This was... bad. Really bad.
The girl's glittering, expectant eyes were burning holes straight through me, and I had no idea how to answer. My years in sales had taught me one thing: if you give someone hope you can't deliver, it'll always come back to bite you.
"It was nothing," I said quickly. "Total coincidence. The traps just happened to trigger at the right time."
"Lies."
Her reply was instant, sharp enough to cut my excuse in half. She shook her head vigorously, still keeping a few cautious steps between us.
"I saw everything. Oil just gushed out right under that golem's feet... then the flamethrower from the wall suddenly shifted right in front of it. There's no way that was coincidence."
...Yeah. She'd seen it all.
No wriggling out of this one. She knew it was my skill.
I let out a long sigh and scrubbed at the stubble on my chin.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Momo. And you?"
"...Sato."
The moment I gave her my name, I knew I'd lost.
Sure enough, Momo took it as her green light and started spilling her story like a dam breaking.
She had no combat skills. None.
All she'd been born with were [Storage]—for stashing items—and [Appraisal]—for checking them. Pure support stuff, useless in a fight. Every party she joined had called her "dead weight" and tossed her out. In adventurer slang, she was a dropout.
"But even so, I can't quit being an adventurer."
Momo clenched her fists, her eyes shifting from desperation to something sharper.
"I've got a younger brother who's sick. To pay for his medicine, I have to earn in the dungeon. There's no other way."
...That was dirty.
Not that I'm heartless, but I'm not soft enough to take on every sad story, either. Still, when I looked at her, I couldn't help but see Misaki—my daughter. If she were in the same situation... there's no way I could just walk away. That thought hit harder than I liked.
"You showed me hope," she said.
"I didn't fight," I muttered.
"Exactly. You defeated a monster without fighting. If I learned that method, maybe I could survive too."
I got what she meant.
But [Skill: Rearrangement (Change)] wasn't something you just picked up. It needed sharp analysis, quick judgment, and—most of all—a mental map of every trap in the dungeon. Not something a rookie could just copy.
"Sorry, but I'm a solo kind of guy. I can't help you."
I meant it. Leaving her behind was kinder in the long run.
"Please."
Her voice stopped me mid-step.
When I turned, she was on her knees. No—full-on dogeza. Pressed flat against the cold stone floor of the dungeon, forehead down.
"Make me your apprentice."
Her voice trembled, but her will was solid.
I froze. What the hell was happening? I'd come here for a routine day of trap work, not... this.
"I don't take apprentices. Hell, I'm not even the teaching type."
"Anything. I'll do any chore, I'll carry anything. Just please."
"Listen, I said—"
I clutched my head.
Those eyes. That plea. The dogeza.
Every excuse died in my throat.
Ever since I got laid off, I thought I'd already seen the worst life could throw at me.
But no—this was about to be the biggest headache of my life.