Danmachi: Exception

This is getting ridiculous.

Cyrus watched another merchant stumble over his own crates, eyes locked on Quet's red dress. She emerged from her room in a crimson silk dress that hugged curves designed to make mortals weep. The sweetheart neckline plunged just low enough to remain decent while still drawing every eye, and the slit up the side flashed tantalizing glimpses of leg with each step. Golden jewelry adorned her throat and wrists, the metal catching sunlight like captured flame. Her hair cascaded down her back in loose golden waves, and those emerald eyes sparkled with mischief above a knowing smile.

Half of Orario's male population seemed intent on breaking their necks for a glimpse. A cart vendor walked straight into his own stall. Two adventurers nearly impaled each other on their own weapons. Even the usually composed Guild workers fumbled paperwork as they passed.

"Mi sol, you're staring again." Her fingers intertwined with his, skin warm against his palm.

"Just observing the trail of destruction you're leaving in your wake." Cyrus nodded toward a young man who'd walked face-first into another adventurer.

She laughed, the sound rich and musical. Three more heads snapped their way. "Destruction? I dress for success."

"Success at what? Creating a citywide emergency?" He steadied her as she navigated around a puddle. "The Guild's going to need a special task force just to handle the property damage."

Her hip bumped his playfully. "Are you complaining about my outfit?"

"About the dress? No." His eyes traced the way the silk clung to her curves. "About being your human shield from the growing mob? Maybe."

"Protection works both ways, mi sol." She pressed closer as they passed a group of female adventurers. Their gazes snapped away the moment Quet's aura registered. The temperature around them rose several degrees.

"From what? Your fan club or mine?"

"Las lobas." Her grip tightened possessively. "The wolves circling my precious child."

"I can handle thirsty adventurers." The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Mhm." Her thumb traced lazy patterns on his palm that sent shivers up his arm. "And I can remind them who you belong to."

The shop bell chimed as they entered Elizabeth's Boutique. Elegant displays lined the walls - silks, velvets, and materials he couldn't name arranged in eye-catching arrays. Each outfit probably cost more than most adventurers made in a month.

"Welcome to- Lady Quetzalcoatl!" The shopkeeper, a plump woman with silver-streaked dark hair, dropped into a half-bow. "What an honor!"

"Maria!" Quet abandoned his hand to embrace the older woman. "¿Cómo estás, mi amiga?"

"Better now that you've brought him." Elizabeth's grin spelled trouble as she looked Cyrus up and down. "The rooms are ready, just as you requested."

"Perfect." Quet turned to him, eyes gleaming. "Mi sol, strip."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not how shopping typically works."

"Already handled." She waved at several carefully arranged clothing piles. "Now strip."

"Of course you pre-shopped." He eyed the mountain of fabric warily.

Elizabeth herded him toward the changing room, her smile growing wider. "Go, go. Let us work our magic."

The first outfit made him look like a banker's fever dream - all stiff collars and rigid lines. Quet's nose wrinkled before he'd taken two steps.

"No. Boring. Next!"

Five outfits later, her commentary had devolved into rapid-fire Spanish. Each rejection grew more animated than the last.

"¡Ay, Dios mío! ¿Quién diseñó esto, un goblin borracho?" She threw her hands up in despair.

"Should I even ask for a translation?"

She threw another bundle at his face. "Just try it on before I lose my mind."

This fabric felt different against his skin. The black shirt fit like armor but breathed like silk, moving with his body instead of constraining it. Dark pants with flowing white overlays rippled as he walked, while intricate gold and black patterns adorned the belt. The whole ensemble spoke of contained power rather than rigid formality.

He stepped out. "Well?"

Silence filled the shop.

Quet's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her eyes had gone wide, pupils dilating as she stared.

"That bad?"

"¡Dios mío!" She circled him like a shark sizing up prey. "¡Mírate! ¡Eres como un regalo de los dioses!"

"Still working on my Spanish vocabulary."

"Hush." She snatched up his emerald beads. "Final touch."

Her fingers brushed his neck as she fastened the jewelry, definitely lingering longer than necessary. Heat radiated from her touch. "There. Now you look proper."

"Proper what?"

"Mine." She adjusted nonexistent wrinkles, hands smoothing over his shoulders. "We'll take this one, Elizabeth. And the blue version."

"Excellent choice." Elizabeth hadn't stopped grinning. "Delivery for the rest?"

"Por favor." Quet's hands stayed possessively on his shoulders. "The black and gold too."

"I have perfectly good clothes at home."

She patted his cheek. "No, mi sol. You have rags masquerading as clothing."

They left significantly poorer but weighted down with promises of delivery. Quet immediately reclaimed his hand.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

"Almost." She pressed closer as more admirers passed. "You clean up well."

"The emeralds are overkill."

"They match my eyes." Her smile turned sharp. "So everyone knows exactly who you belong to."

"Subtle."

"Subtlety is overrated." She tugged his arm. "Feed me. Shopping makes me hungry."

"Everything makes you hungry."

"Are you calling me greedy, mi sol?"

"Would I dare?"

Her laugh echoed down the street, turning more heads.

The aroma of roasted potatoes guided them toward a modest stall wedged between two imposing storefronts. Behind the counter, a diminutive figure with twin black ponytails balanced precariously on her tiptoes, fingers straining toward the top shelf.

"Allow me." Cyrus stepped forward, only to be halted by Quet's iron grip.

The girl spun around. For a moment, he thought she was someone's child helping at the family business - she barely reached his chest. Then his gaze dropped to where her white dress strained against a chest that defied both physics and common sense. Ah. Goddess then.

"Oh! I can manage just-" Her voice caught as she registered their presence. Striking blue eyes narrowed. "Quetzalcoatl."

"Hestia." Quet's fingers laced through his possessively. The temperature around them climbed several degrees.

The petite goddess straightened, which did interesting things to her already impressive assets. Her blue eyes darted between them, lingering on their joined hands. "What brings you to my establishment?"

"Shopping." Quet's shoulder pressed against his arm. "And feeding mi sol."

"Your... sol?" Hestia's gaze swept over him with new interest, cataloging everything from his fresh outfit to the emerald beads at his throat.

"Cyrus Valentine." He inclined his head respectfully. "An honor to meet you, Lady Hestia."

"Such manners!" A bright smile lit her childlike features. Her twintails bounced as she planted her fists on her hips. "You simply must meet my Bell. He's the sweetest, most dedicated adventurer in all of Orario."

"Bell?" Quet's lips curved into something too sharp to be a proper smile. "The one who sprinted through the marketplace yesterday? Covered in minotaur viscera?"

Pink crept across Hestia's cheeks. "He was... eager to report to his advisor."

"Mi sol would never create such a scene." Quet's chin lifted. "He earned fifty thousand valis in his first dungeon run."

"Bell makes-"

"And manifested magic on day one."

"Well, Bell has-"

"Not to mention his impeccable fashion sense." Her fingers traced the gold embroidery on his sleeve. "Though I suppose some prefer the... rugged look."

Cyrus extracted his hand from Quet's death grip before she could crush his fingers. "Perhaps we could sample your potatoes? The aroma is extraordinary."

"Of course!" Hestia's smile returned full force. "One premium jagamarukun coming right up!"

"Two," Quet corrected sweetly. "Unless you'd deny sustenance to a fellow goddess?"

Hestia's smile gained a brittle edge. "Right away."

As she worked, the goddesses traded increasingly pointed comments about their respective children. Cyrus leaned against the counter, studying the intricate carvings that decorated the stall's wooden frame. Anything to avoid being drawn into their verbal sparring match.

"Bell has the purest heart in Orario."

"Cyrus has the strongest will I've ever seen."

"Bell would never keep a goddess waiting."

"Cyrus would never make his goddess work a food cart."

"At least I have honest work!"

"At least I have standards!"

Their voices rose with each exchange. A small crowd gathered, pretending not to watch while definitely watching.

"Your jagamarukun." Hestia thrust the steaming potatoes toward him. Despite her obvious irritation, they were perfectly golden-brown. "That'll be-"

Cyrus placed several extra bills on the counter. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Hestia."

"Oh!" Her anger melted into a pleased flush. "Well. At least someone here appreciates-"

"Perfect manners," Quet interrupted. "As I said." She snagged his elbow. "Come, mi sol. Let's find somewhere more... refined to enjoy our meal."

They claimed a spot near an ornate fountain. The sound of falling water provided pleasant background noise as they settled onto the stone rim. Quet immediately commandeered half his portion.

"Oi." He pulled the remaining food out of grabbing range. "I earned these."

"Divine right." She popped a piece into her mouth, eyes closing in pleasure.

"Divine appetite, more like."

She jabbed his ribs with her elbow. "You're in quite the mood today."

"Just appreciating the entertainment." He savored another bite. "Didn't realize goddesses could be so..."

"Competitive?"

"Territorial."

Her laugh rang across the plaza, drawing more admirers. "Don't fret, mi sol. I won't completely empty your coin purse proving your worth."

"No?"

"Mostly." She snatched another piece of potato. "Though we should discuss proper resource management. Starting with your earnings..."

"My earnings?"

"Mhm." Quet licked salt from her fingers with deliberate slowness. "Seventy-thirty split. You keep seventy percent."

Cyrus set down the half-eaten potato, studying her face. Most gods he'd encountered radiated an aura of barely contained chaos - divinity poorly masked by mortal forms. Quet carried her power differently, like sunlight caught in amber. "That's unusually generous."

"Most familias demand half minimum." Her nose wrinkled. "Some take everything, doling out allowances like parents to children."

"Yet you're offering me the larger share."

"Por supuesto." Her emerald eyes locked onto his. No games, no divine manipulation - just truth burning bright as forge-fire. "You risk death in the dungeon. I people-watch in cafes."

"Speaking of watching-" He nodded toward three female adventurers who'd been circling their fountain perch for the past five minutes. "Your territorial display seems to be losing effectiveness."

"Hmm." She shifted, practically melting against his side. The predators scattered like leaves in a storm. "¿Mejor?"

"Real subtle."

"You keep using that word." Her lips curved. "I do not think it means what you think it means."

"Did you-"

She tapped his nose. "Focus, mi sol."

He leaned back, stone cool against his palms. "Seventy-thirty split. Familia fund gets thirty percent. What's the price?"

"Price?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Such cynicism from my chosen one."

"Gods always have prices."

Her playful mask cracked, revealing something ancient beneath. "We have... expectations."

"Hence the shopping spree."

"Precisely." She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from his sleeve, fingers lingering on the fabric. "You're not just another adventurer now. You're mine."

Heat bloomed in his chest at the possessive note in her voice. "And that requires expensive clothes?"

"That requires excellence." Her hand drifted to the emeralds at his throat. "In all things."

"Even fashion?"

"Especially fashion." She shuddered. "Those rags you wore when I found you."

"I liked those clothes."

"You didn't have a shirt."

"It was practical."

"It was a crime against divinity itself." She stole his last potato piece. "My adventurer will not dress like he raids Daedalus Street dumpsters."

"So this-" He gestured to his new attire. "Is strategic investment?"

"Now you understand business."

"I understand you enjoy playing dress-up with your new doll."

Her grin turned sharp. "That too. But mostly business."

Movement caught his eye - a squad of well-equipped adventurers striding past. Their gear spoke of experience, marked by the telltale scratches and repairs of veteran dungeon-delvers.

"Loki Familia," Quet murmured. Her fingers tensed against his arm. "Mid-rank members."

"You know them?"

"The emblem gives them away. That and their..." Her lips curved. "Interesting aesthetic choices."

The adventurers passed without incident, though several cast measuring glances their way. Quet's grip remained tight until they vanished into the crowd.

"More territory marking?"

"Sizing up the competition." She relaxed fractionally. "Though perhaps that's premature. You've only just begun."

He turned to face her fully. "What exactly are your expectations?"

"¿Qué?"

"For the familia. For me. Seventy-thirty is generous, but what do you want in return?"

The playful goddess vanished. Something older looked out through those emerald eyes, something that remembered when the world was young. "What do you think I want?"

"Power. Influence. The usual divine games."

"¿Es eso lo que piensas de mí?" The Spanish emerged soft, almost wounded. She caught herself. "Is that truly what you think of me?"

"I think you're playing a longer game than most."

Her laugh held no warmth. "Such a clever child. And what game would that be?"

"That's what I'm trying to determine."

She rose in one fluid motion. "Walk with me."

The cobblestones shifted under their feet as they left the fountain behind. Afternoon crowds parted around them - whether from Quet's divine presence or her crimson dress remained unclear. She guided them toward the outer districts, her earlier theatrics replaced by an unfamiliar stillness.

Old buildings rose around them, their weathered stone telling stories of centuries past. Moss crept between worn bricks, and iron fixtures bore the green patina of age. The sounds of the market faded with each turn.

"Do you know why most gods came to the lower world?" Quet's voice carried none of its usual playfulness.

Cyrus kept his eyes on the rooflines, tracking the subtle shifts in architecture. "The stories say boredom drove you from heaven."

"A partial truth." She navigated the uneven street with unconscious grace, her heels finding solid purchase where mortals might stumble. "Like saying the ocean has water. Technically correct, yet missing the depths beneath."

"And the full truth?"

"We came seeking understanding." Her hand traced patterns in the air as she walked. "The mortal drive to create. To destroy. To love and hate and dream and despair." She paused. "To change."

"Have the mysteries of humanity been solved then?"

"No." A smile ghosted across her lips. "That's what makes it fascinating."

They turned down a narrower street. Here, the buildings pressed closer, their upper stories nearly touching overhead. What little sunlight filtered through cast complex shadows across weathered stone.

"Most of my kin treat this world like their personal game board." Her voice hardened. "They collect powerful children, build mighty familias, wage their petty wars. But they miss the point entirely."

"And that would be?"

She stopped. The shadows played across her face, but her eyes burned with their own inner light. "The point, mi sol, is not to play their game. It's to change it."

"How exactly do you plan to manage that?"

"I don't." Her smile turned knife-sharp. "You do."

His laugh died at her expression. "Me."

"You." She stepped closer. No theatrics now, no divine games. Just truth burning in those ancient eyes. "The boy with old eyes who appeared from nowhere. Who speaks of things he shouldn't know and wields impossible magic."

"That's not-"

"Shh." Her finger pressed against his lips. "Keep your secrets. I'm not asking for your past. I'm offering you a future. A chance to build something new. Something that makes the other gods question everything they think they know."

He studied her face, searching for manipulation's telltale signs. "That's ambitious for a familia of two."

"All great things start small." Her fingers smoothed his collar, lingering on the emeralds. "Rome wasn't built in a day, no?"

"Wrong pantheon."

"Details." She waved away centuries of theological difference. "The point stands. I offer freedom, resources, protection. All I ask is your help in creating something extraordinary."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." She extended her hand, palm up. An oddly mortal gesture from a being who'd watched civilizations rise and fall. "Do we have a deal, mi sol?"

His gaze moved from her offered hand to her face. The playful goddess had vanished, leaving something older. Something that remembered when the world was young. "The seventy-thirty split still stands?"

"Now who focuses on money?" Amusement crept back into her voice.

"I learned from the best."

Her laugh echoed off ancient stone, startling pigeons from their roosts. "Yes, the split stands. Though we should discuss equipment costs, property acquisition, future recruitment-"

"One step at a time." He clasped her hand. Divine warmth pulsed against his palm. "Deal."

The ancient being vanished, replaced by his familiar, shopping-obsessed goddess. "Excellent! Now, about your wardrobe..."

"We literally just bought clothes."

"Those were formal clothes." She tugged him back toward the market district. "You need adventuring clothes. And casual clothes. And sleeping clothes-"

"My wallet hurts."

"Pfft. Money exists to be spent." Her grin turned predatory. "Besides, you'll earn it back tenfold in the dungeon."

Can't argue with that logic.