Chapter 62: Chapter 62: Romeo is taken by the lemon cake and company, sorry ladies

"Come sit by me, young man. And tell me all about your quests," the woman, who was old enough to be Jean's grandmother, was practically salivating at the sight of him in the tight-fitting costume that the tea house made him wear.

He was in something the civilians would wear. A black vest, a white shirt underneath. With dress pants and black, shiny, shoes. He felt a hand reach out for his behind and expertly side-stepped it.

"Would you also like for me to tell you about my boyfriends, Madam? All four of them?" The woman blinked, and her hand went back to her side.

"Aw, you adventurers are so naughty," while Jean's line could deter some cougars, it couldn't deter them all. "Come, sit by me and tell me all about your love life."

Jean's eyes found the owner of the café, but the woman just pointed with her chin to the old, skinny granny that was eyeing him like a piece of meat. No quest undone. Darn it, Dorian. Why did you have to include it in the motto? Jean thought.

He walked with all the grace of an experienced archer and sat by the grandmother, whose arm wrapped around his middle. Fingers resting on his bum.

"Madam, you have paid to talk, not to touch," Jean reminded her, and she chuckled.

"Georgina, dear, put it on my tab. You know, for the special treatment," then the woman promptly rested her head on Jean's shoulder. Jean wanted to let out a whine, but he had been an S rank adventurer. Could become one again. And for that, he needed to suffer.

"So, your quests?" The cougar whispered in his ear as the surrounding women giggled. Their fantasy being played out before their eyes. Jean figured that they didn't care that they were not the ones grouping him. Just that one of them was. 

"My most recent quest..." Jean grew silent. No, it was better if he didn't tell these women about the rhinos.

"Well, the one before that..." Jean found that he couldn't tell them about that one, either. Atha had a right to remain anonymous. His shame private.

"I got turned down for a dog walking quest, once," Jean blurted, and the women stopped smiling. Maybe, if they thought he was just a pretty face and a complete failure as an adventurer, then they would lose interest in him, and he would only have to serve them tea?

"That owner must have been pretty dump. His dog was safe with you," the grandmother who was practically draped over him spoke.

"No, the owner had the right of it. I mean, after what I did at Samkiel's tomb..." Jean felt like there was a heavy stone in his throat. He disliked talking about the end of the Firebolts. The hurt was still too fresh. 

"You are Jean Firebolt, then?" The woman let go of him. None of the women were smiling anymore. Then, Jean felt a hand on his ear and the cougar began to tug it.

"You foolish boy! How long are you going to blame yourself? If anyone is to blame, then it is that silly adventurer's handbook of yours. It fills the average empty-headed teen's mind with nonsense. As if you lot are child soldiers!"

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Jean was staring at the woman in amazement. She had just told him not to blame himself? Just like that? When even the Try Hard Party had to dodge the subject of Jean's fall from grace.

"It is not that simple," Jean argued. The cougar snorted.

"Is it not? You were paid for a job. You followed the rules. And you got blamed for it. I am not saying that what you did was ok. You should have used your brain, boy. Rubbed those two lonely brain cells together. Or, at least, brought them closer to one another," Jean snorted. That was the funniest way in which someone had ever called him stupid.

"My former party members don't want to talk to me," Jean told the women. He didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to get it off his chest.

"What right do they have to cut you off like that?" Jean turned to see the single blue-haired woman in the group. She was smoking a cigar and her eyes were narrowed. "I heard they nearly killed you, too."

No one had ever seen the things this way. Jean, himself, included. He supposed that she was right. Borik and Andors left him a wound that took a month to heal. But he could still use his mana, unlike Andors.

"The boy has survivor's guilt," another grandmother spoke, after which she sighed. "I remember when I was an adventuring counselor.  Almost all parties had accidents, no, deaths in them. And the survivors beat themselves over it long after their wounds healed. As if being nearly crippled, crippled, or nearly dying was not a big enough punishment!"

"An adventuring what now?" Jean had never heard of a counselor, much less an adventuring one.

"That Alklair is not making you read what you are signing, it seems," the blue-haired woman spoke. Looking disappointed. "There are counselors in the guild's employee. They are there for when an adventurer needs to deal with trauma. You do know you have a personal lawyer assigned to you, right? You must know at least that much."

Jean blushed and shook his head.

"The contract was very dry, so..." the women broke off laughing at that as Jean rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, I will tell you your rights, so listen closely," the woman who had been a counselor began, and Jean listened carefully. By the end of her explanation, he was gaping.

"We are more covered than actual soldiers," he was amazed. They had health and dental insurance. Life insurance with property guarantee. Not to mention a personal counselor and a lawyer, and even the right to enter sanatoriums free of charge. He was so taking his partners, Atha and Bog, to one once they managed to get permission from Alklair.

"I know. Now, serve us some tea. And get that wonderful behind of yours to the kitchen to get us cake," Jean sighed. He had thought that the women had snapped out of their perverted behavior. But, no. Such was his fate for the day.

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