Many people vaguely assume that freelancing is far freer than being employed, with plenty of time for oneself. When I worked at an interior shop, I thought the same without questioning it. I only realized what a tremendous mistake that was after I actually went independent. When I understood that I had to handle everything myself—finances, acquiring necessary equipment, managing work tools—all the tasks I'd been dumping on the company, the reality of it nearly crushed me.

I watched with gritted teeth as the money I'd saved over several years vanished into mere equipment investments. I grew anxious that I couldn't have the "time to do only work I love" I'd so desperately wanted. My self-esteem was ground down day after day by time management and accounting tasks I'd never confronted before. Days where I devoted every waking hour yet made zero sales were common.

It's only been about a year since I finally became able to adjust my time freely. I had all the necessary tools, had painfully learned to manage tasks using modern devices, could leave all financial matters to an accountant I'd been introduced to, and past work had begun regularly adding to my revenue. Then one day, I suddenly realized I could carve out time for myself. From there, my relationships outside of work gradually expanded. It was around this time that I reunited with Lexandra and met Alan.

Thinking this far, I suddenly arrived at a possibility. Maybe people only see freelancers in their stable period, which is why they mistake us for carefree souls who can shift our schedules at will.

Getting irritated at my own imagination, I nearly slammed the light gray shirt in my hand onto the bed. Calm down, Lucas. The person I'm meeting today might not see me as some carefree self-employed type. But if I detected even the slightest sign of it, I would thoroughly educate them on the hardships of freelancing.

I paired the shirt with slim pants and checked the mirror. Since going independent, I'd accumulated plenty of painful failures, but two things I'd learned was to think through every detail of what I wore for the occasion. And once you've accepted an appointment, you should absolutely keep it unless something truly dire comes up.

Even if it was an appointment you didn't feel like keeping at all.

Cursing my three-days-ago self for scheduling something during the free time I'd deliberately kept open, I stepped out into the streets of Brisbane. I planned to walk to my destination. I headed straight down Queen Street where the terrace seating was always packed, crossed the Brisbane River, and passed through West End with its rows of houses and small restaurants. I arrived at my destination five minutes before the appointment, but I was certain my meeting partner would already be there.

Sure enough, my intuition was correct. The young man sitting at the entrance of the St Lucia campus reading a book noticed my gaze and looked up.

"Hello, Luke."

Alan's first love smiled, narrowing his light blue eyes. His crisp, well-ironed white linen shirt highlighted his freshness almost annoyingly well. Even the book in his hands seemed like a calculated prop, and I couldn't help but grimace.

"...Hey, Qasim. Good to see you're well. A university campus suits you better than anyone in the world."

"What are you... Don't tell me you're still holding a grudge about making the meeting place on campus?"

Qasim's refreshing smile transformed into exasperation, and I narrowed my eyes at him resentfully.

"How cruel of you to invite me into an unknown world."

"What's the problem with just visiting a university? It's not like I summoned you to a monster's lair."

Saying this, the boy who knew nothing of the terror of being in a place where he didn't belong shrugged in puzzlement. God, how infuriating.

A pair of students passed by us, engrossed in conversation. Young people's laughter could be heard here and there, interrupting the peaceful rustling of the trees.

At those cheerful voices, I let out a gloomy sigh.

"...I'd rather be staring at actual monsters. A hundred times better."

"That's still better than being taken to a Demon Lord's castle."

"I feel like I'm being made to check in at the entrance of a Demon Lord's castle right now."

"I see, so it's a Demon Lord's castle with a system where names are called in order of registration—wait, how exactly does a university look to you?!"

As he spoke, the current university student rose to his feet. His movements were graceful and unsettling in a way that made you understand instinctively he was not to be trifled with, without a trace of roughness.

I lightly nudged his arm and shrugged.

"Come on, lead the way, O brave hero. I want to have my audience with the Demon Lord and get back to the starting village as soon as possible."

"You're not making any sense..."

Muttering complaints, Qasim obediently began leading the way.

To investigate Alan—which I'd carelessly agreed to—I was visiting the University of Queensland, where he had attended while alive. About a week had passed since my memorable first encounter with the group of four university students. On this early afternoon when the sun still stung, everything visible on campus seemed to be brimming with light. The swept stone paths and the old brick buildings were nothing new to me as someone who made a living in interior design. Yet somehow, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong among the people milling about before me. A crowd of respectable, intelligent people, full of potential.

I caught up with him in the sneakers I'd carefully chosen for the occasion and smiled at him.

"...Listen, since you called me to a place like this, don't you dare leave me alone."

"Understood. Shall we hold hands?"

"I'll actually do it, you bastard."

With that threat, I slapped the palm Qasim had ceremoniously offered.

It was just past two in the afternoon. I'd been told we would be talking to Alan's university friends today, but there was still time before meeting them. Chloe, the sole woman among the four. Viktor, the slim one with orange hair. And the tall Ethan. Ethan's schedule didn't align with the other two, so we would speak with him separately.

"Chloe and Viktor are both physics majors, but in different fields," Qasim explained as we crossed the spacious entrance.

"Chloe is in astrophysics, Viktor in particle physics—the macro and micro worlds."

"Ah, yeah. I think I've heard those terms during Nobel Prize announcements or something."

I offered a vague response to gloss over the topic. I had no intention of even trying to imagine what they researched, but at least I now understood why Chloe had been telling Alan about space.

"Come to think of it, what was Alan's major?"

"Robotics. I believe he was studying robotics engineering."

"Robotics?!"

I couldn't help but exclaim at this unexpected field of study for Alan who had seemed so world-weary. It was surprisingly unexpected yet somehow fitting at the same time.

Before us was a spiral staircase drawing a gentle arc. I grinned imagining Alan climbing these stairs alongside a white balloon-like robot, then immediately let that smile deflate. I strode deeper into the entrance hall and pressed the elevator button with just barely polite force.

As we boarded the impersonal box that had come to collect us, Qasim glanced down at his simple Christian Paul wristwatch.

"I learned this as an interview method in qualitative research—apparently there's a seating arrangement that helps interviewees concentrate better."

"You know, you don't actually intend to just chat casually with them, do you?"

As if to drown out my words, the elevator doors closed quietly. Taking advantage of this, Qasim smoothly let my comment slide.

"So let's have the interviewees sit facing the wall."

"...Fine, I guess. If it helps you find out what you want to know."

Do you think Alan was happy? The question he had thrust at me crossed my mind. At the time, I'd thought it was ridiculous to go around investigating that. But now, having tagged along for my own personal reason of looking into that letter, his motive seemed kind and dazzling to me.

We exited on our floor, and following Qasim's lead, I stepped into one of the classrooms. The first thing that burned vividly into my eyes was orangish-red hair. The redhead noticed the gaze directed at him, turned around, and raised an eyebrow slightly as if to say "oh?"