The mysterious Odd Jobs Office was known for its unapproachable reputation. Despite being surrounded by neighboring shops, no one could recall when it first opened. Attempts to greet the elusive owner had repeatedly failed; after nurous unanswered knocks, even the friendliest of neighbors gave up, assuming the place was abandoned.
The storefront's peculiar slogans didn't help either:
"Nothing Done Here" on one banner and "If Done, It'll Be Awful" on the other.
Who in their right mind would step into such a shop?
Oddly enough, its eerie nature beca a topic of local gossip, and the legend of the Odd Jobs Office spread far and wide. At first, it was laughed off as a joke, but as the rumors reached the ears of individuals acquainted with nen and plagued by unusual problems, curiosity began to brew.
One fateful, calm, moonlit evening, a modified car pulled up in front of the shop. A driver-bodyguard in a sharp black suit stepped out, respectfully opening the door for his employer—a figure heavily cloaked and obscured.
"Miss, we've arrived," the bodyguard murmured, bowing slightly.
The cloaked figure nodded before being assisted toward the shop door.
The bodyguard knocked. "Excuse , is anyone ho? We're here seeking help."
To his surprise, the ancient, immobile door creaked open after just two knocks.
"Miss?" The bodyguard hesitated, glancing back at his employer for confirmation.
This place unnerved him. If not for her insistence, he'd never have brought her here.
"It's alright. Let's go in," she said softly, her voice clear and lodious like a mountain stream.
Reluctantly, the bodyguard stepped forward, shielding his employer as they entered.
To their astonishnt, the interior was neither eerie nor ominous but warm and inviting. The space was bright, clean, and filled with a holy orange glow from overhead lights, giving off a cozy, comforting ambiance like a serene late-night diner.
The shift in atmosphere relaxed both of them. The bodyguard, initially tense, eased up.
Sotis, first impressions really do matter.
They had co here with little hope, their visit a desperate gamble, but now a shared thought crossed their minds:
Even if nothing gets resolved, this place alone is worth the visit.
"Are you here for help?"
The question broke their reverie. They turned to see a young boy with silver hair seated at a desk beneath a bookshelf, peering at them curiously.
"You're the owner?" the bodyguard asked, stepping forward.
The boy, who appeared to be around thirteen, had striking silver hair and greenish-blue eyes. His gentle features were easy on the eyes and radiated a pleasant aura.
"No, I'm just an apprentice. My master is the owner," he replied, shaking his head.
"Your master?" The bodyguard pulled out a candy from his pocket, offering it with a smile as he approached the boy. "What's your na, young man? Can you call your master for us?"
The boy frowned slightly. "Shouldn't you introduce yourself first before asking soone else's na? Also, your candy is way worse than what my master gives ."
The bodyguard's face twitched in embarrassnt.
"We're from the Ritz family," said the cloaked figure, speaking for the first ti. (TL: Translation is Ritz but I think it's Ritz we'll see)
"I'm Laisha Ritz."
At the ntion of her na, the boy's eyes lit up in recognition as he examined the woman cloaked in thick layers.
"The Ritz family? The leading mafia family here in Yorknew City? You're that Miss Laisha Ritz?"
"I didn't expect a child like you to know my na," Laisha said, nodding gracefully.
"My master made study the local powers for work purposes. Knowing this stuff is just part of running an Odd Jobs Office."
He dismissed the notion with a wave. "Oh, and don't call a kid. My na is Kastro."
"Kastro?"
Neither Laisha nor her bodyguard recognized the na.
"So, what do you want from my master?" Kastro asked, clapping his hands.
Suddenly, sofas and a coffee table appeared beside Laisha and her bodyguard, with steam rising from freshly brewed tea on the table.
"What is this?" The two were stunned by the sudden manifestation.
"Please, have a seat."
Kastro didn't seem fazed at all, as if this was a normal occurrence.
The pair awkwardly sat down, still scanning their surroundings. The bodyguard even ran his hand over the sofa, surprised to find its quality surpassing the Ritz family's custom furnishings.
"Mr. Kastro, could you call your master? We'd like to speak with him," Laisha asked, growing more hopeful as her impression of the office improved.
"You should explain your issue first," Kastro shrugged. "If my master doesn't think it's worth their ti, they won't bother coming out."
The bodyguard's patience wore thin. In Yorknew City, the Ritz family wasn't used to being treated so casually.
"When exactly do you plan to show so respect?" he growled.
Kastro's gaze shifted to him, nonchalant. "Watch your tone. My master hates loud noises in the house. Keep it up, and you'll be thrown out."
"You little—"
"Careful," Kastro interrupted, sipping his tea calmly. "If you keep glaring at like that, this house might decide to teach you a lesson."
"Your house? Teaching a lesson? What nonsense are you spouting?" the bodyguard scoffed.
Laisha silenced her bodyguard with a gesture, rising from her seat. Slowly, she began to remove her thick outer garnts.
Underneath was a horrifying sight—her exposed arms, neck, and skin were covered in grotesque, bulbous growths. Her face, aside from her eyes and mouth, was nearly unrecognizable, resembling severe, full-body burn scars—but far worse.
Kastro's eyes widened slightly as he fought to maintain his composure.
"It's said that a massive fire broke out at the Ritz estate not long ago, killing many, including mbers of the direct family…"
"I was a victim of that fire," Laisha confird, her voice calm.
Her serene deanor was born of years of enduring pitying looks and cruel remarks. Kastro's restrained reaction was one of the better ones she'd encountered.
"Miss…" The bodyguard's voice trembled with emotion as he turned to Kastro, practically begging. "You see her condition! Please, have your master take a look and see if there's any hope!"
"I never said my master wouldn't co out," Kastro replied coolly. "But it's not up to —it depends on whether your problem piques their interest."
"You brat—!"
"Another outburst, and you'll be out of here," Kastro warned, his voice carrying weight.
Then, calmly sipping his tea, he added, "Also, don't forget—the house doesn't tolerate provocations."
The chauffeur bodyguard clearly didn't believe Kastro's words.
Then— Thunk!
The sofa beneath the bodyguard suddenly ejected a spring, flinging him upward before he could react. He was launched into the ceiling with a loud crash, leaving his head stuck inside the ceiling while the rest of his body dangled awkwardly below.
Laisha Fraize stood silently and stepped away from the sofa.
"Don't worry, Miss Laisha," Kastro calmly set down his tea. "Our house only punishes impolite guests. Courteous visitors are rewarded with refreshnts and warm tea."
"Your house... has a personality?" Laisha couldn't help but ask.
"It's rely one of my master's little tools," Kastro replied casually, casting another glance at her disfigured face.
"Though your burns are extensive, with my master's abilities, it's possible to heal them."
"I hope so," Laisha replied with restrained optimism, her voice calm. She'd learned not to hope too much over the years; too many disappointnts had taught her this bitter lesson.
"If you can just restore my face, I would already be grateful," she added.
"Just your face?"
A soft chuckle broke the mont as another voice echoed through the room. A figure appeared on the sofa, seated languidly.
"Master!" Kastro imdiately straightened up and bowed respectfully.
"Finished reading yet?" The figure, none other than Morin, asked casually.
"Almost…" Kastro's face twisted into a grimace at the ntion of reading.
"If you're not done, get back to it," Morin said with a blank expression. "Trying to slack off again? No dinner for you tonight, then."
"No, I'll finish it! Right now!" Kastro snapped to attention, saluted, and dashed back to his desk, visibly deflated as he opened a book titled The Monster Compendium and began flipping through it.
"Alright, let's not waste each other's ti. Lay it all out," Morin clapped his hands lightly, and the house obediently released the chauffeur bodyguard from the ceiling. He landed with a thud on the ground, groaning as he rubbed his sore head.
[Tool: House Bot]
Effect: Place this tool at the center of a house, and it transforms the structure into a functional managent bot—convenient and efficient.
Note: Never anger it; the consequences can be terrifying.
"Miss Laisha, I can heal your face. In fact, I can restore your entire body to its original condition."
"Really?" Laisha clutched her clothes tightly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Aren't you going to examine further?"
She forced herself to remain calm, recalling all the supposed experts who had made grand promises only to falter after seeing her condition up close. Each ti, she had been forced to endure the crushing blow of hope turning to despair.
"I already understand your situation with a single glance," Morin said with an easy smile.
"Your burns aren't caused by ordinary fire. They were inflicted by an Enhancer or Transmuter using flas imbued with a conditional effect—specifically, a curse of difficult-to-heal burns."
"Conventional dical thods won't work on such injuries. Even most healing Nen abilities would struggle to treat this. Only specialized skills tailored for burn injuries could possibly succeed."
Laisha listened intently, absorbing every word as Morin casually explained her situation. His analysis matched what she had heard from many so-called experts in the past. Yet, his calm and assured deanor stirred sothing in her heart.
"Sir," she said, unable to hold back her emotions, "can you really heal ?"
Morin's easy smile remained. "What others can't achieve, for , is child's play."
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