"Soccer ball, my friend, is a unique term used to describe a certain... aspect of a woman's physique. For instance, if a lady has a rather flat chest, akin to an undisturbed pond, we might call it 'Mini Mantou,' or 'Princess Taiping.' And if it's small, say, slightly smaller than yours—I mean, small but noticeable—we call it 'Egg-sized.' And if it's bigger, like an apple... Oh, don't draw your dagger! I meant no offense. I just needed a comparison," Eddie hastily explained, seeing the irritated look on the thief's face.
"So, bigger than an apple means a soccer ball?" The thief held a dagger to Eddie's throat, barely containing his fury.
"No, no! There are many sizes between an apple and a soccer ball. You see, there's a whole science to this! After apple, you have pear, then papaya, followed by coconut, volleyball, and finally, soccer ball. It's a whole taxonomy, really. Knowledge is power, my friend!" Eddie elaborated with an air of scholarly dignity.
The mercenaries around them nodded in agreement, praising Eddie's 'Chest Classification Theory.' Although they didn't quite grasp the concepts of Mini Mantou, volleyball, or soccer ball, they admired the vivid and systematic way Eddie described the gradations.
Eddie beamed with pride, feeling like a sage imparting profound wisdom to an eager audience. The thief, barely restraining his urge to skewer Eddie on the spot, stomped on his foot and stormed out after slamming the registration form in his hand.
Eddie quickly tossed the form back to the bald-headed clerk, paid the fee, and received his Mercenary Star Badge. He then stealthily followed the thief, calling out, "Hey, buddy! Let me buy you a drink. That girl I was talking about, she's really something! Oh, you're fast. Must be shy and unexplored!"
But by the time Eddie reached the door, the thief had vanished like a wisp of smoke into the night.
As Eddie sauntered away, his whistle cutting through the tranquil evening air, a shadowy figure materialized from the darkness. The bright-eyed thief, armed with a gleaming dagger, considered striking at Eddie's unsuspecting back. Yet, in a moment of restraint, he disappeared as swiftly as he had appeared, leaving only a trace of disdain in the air directed towards Eddie's departing form.
Eddie, blissfully unaware of the danger that had loomed, continued on his merry way. His smile was wide, infectious, and brimming with an easy contentment. He was the embodiment of carefree joy, a stark contrast to the somber mood typical of White Rock City's Assassins' Guild.
Upon entering, the guild's usual grim and eerie aura enveloped him. The dim, flickering lights created an ambiance that was both unsettling and intriguing. At the center of this gloomy environment was an elderly man in hemp clothing, his slumped figure and white hair exuding an air of fragility.
Yet, for Eddie, this was no ordinary old man. A sense of underlying power emanated from the elder, a hidden strength that suggested he was far more formidable than his frail appearance betrayed. In Eddie's eyes, this elder was akin to a dormant dragon, a hidden force of nature waiting to be unleashed.
Stepping forward with newfound respect, Eddie greeted the old man warmly. "Good day, sir. I'm here to join the esteemed ranks of the Assassins' Guild," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.
The old man slowly raised his head, his face a map of wrinkles and his eyes dull yet penetrating. He regarded Eddie with a long, measured gaze before speaking. "Young man, the path of the assassin is fraught with danger and soaked in blood. Are you truly prepared for the journey that lies ahead?"
Eddie met the elder's gaze steadily, his own eyes alight with determination and a touch of mirth. He nodded, a calm smile playing on his lips, ready to embark on the next chapter of his adventure.
As Eddie stood in the dimly lit, foreboding chamber of the Assassins' Guild, facing the cryptic elder, a subtle game of mutual scrutiny unfolded. Despite their veiled perceptions, Eddie couldn't help but admire the enigmatic presence of his counterpart. With a smirk, he replied to the old man's question about the brutal calling of an assassin, "Ah, but the allure of blood and violence is the siren song of youth, isn't it?"
The elder, whose sagging eyes seemed heavy with the weight of untold stories, offered no agreement or dissent. Instead, he laid out the guild's induction trials with a dispassionate drawl, "No money, no paperwork, just a test of your cunning or your blade. Choose wisely."
Eddie, quick to disdain the thought of a murderous nocturnal jaunt, opted for the literary test. The very idea of trudging through the night for a single kill seemed a tedious affair when he could be honing his skills or plotting his next move in comfort. His true aim lay within the guild's 'Vengeance Pursuit' list, not the gritty work of an everyday assassin.
Aware of the dangers lurking in prolonged exposure among these seasoned killers, Eddie prepared to navigate the elder's riddle with the finesse of a seasoned wordsmith. As the old man presented the final question of the literary test, a choice between a sword, a beast, or a blank sheet as the weapon of choice for a kill, Eddie readied his response, his wit as keen as any blade.