Heroes are not omnipotent. If a single hero could resolve all problems, then why would the Astraea familia still be needed to maintain order in Orario?

"…Haa!?"

The drunken adventurer was stunned into silence by the little girl's retort.

His companions, who were no less corrupt than he was, burst into laughter. The mocking snickers stung his ears like venomous insects.

"Kid, I think I've finally figured it out."

The adventurer, who had been slumped against the wall, stood up slowly with a groan.

Gripping the half-empty wine bottle in his hand, he hacked out a wad of phlegm that splattered disgustingly onto the ground.

He staggered toward the little girl who remained completely unfazed and smirked with malicious intent.

"So, you're standing up for that Morning Star bastard!"

There were no explicit laws in Orario forbidding the strong from bullying the weak or taking advantage of the defenseless.

"Haha, I thought that was obvious. And here you are, only now realizing it?" The girl raised her hand, covered her mouth, and giggled as if laughing at his slowness.

But the adventurer, already humiliated by the earlier exchange and now sneered at by his own group, grew increasingly flustered. Blood rushed to his face, his mind blank with shame and rage.

Before his brain could process the consequences, his body acted on instinct—like a reflex honed by years of drunken brawls.

Drawing on the strength granted by his falna, he suddenly hurled the wine bottle straight at the girl.

Behind him, the raucous sneers turned into gasps of horror.

His jaw dropped slowly. His eyes widened as he watched the bottle arc through the dimly lit alley. The sunlight filtering through the mouth of the alley cast a faint gleam on the glass.

And just before impact, the gray-haired girl's eyes widened too—surprised, not scared.

Regret struck him like a thunderbolt. The bottle left his hand and he instinctively reached out as if trying to pull it back. But it was too late.

A sharp, clear bang rang out.

Glass exploded—not against skin or bone—but against stone. Shards rained down, glittering like fragments of light.

The bottle hadn't reached the girl.

A figure stood between them.

Akira lowered his outstretched hand slowly, having deflected the projectile with ease. His gaze swept past the stunned girl and locked onto the drunken man with cold intensity.

Clearly, he hadn't intended to intervene, but some lines could not be ignored.

He stepped forward.

"W-What are you doing?! I'm a good person, dammit! Don't come any closer, you bastard!!"

The adventurer stumbled back, the color draining from his face. All the bravado he had earlier vanished. His mind was blank, panic overriding everything.

His trembling fingers fumbled for the hilt of his weapon. But before he could even touch it—

A hand, firm and powerful, far beyond what a low-level adventurer like him could resist, locked onto his wrist and held it in place.

Akira's expression didn't change. He didn't speak. Instead, he balled his other hand into a fist and struck.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

The heavy, dull impacts sounded like hammers against steel. The adventurer's body bent inwards from the blows to his gut. His eyes bulged and his vision darkened. The alcohol churned inside him like lava.

He vomited uncontrollably, the foul mixture of wine and bile splattering across the stone.

"Agh… cough, cough… I-I was wrong! I'm sorry! Please forgive me! Aren't you from the Familia of Justice?!"

Curled up in agony, the man begged, his voice ragged and pitiful.

"You realize how dangerous what you just did was, right?" Akira's voice was calm, but filled with disdain.

"If I didn't think it was an accident, I wouldn't be letting you off so easily."

He grabbed the adventurer by the collar like a sack of trash and dragged him over to his pathetic drinking companions. Without hesitation, he swung him forward, letting the man crash to the ground in a heap.

"I'm leaving him with you."

Akira's eyes narrowed as he released a surge of his magical power. A powerful pressure descended upon the alley like a wave of iron, suffocating and cold.

"You can drink all you want. But next time, if something like this happens again—don't blame me for treating you as members of Evilus."

"Do you understand?"

The air grew heavy.

The adventurers, still half-drunk, suddenly found themselves drenched in cold sweat. Their heads cleared instantly under the suffocating pressure. Their legs trembled as if bound by chains.

"N-NOT…"

"Are you half-asleep?! Say it louder!"

"I UNDERSTAND!"

Several of them sprang up and shouted in unison, their voices cracking.

"Good." Akira waved a dismissive hand.

The drunkards scrambled to carry off their fallen comrade, stumbling and dragging him one arm and one leg at a time, like mice fleeing a cat's den.

Once they were gone, Akira turned to the girl and asked, "You alright?"

"I'm fine. Thank you very much, Adventurer." The girl bowed slightly, her voice polite and sincere.

"Ah, no need to thank me. If everything's fine, I'll be on my way. Be careful heading back." Akira gave a casual wave and turned to leave.

"W-Wait! You're leaving just like that?"

The girl stepped forward, surprise flickering in her eyes. "Adventurer, I haven't even introduced myself properly to thank you!"

Akira sidestepped her reaching hand with ease, then stopped and turned back with a faint smile.

"There's no need to be so formal. After all, you got dragged into danger just because you stood up for me. But…"

His tone turned slightly more serious. "Next time, don't bother answering guys like that."

"Haha, of course."

The girl chuckled softly, then extended her hand with a sunny smile.

"I'm Syr Flova, a waitress at the Hostess of Fertility. If you ever come by for a meal, just mention me—I'll treat you to something nice!"

That's right. This girl was none other than Freya in disguise.

For reasons still unknown, the goddess had set her eyes on Akira. She wasn't evil per se but a gray god who followed her own whims. Yet when she became Syr, she took on a softer, gentler persona—one that interacted genuinely with others.

Especially toward those she truly cared for.

In this form, she became the very image of kindness.

So the girl (or rather, the goddess) before him now posed no threat.

"Astraea Familia, Akira." Akira nodded and shook her hand briefly.

"Well, I'll be off. I've got business to handle. If I get the chance, I'll visit your place for dinner."

"I'll hold you to that! You better come by. Bye-bye!" Syr waved cheerfully, watching Akira walk away.

She murmured to herself with curiosity, "Strange… his soul was so ordinary at the beginning."

No—she was no longer Syr now.

She was Freya again.

With her divine eyes, she could see a child's soul long before other gods noticed. She always sought out the brightest lights for her embrace.

But Akira… he had been dim, unremarkable, forgettable.

And now?

His soul had begun to glow. Stars flickered around it—something rare, something… stirring.

"Such a strange child…"

A tall, imposing figure appeared silently behind her and asked in a deep, composed voice, "Goddess, shall I deal with those adventurers?"

"There's no need."

Syr turned back with a bright smile. "I wasn't hurt. Let's go."

"…Understood."

The tall man left to follow quietly, ensuring her protection from the shadows.