Valerie's prediction had proven correct. Jean was a persona non grata. Even more so when Borik had chosen to turn in his uniform and go back home. Not willing to leave Andors alone.

Jean was doing something he hadn't done in a while. He was looking at the F quests. He needed to do his adventuring quota of one hundred slots. It would be quite the grind, but he had made his piece with that.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a dog walking quest, and he sighed. Well, beggars couldn't be choosers. He went to Baleg and straightened his back. Just because things were not looking good for him did not mean he could allow himself to mop around.

"I am not sending you off to an A rank or an S rank quest alone. Go find a party," Baleg was frowning down on him. The half-orc had been as disturbed as the rest of them when he had heard that Jean had nearly killed his partners in his blind pursuit for the core.

"I would like the F ranked dog walking quest," Jean managed to get out, cheeks as red as an apple.

"Don't get the dogs killed," Baleg handed him the license and Jean was off. What little pride he had evaporating into thin air.

He made his way to the house of the dog owner and endured the dirty glares he was getting, but it was hard. He had gone from a living legend to a scumbag. Just as he was turning the corner, he saw the newly named Try Hard Party doing some sort of strange walking in place exercise before a faucet.

"Oh, Jean, hello," lemon cake waved at him and Jean went to them, not wanting to be rude to the only party that had not called him names behind his back — yet.

"What are you three doing?" He had wanted to say stooges, but stopped himself. He was now rank B and the berserker, Morris, outranked him. There was a protocol in place for not talking down on those better ranked than you. And Jean was a sticker for protocol.

"Walking in place. So, I can lose weight. Dorian and Morris don't need it, but they still keep me company," Leander told him with a bright smile, not stopping his movements even for a second.

"Nice of them," Jean remembered when Borik and Andors would take the same meals as him to make him feel better. And he had thrown that all in their faces. He bowed his head and turned to leave, when lemon cake grabbed his arm.

"Do you still not have a party?" Jean was surprised at the concerned tone. He hadn't expected that from a stranger. One he had mocked, once.

"I'll be fine. It is just that all the parties are full," Jean lied. No party wanted him. They admitted that he was strong, but they did so with fear. Not a hint of the admiration that they once held for him and the rest of the Firebolts.

"You know, we have two spots. If you don't mind slumming it with a D rank party," Leander told him with a hopeful face. Jean blinked. A D rank party meant that they would need to do only twenty mission slots per month. He would have time to heal and...

And he would be intruding. And, maybe even get these three rookies killed. What if they got under mind control, like Borik and Andors, and he didn't think about their wellbeing? He was stronger than two of them, maybe stronger than the berserker, too? He was not sure how fast Morris was on his feet.

"Look, you don't have to answer right away," the berserker told him, not stopping his meager exercise, either. "But think about it. A party with two archers can go take down hordes of monsters. And that would be wicked."

"Yes," Dorian agreed. He was not entirely in agreement that they should welcome Jean into the party, but didn't want to say anything against it. Seeing as both Leander and Morris had already made up their minds.

"I'll think about it," Jean felt as if there was a stone stuck in his throat. There was his chance to be in a party again. To go on actual quests. And he was walking away from it.

"You can find us here tomorrow. At the same time," Jean checked the sun clock on the ground. So, ten am.

"Thank you," Jean managed to get out, and he continued on to the house of the dog. Once the owner came with the dog already leashed, Jean did a bow and waited for the leash.

"Wait, aren't you Jean Firebolt?" The woman asked and Jean nodded. "You know, Antony doesn't really need a walk today. But I will write that you have walked him. Seeing as the guild has a no refund policy."

And she shut the door in his face. Jean half-chuckled, half-sobbed. He received dirty looks from the people around him, but he didn't care.

How far had he fallen? To be considered unfit to even walk a dog? With shaky legs, he went to the training hall and began to let loose an arrow barrage after an arrow barrage. All the while, the noise of the arrows couldn't block out the whispers.

"He nearly got Borik and Andors killed. And Andors is crippled."

"Did you hear? He got shot down when he tried to take an F rank quest. What a loser."

"I wouldn't trust him with my dirty underwear, let alone a dog."

Jean gritted his teeth. Then, he cleared his throat and began.

"I challenge you..."

"Jean!" He heard lemon cake shout, and he turned to stare at him. Leander was shaking in his feet.  The Try Hard Party had been practicing formations for an hour. The healer safely behind a barrier and shooting harmless arrows at his partners. That one knew how to pull back his punch. Unlike Jean.

"What, lemon cake?" Jean snapped and Leander's eyes narrowed.

"Come over here already. Your single training time is over. This party works on its formations!" Leander called, and Jean blinked.

He was being given a way out. His pride spared at having to ask for the position he so desperately needed. So, with a surer step than he felt, he made his way to the party that had given him a chance. And the whispers from the stands stopped.