Some nights are unforgettable. Not because they're magical or romantic or anything cliché like that—but because they're an absolute, unfiltered disaster.
This was one of those nights.
Graaswell was throwing a full-blown festival. Noisy vendors shouted over each other, the scent of grilled seafood clung to the air, and music pounded like it was trying to resuscitate the city itself. Drums. Flutes. Laughter. Chaos.
And me?
Starving. Barely standing. My stomach was growling louder than the music, and the only thing keeping me upright was the promise of food—specifically, crispy, golden takoyaki.
I dragged myself through the crowd until I found him—Marco. Just some dude manning a street-side grill like he didn't have a care in the world. He looked like he belonged in a vintage cartoon: curly hair, ridiculous mustache, apron, and a sleepy grin.
He glanced up. "Hey, what's your name?"
I blinked. "Alexandra." Not my real name, just something I roll with on nights like this.
Marco smirked. "Cool. I'm just here for the King's birthday bash. Place is wild, huh?"
I nodded while barely holding it together. "You got no idea."
He paused, then gave me a once-over. "No offense, but… you look like you got hit by a carriage."
I winced. "Slime monsters. Long story."
Let me explain.
Earlier that day, my best friend and I were geared up and ready—me in my usual explorer outfit: a white cloak, black turtleneck, high boots, and my trusted backpack. She looked like she walked out of an anime opening—orange tracksuit, red gloves, yellow cape, the works.
The plan? Check out a dungeon, loot some gear, maybe earn bragging rights.
Reality?
Our team of five split up. We took what we thought was the safe route. Seconds later, the tunnel behind us slammed shut. Total trap. We were stuck.
We pressed forward with only a flickering torch between us and whatever was crawling in the dark. I took one step and—SQUISH.
I didn't even get to scream before the torch died and the chaos swallowed me whole. Something sticky crept up my leg. Cold, wet, and gross. Then it got worse.
My clothes? Gone. Stripped in seconds like some glitchy RPG bug. I was suddenly sprinting through a dungeon completely naked, feeling like a lost extra from Attack on Titan—the kind that forgot their costume backstage.
And my friend? Just sighed. "Again?" Like this was normal.
We fought through it—barely. Got ambushed by a slime horde, then ran face-first into a goblin that looked like Godzilla's half-baked cousin. I even got smacked in the face by some ancient dude who appeared out of nowhere.
Honestly, I was a mess. But I was alive.
Back in the present, standing in front of Marco with a borrowed, ragged brown dress barely holding together, I tried to laugh it off. I looked like a drifter. No boots. No cloak. No dignity.
Just a starving girl in survival mode.
Marco finally handed over the takoyaki. "Here. On the house. You've clearly had a night."
I took a bite—and I swear, I could've cried.
Maybe this city was out to break me. Or maybe it was shaping me into something stronger. Either way, one thing was clear:
The chaos wasn't over.