The road to his new life tasted like salt and ash.

Hanz walked it alone, heavy boots thudding against sun-warmed stone as the midday heat shimmered in the air. He hadn’t looked back after slamming the door on his latest client—that was no longer his problem. He’d made his choice: to rot by the seaside, quietly and with no fuss.

A child approached him near the bend in the road, barefoot and bright-eyed despite the faded clothes and patched hems.

“Mister,” the kid said, holding up a string of gaudy flowers. “Your outfit’s weird. You might wanna buy this big flower necklace to blend in.”

Hanz paused. He studied the kid for a moment—wiry, sun-worn, but sharp. Slung over one shoulder was a small basket of seashell trinkets. Tucked into the kid’s belt was a pipe made from a long spiral shell.

He nodded once. “The necklace. And the pipe.”

The child blinked. “You want this old thing? It’s not for sale.”
A pause. The kid held it close. “It’s a memento. My father left it behind.”

Hanz didn’t answer. He simply reached down and took it from the child’s small hands like a villain out of some bedtime story. Eyes, unreadable behind his sun glasses.
“It is now,” he said, already pulling a pouch from his pack.
He dropped it into the kid’s hands—heavy with coin. “Sorry. Don’t have anything smaller. Keep the change.”

The kid looked down at the pouch, stunned. For a second, even the waves seemed to hush.
His mouth hung open. “Wha—wait, this is—”

But Hanz was already walking away, the flower necklace hanging awkwardly around his thick neck, a new shell pipe held loosely in his hand. His footprints stretched behind him like a trail of old decisions.

‘Now to find an easy source of income’, he thought, ‘now that I’m broke.’

The sea breeze offered no answer—just a cool, unbothered silence.
His stomach, however, spoke plenty. Loud and sharp, a rumble that turned heads.

One of them belonged to a street vendor.
“You hungry?” the man called out, lifting a skewer. “Just grilled a fresh batch of squid.”

Hanz didn’t break stride. “Tabs work here?”

The vendor snorted. “Figures. You one of those broke newcomers.” He jabbed a thumb toward the road. “Go to the guild. You want money? That’s where you start.”

Then, without waiting: “That way. Yes, that way—don’t ask me which way. You look like the type who would.”

Hanz gave a slow, two-fingered salute and turned, following the direction the vendor had practically carved into the air.
The wind carried the scent of squid. His path? It reeked of obligation.

***

Hanz walked for a while before he noticed it—the weight of a gaze from both sides. He paused.

Behind him, a family was cheerfully slicing open a watermelon.

Ahead, a group of kids were laughing as they took turns smashing one blindfolded.

He rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

“Must be getting old,” he muttered with a dry chuckle. “Imagine being spooked by a watermelon.”

Then, without another word, he continued walking—until he found himself standing beneath a massive shell-shaped sign hanging above a door. Hanz squinted up at it.

“Well, that says ‘guild’ for sure,” he muttered and stepped inside.

His towering frame cast a brief shadow across the room, darkening the entrance just long enough to still the noise. A few adventurers and drunks glanced up from their mugs.

“Hey, that flower necklace actually looks decent on him.”
“How does someone that big pull off decent?”
“Relax, man. No one here’s normal.”

The chatter returned, but Hanz didn’t pay it any mind. New territory. No reason to act bold and get the wrong kind of attention. He moved with purpose, boots thudding toward the front counter.

The guild hall was smaller than he’d expected, but the structure was familiar—same old adventurer boards, same old mix of grit and booze in the air.

Behind the counter stood an elf in a green two-piece swimsuit, a neat tag on her chest reading Receptionist. She didn’t flinch at his approach, didn’t even raise an eyebrow at his massive frame or smoke-scarred gear. That was rare.

“Good morning, dear sir,” she said smoothly. “How can I help you today?”

“Looking to be an adventurer. Need quick cash.”

She pulled a form from under the counter and inked her pen.
“Alright. Let’s start with your name.”

“Hanz.”

“And your class? Or a role you’re used to?”

“Hit man.”

She hesitated just a moment. “We’ll list that as Assassin.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, miss.”

He flicked his old lighter. Three strikes. It flared to life. With it, he lit his new shell pipe—spiral, sleek, and already feeling like it belonged between his fingers.

“Elemental affinity?” she asked.

Hanz took a long drag from his pipe and exhaled slowly. The smoke curled through the air, forming a perfect ring that drifted around Eluviel’s head before fading.

“Smoke,” he said simply. “Something like that.”

Eluviel didn’t flinch. She just noted it down with a soft scribble of her quill.

“I’ll record it as ‘wind,’ then,” she said. “Just for classification. And—sorry if this sounds rude—but... are you human?”

She glanced up from her paperwork, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“It’s not that I’m questioning you,” she added quickly, “you’re just a bit taller than most.”

Hanz gave no sign of being offended. He took another puff, as calm as ever.

“My old, old, old grandfather was said to be a giant,” he said, the words drifting out with the smoke. “Not that it matters.”

Eluviel tapped her temple thoughtfully.

‘Definitely taller than the average human... but not quite tall enough to be a half-giant. Maybe somewhere in between?’

“I’ll write down ‘human, with a trace of giant blood,’” she decided. “Alright, Hanz. Welcome to Ever Summer. You can start with any F- or E-rank quests on the board.”

She offered a warm, practiced smile.

“Good luck—and have a nice day.”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked away, raising one hand in a lazy wave. Smoke trailed behind him, curling through the air. The flower necklace around his thick neck bobbed lightly with each step.

Outside, the scent of squid still lingered—but now, so did opportunity.

***

Hanz started at the top of the board—maybe out of habit, maybe just because of his height.
He scanned the quests one by one, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached the first row. Something familiar caught his attention, something dirt, something old, left at the top where nobody could reach. Without reading every word, he recognized the structure—something close to his previous line of work. He reached up to take the slip.

But as he lowered it, someone else’s hand was already gripping the other side.

“Miss,” he said calmly, not pulling. “I believe this quest was mine.”

The girl didn’t budge. Her long bangs shifted slightly as she glared up at him. “I saw it first. I was about to jump when you grabbed it.”

“There are plenty of other quests lower down,” he offered with a small shrug. “Do one of those instead.”

“All the F and E ranks left are sea-related,” she muttered. “This one’s different. I don’t do quests at the sea.”

Hanz raised an eyebrow and finally read the slip.
‘E-Rank Quest: Bandit Subjugation.’
He gave her a sideways glance. “You sure you’re up for hunting bandits instead of fishing?”

“I hate the sea,” she said, her voice firm, final.

Hanz sighed. She looked young. Probably an F-rank biting off more than she could chew. He was one too, technically, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

After a moment, he gave a small nod. “Alright. How about this—we go together. Split the cash.”

She clicked her tongue in irritation, eyes narrowing behind her bangs—but didn’t argue. A second passed, then she gave a reluctant nod. “Fine.”

“Deal,” Hanz said, tucking the paper into his pocket.

***

Rydan was waiting outside for Sandra to finish picking a quest.

Why was he outside? Well, for one, there was no point standing next to her while she pored over the quest board like it was ancient scripture. Sandra always had the final say anyway—he’d learned that early.

She approached even the most basic listings like she was appraising fine jewelry—but not for practical reasons. No, she was hunting for three specific words: salt, water, and sea. If a quest had any of those, it was an instant reject.

Didn’t matter how easy it was, how good the reward looked, or how perfect it sounded otherwise—one mention of seawater, and it was dead to her.

So yes, Rydan was outside.

And besides, the guild’s beach courtyard was lively. A group of girls—mostly adventurers blowing off steam—had set up a makeshift volleyball court. Their laughter rang through the warm air, the ball thudding rhythmically against sand and palms. The sun was out, the breeze just right, and it would’ve been a crime not to enjoy the view—scenery and sports alike.

He leaned against a wooden post near the steps, arms crossed casually, pretending to be absorbed in thought. But his eyes kept drifting back to the game, to the colorful fabrics of swimsuits and bandanas, to the arc of the ball in the sun.

Then he heard footsteps approaching—measured, familiar.

He straightened slightly and, in an instant, turned his gaze away from the volleyball court and out toward the horizon.

“Nothing beats staring at the sea,” he said calmly, voice soft and serene, like a man one with the tide.

It was a practiced line, delivered with all the gravity of a sage.

Then he glanced over his shoulder.

Sandra was definitely there… her long bangs swaying slightly in the breeze.

But next to her stood someone unexpected.

An old man?