid sighed inwardly. Were people outside really this kindhearted? How had this lunatic not been beaten to death yet?

Rita glanced back at the bear—taller than even Lightchaser by half a head. A pair of antlers with many branching tines sat on the bear's broad, honest-looking head. Its pale fur was fluffy, soft-looking, and very nap-worthy. In the center of its belly was a white magic sigil.

When the bear looked back at her again, Rita offered a polite smile before turning away.

But then, the bear asked, "What species are you? Are you an owlk?"

Rita wasn't entirely sure. Lightchaser always called her an owlk, but she clearly wasn't like that red-headed winged kid back in Gilane.

After a moment's thought, she decided to give herself a proper background. She lifted her chin and said with mock seriousness, "Yes. A shiny owlk. Very rare. You're lucky, friend."

The druid: …

Lightchaser, still walking ahead, turned her head and smirked at the druid. "You're lucky, friend."

As she said it, she never stopped walking.

The little owlk waved at the moonbear, then resumed flying lazy circles around Lightchaser, peppering her with questions—was every tutor this expensive? What if they didn't teach properly? Who would they complain to? Was tutoring paid out of Rita's account or was Lightchaser footing the bill?

Lightchaser: …Pretty sure the last one's the real concern.

…

Asaein was beautiful—but terrifyingly expensive.

Rita was starting to think Asaein had its own currency system. After just two weeks of part-time work at Burrowbug Tavern, she realized she'd forgotten what copper coins even looked like.

When Lightchaser stopped by the tavern for lunch—and to pick up her apprentice for Garbage Street—she handed over the menu after ordering. Rita took it but didn't leave, instead staring at her.

Lightchaser sighed and tossed a small pile of gold on the table to cover the meal and tip. "Who pays before ordering?!"

Rita scooped up the coins. "I just didn't want you finishing the meal and then sticking it on my tab again. You have no idea—I've been having nightmares about that line every night."

Lightchaser: …

She missed the old owlk who used to cry until her nose ran.

Rita tossed the coins into the magical tipping jar behind the bar. The extra two gold were hers to keep.

The tavern's owner was a soft-spoken, kind-hearted snow ferret. Charming, in large part because of his generosity. If there weren't enough guests and Rita's tips came up short, he'd slip her an extra coin with her wages.

At moments like that, Rita deeply appreciated Asaein's lack of copper currency.

Long live gold coins.

After lunch, Lightchaser would head next door to the arcade, and Rita would meet her there after her shift. Then the two would head to Garbage Street together.

Lightchaser always walked slowly, using the time to ask questions.

"If, for some reason, you had to eliminate one of the tavern patrons you met today—with no personal grudge involved—who would it be?"

"If you had to pick someone to team up with for an important task, who would it be?"

"Who made you most wary?"

"Who would you avoid making an enemy of at all costs?"

"What was the most valuable bit of information you heard today?"

"Was there anything that felt like planted bait?"

"Did anyone try to buy information from you? Did you sell it?"

After each answer, Lightchaser would always follow up with a single word: "Why?" She wouldn't move on until Rita gave a solid reason—or several.

They held lessons like this every day on the road to Garbage Street.

Some questions repeated daily. Some were new.

Normally impatient and irritable, Lightchaser seemed to have infinite patience here. No matter how off-track Rita's answers got, she never raised her voice.

…

The entrance to Garbage Street sat right where everyone in Asaein could see it—but no one ever went in. Everyone seemed to know exactly what it was.

Even though every passerby who noticed Lightchaser greeted her with polite, friendly smiles—even though the teachers she found inside all seemed to be top-tier figures running businesses in the area—she never once allowed Rita to enter alone.

Rita didn't take adult rules lightly. Especially not Lightchaser's.

A few days ago, when Lightchaser didn't show up at the tavern, a hamster arrived with a message: Lightchaser had business elsewhere, and Rita should head to Garbage Street alone.

Rita grabbed the hamster and handed it to the tavern chef, asking her to deep-fry it.

That evening, back at Lightchaser's Asaein apartment, Rita mentioned the incident. Lightchaser had just smiled—ambiguous and unreadable.

To this day, Rita wasn't sure whether it was a test… or a setup.

The teachers Lightchaser introduced her to came from all walks of life. She never told Rita what they specialized in or what they were known for.

She just dropped her off and went off to sketch or paint in a nearby spot. She always had some project or other going on.

Today's teacher was the owner of a small auction house—yes, there was an auction house in this tiny neighborhood—run by a catfish-headed fishman.

According to Lightchaser, he was the richest soul in all of Garbage Street.

Rita cautiously took the seat across the table and studied the man's huge catfish head, roughly the size of her entire torso. She bowed politely. "Hello, I'm Lightchaser's apprentice."

The fishman held an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "You mind if I light up?"

Rita considered herself a weathered soul by now. Unflinching, she replied, "Not at all."

She raised her hand, conjuring a small flame at her fingertip, and held it up to help him light it.

The fishman grunted. "What do you want to learn?"

"Business tricks, survival experience, trade wisdom, your most unforgettable battle, or the cleverest scheme you've ever pulled," Rita replied without missing a beat. "Any of those would be incredibly valuable to me."

Working at the tavern had taught her the art of talking to people. This answer was the result of days of practice—and dozens of questions from Lightchaser.

At first, she'd hoped to learn some powerful skill, something like the [Throat Slash] Lightchaser had taught her back in the day.

Eight hundred gold for two hours of tutoring? Of course she wanted to get her money's worth.

That much gold was nearly equivalent to a full semester's tuition at Moonlight Marsh. Not learning a skill would be a crime.

On her first lesson, she'd even subtly asked that teacher if they could show her a move capable of defeating Lightchaser.

That teacher had nearly died laughing. Then, still chuckling, they taught her a skill anyway:

[Calm Down a Second].