He drew a deep breath, organizing his thoughts, which were clearly scattering like fleas, then began speaking at a speed that was hard to follow, perhaps two hundred words per minute, perhaps more.

  "Mana Olfaction is the science of olfactory perception of mana energy. Look, for thousands of years, people have only focused on the visual aspects of mana, color, intensity, shape, flow patterns. Yet mana also has an aroma! Every type of mana, every mana source, every mana user, has a unique smell, like an invisible fingerprint that clings to the air. I've been researching this for three years, after I was expelled from the Academy, of course, and have found that the smell of mana can provide more information than mere visual appearance!"

  She paused for a moment to breathe, her eyes still fixed on Ethan, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, she continued with the same enthusiasm.

  "For example! An adventurer who has just come down from the twentieth dungeon floor has a smell of sulfur and hot metal, like forged iron, but with a slightly pungent aroma specific to monsters just killed. An adventurer who has just used elemental fire magic has a burnt smell, but different from the charring of burning wood, more like ozone after lightning, mixed with fine ash. Cleaners like your coworkers, sorry, I mean, like people who work with corpses, have a musty smell, like a damp basement, mixed with the sharp aroma of cleaning chemicals. The thugs here have the smell of cheap alcohol and sweat that has never been washed, mixed with sour fear even though they're pretending to be brave."

  Ethan was silent. Inside his chest, the pulse of [Danger Sense] remained calm, but there was a strange warmth in the pit of his stomach, his body's response to something he couldn't explain. Perhaps because this girl mentioned "the smell of death" and "the smell of cleaners" with too much accuracy.

  Aria leaned forward, approaching again until only about thirty centimeters away, her nose moving. "But you... you are truly empty. Like a newborn. Like..." she snapped her fingers, her eyes widening with enlightenment. "Like an inanimate object that has never come into contact with mana at all. But you're alive, you're breathing, you're moving, you're speaking. That's impossible! All living creatures in this world have a mana trace, no matter how small. Even rats in the drainage ditch have a faint mana smell, the mana of life, the mana of fear, the mana of hunger. But you..."

  She sniffed once more, her nose almost touching the collar of Ethan's shirt, which he had already changed after bathing. The aroma of cheap soap still clung to it, but Aria ignored it.

  "Nothing. Zero. Empty. Like a black hole in the middle of an ocean of smells."

  Ethan stepped back one step. "Personal space."

  Aria laughed, not offended at all. "Sorry, sorry. I sometimes lose myself when I'm already talking about research." She stepped back two steps, giving space, but her eyes never left Ethan. "But seriously, this is an extraordinary phenomenon. In three years of my research, I've never found a case like this. Even a corpse that has already decomposed still has residual mana smell, mana trapped in the body tissue before decomposing. But you... you're like a wax statue. Or like..." She stopped, thinking. "Like someone who has been hit by a high-level [Sanitization Total]. But that's only a theory, no evidence."

  Ethan felt something vibrate inside him. [Sanitization Total]? Was that related to his ability that he didn't understand? But he showed nothing on his face.

  "I don't know why you can't smell me," he said, choosing his words carefully, his voice remaining flat. "Maybe because I've been heavily exposed to chemicals. Cleaners, solvents, acids. Maybe that removes the smell."

  Aria shook her head vigorously, her head swaying like a doll with a spring. "No, no, no, no, no. I've already smelled other cleaners. Many. Dozens. They still have a base smell, body odor, sweat smell, their own mana smell, beneath the chemical layer. The chemicals are just the top layer, like cheap perfume covering the real smell. But you?" She snapped her fingers, searching for an analogy. "Like blank paper. No layer at all. This isn't about chemicals. This is about you."

  Ethan was silent.

  Aria waited. When there was no answer, she exhaled and shrugged with resignation. "That's fine. You don't have to believe me. I'm used to people not believing me." But her tone was slightly bitter, slightly tired. "But at least, let me observe you. From a distance. No need to get close. I just want to record your breathing patterns, your movements, your reactions to the environment. That's all. No need for physical contact, no need for..."

  "Why?"

  The question came out sharper than Ethan intended. There was a suspicious note in it, a defensive note he couldn't hide.

  Aria was startled. "Why? Because... because this is a great discovery? Because I'm a researcher? Because..."

  "Why do you care?" Ethan cut her off. "I'm just a cleaner. Nothing special. Nothing valuable. Why are you wasting time on someone like me?"

  For the first time, Aria was silent for a long time.

  Her eyes, green, too green, with a slight golden pattern around the pupil, looked at Ethan in a different way. Not as an object of research. Not as a rare specimen. But as a human.

  "You know," she said quietly, her voice losing its usual speed, "when I was expelled from the Academy three years ago, I thought the world had ended. I lost my scholarship, lost access to the laboratory, lost all the colleagues who used to worship me and call me a genius. I lived in an underground headquarters, ate from market leftovers, and spent months just to prove that my theory was correct. That Mana Olfaction is real. That the smell of mana can be measured, classified, studied. But no one believed me. Everyone thought I was crazy."

  She smiled bitterly, a smile that was no longer bright, but melancholy.

  "And maybe I really am crazy. But at least, my craziness has a purpose. I want to prove that this world is more than just what can be seen. That there are layers of reality that can be felt with the nose, not the eyes. And when I find someone who is truly different, who doesn't fit into any pattern I've ever recorded in thousands of samples, I can't not care. Because if I can explain your phenomenon, maybe... maybe that will prove that I'm not in vain."

  Ethan looked at her.

  Behind the worn robe and disheveled hair, behind the clouded glasses and dirty bare feet, there was someone who was lonely. Someone looking for something, perhaps recognition, perhaps a friend, perhaps just a reason to keep going in a world that had already rejected her.

  He knew that feeling.

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  "Ethan," he said finally. "My name is Ethan."

  Aria smiled, a sincere smile that spread across her entire face, making her eyes narrow, making her dirty cheeks form small dimples on both sides. "Ethan. Ethan who doesn't smell. Ethan who is clean. Ethan who..." She stopped, realizing she was beginning to ramble again. "Sorry. I'll be quiet now. Or at least try. But I promise, if you're willing to be a research subject, I'll be very grateful. I can help you too! I know a lot about dungeons, about monster patterns, about safe routes. I even have [Mana Mapping], the ability to see mana flows in dungeons. With that, I can know where the weak points are, where valuable corpses are usually located, where..."

  She stopped, realizing she was starting to offer too much.

  Ethan exhaled. "Where do you live?"

  Aria pointed toward the east, toward Middle Alley. "Below. There's an underground headquarters, a former storage warehouse. I converted it into a simple laboratory. If you need something, or if you want..." she smiled broadly, "...to become a research subject, just come. But daytime is better. At a time like this, at night, there are many thugs roaming around, and although I can run fast, it's better not to take risks."

  She rummaged through her pocket again, pulling out another paper, a simple hand-drawn map, with rough lines and X marks at several points. "Here, I'll give you a map. Sorry if it's bad, I'm not an artist. But the route is accurate."

  Ethan received the map. The paper was crumpled, the ink faded in several places, but the map was clear enough: from the alley where they were standing, turn left at the second bend, then go straight until seeing a pile of old crates, behind which there was an iron door half-buried. He folded it and put it in his trouser pocket, next to the iron prosthetic Ronald had given him.

  "I'm not making any promises," he said.

  Aria nodded quickly, too quickly. "That's fine. I'm patient. I've already been waiting three years, a few more days is no problem. Or a few weeks. Or months." She stepped back one step, then two steps. "I'll go now. You must be tired. But remember..." She pointed at her own nose. "I can always smell where you are. Maybe I can't smell your base smell, but I can smell your footsteps, the air around you, the changes in temperature. So if you need help, I'll know. Or if you're in danger. Or..."

  Ethan raised a hand, stopping her rambling. "I understand."

  Aria smiled once more, a smile just as bright, then turned and walked away. Her bare feet stepped on the wet asphalt without sound, like a ghost, like a dream. Her robe fluttered gently in the wind, her pockets swaying with a faint clinking sound. She disappeared around the bend in the alley, leaving Ethan alone with the crumpled map in his pocket and thousands of questions in his head.

  That morning, Ethan arrived at Sanitation Headquarters earlier than usual. The sun of The Grime never truly rose, only a yellowish haze that crept between the buildings, changing the gray sky to slightly brighter. But Ethan was already accustomed to it. He sat at his usual table in the canteen, a cup of bitter coffee in hand, the same thick black liquid every day, with the same taste, the same dregs at the bottom of the cup.

  He hadn't been able to sleep all night. His mind kept turning, about Aria, about Mana Olfaction, about what all this meant. His Stench Level was sixteen, but Aria hadn't smelled anything. Did that mean Stench was only detectable by monsters? Or by the system? Or maybe Aria was lying about her ability?

  But his [Danger Sense] hadn't reacted. That meant Aria had no ill intent. Or at least, not in the near future.

  The neon light on the ceiling still hummed at the same low tone, two quick flickers, then darkness for one second, then lighting up again. Several night shift cleaners sat in the corner, drowsy, bent over bowls of instant noodles with steam rising thinly. The smell of cheap broth mixed with the smell of chemicals clinging to their uniforms.

  Before five minutes had passed, Ronald appeared.

  The old man walked with heavy steps, the same steps since Ethan had known him, the steps of a former tanker accustomed to carrying heavy loads. His prosthetic iron arm swung at his side with a soft clicking sound each time it rubbed against the edge of his jacket. His face was more sullen than usual, the lines on his forehead furrowed like a topographic map, his eyes narrowed with an unusual look.

  He sat across from Ethan without speaking, took his aluminum cup, the same cup since ten years ago people said, and sipped his favorite fermented drink. The smell of cheap alcohol and strange spices drifted from that cup.

  For a long time.

  Ethan waited. He had already learned that with Ronald, patience was the key. The old man would speak when he was ready, regardless of how long the pause was.

  Finally, Ronald set the cup down with a sound that struck the table, a sound deliberately slightly loud, like an exclamation point. "Last night," he said, his voice hoarse as usual, "you met someone in the alley."

  Not a question. But a statement.

  Ethan looked at him. "How do you know?"

  "People talk." Ronald rubbed his unkempt beard with his left hand, his only hand still intact. "Half-elf girl, silver hair, robe full of pockets. Bare feet." He looked at Ethan sharply, the gaze that was once used to assess threats on the battlefield, now used to assess the young cleaner before him. "Don't tell me you don't know who she is."

  Ethan was silent.

  Ronald exhaled a long breath, a deep breath full of burden, like someone who had seen too many bad things happen. "Aria Valehart. Do you know who she is?"

  "A researcher. Apparently."

  Ronald snorted. "A researcher. Yes, she is indeed a researcher. She was, before." He sipped his drink again, letting his words hang in the air. "Three years ago, she was expelled from the Aethelgard Academy because her theory was considered too crazy. Mana Olfaction, the science of mana smell. Everyone laughed at her. Her lecturers said she was wasting time. Her colleagues said she was seeking attention." He shook his head slowly. "But she was stubborn. Kept doing research on the streets, in dungeons, wherever. Some people say she's crazy. Others say she's a genius. But one thing is certain..."

  He looked at Ethan with a warning gaze that couldn't be misinterpreted.

  "Dealing with smart people only gives you headaches."

  Ethan looked back at him. "She didn't endanger me."

  "Not yet." Ronald grumbled, his voice like stones rubbing against each other. "But you know, people like her, they see the world in a different way. They don't care about rules, don't care about danger. The only thing they care about is curiosity. And that curiosity can get you involved in big trouble without you realizing it."

  Ethan thought about Aria. Her bright smile. Her sparkling eyes. Her obsession with "clean smell." And behind all of that, a loneliness she couldn't hide.

  "She said she could help," said Ethan quietly. "With dungeon information."

  Ronald laughed, a laugh without humor, short and bitter. "Of course she could. But do you think that's free? Smart people never give anything without a reason. She wants something from you. Maybe right now she only wants to research you. But later..." He shook his head. "Later, you'll be indebted to her. And a debt to a smart person is more dangerous than a debt to a loan shark."

  Ethan was silent.

  Ronald stood, stretching his cracking back, the sound of old joints in protest. "Up to you. You're an adult. But remember, in The Grime, good people are rare. And usually, the people who seem good are precisely the most dangerous." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder with his prosthetic hand, a cold iron touch that felt heavy. "Be careful, kid."

  He walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing on the cement floor, leaving Ethan alone with his coffee that was growing cold.

  Ethan stared at his aluminum cup. In it, the thick black liquid reflected the shadow of his own face, tired, sleep-deprived, with dark circles under his eyes growing more pronounced. Two people, two perspectives. One offering help, one warning of danger. Aria with her sparkling eyes, Ronald with his bitter life experience.

  In his chest, [Danger Sense] was silent. Giving no clues. No warning.

  For the first time, Ethan realized that the system couldn't answer all questions. That there were things he had to decide himself, about whom to trust, whom to avoid, who might possibly become a friend.

  He took out the crumpled map from his pocket. Underground headquarters in Middle Alley. Aria Valehart, an illegal researcher obsessed with him.

  Maybe he wouldn't go. Maybe he would throw away this map and forget about last night's encounter. That was the safest choice. That was the choice Ronald recommended.

  But at the end of the alley, behind the pile of old crates, there was someone waiting.

  Someone who, for the first time, saw him as something special.

  Ethan folded the map and put it back in his pocket.

  Outside, the neon lights of The Grime were still flickering with the same rhythm. The Magnus Drevar advertisement was still smiling from the giant board with its empty promises. And somewhere beneath Middle Alley, a half-elf girl with bare feet was perhaps recording data, waiting, hoping.

  Ethan sipped his cold coffee. Bitter. But drinkable.

  Like life in The Grime.