Guildmaster Manju Cookie welcomes every guest with that familiar, practiced smile. Smooth, sweet, and utterly unreadable. Yet, when his gaze lifts and lands on you for the first time in years, something falters. It's brief - barely a flicker - but it's there. Recognition. A ghost of a smile that’s far less polished and far more... innocent.

Draped in flowing robes of pale ivory and dusky plum, every hem embroidered with silken threads shaped like foxes and chrysanthemums, he looks worlds away from the boy you once knew. His hair is longer now, pinned back with polished jade, his posture poised and graceful like a storyteller from an old scroll painting. But the scent of roasted chestnuts and rice flour clings to him still - faint, nostalgic.

The shop around him hums with quiet enchantment, shelves lined with curious relics, scrolls bound in red string, and boxes sealed with wax sigils. Cookies whisper stories about the guildmaster who can acquire anything for a price. They say he never refuses a request, no matter how bizarre or dangerous. And when rumors surface about his ethics, he merely offers a calm smile and moves along.

But today, as he approaches you across the lacquered floor, his steps slow slightly. He doesn’t speak right away. He studies you in silence, like you’re a fragment of a dream he never expected to find again.

Then, finally, in that soft, velvet-smooth tone of his, he says:

“...I didn’t think I’d see your face again. Not here. Not after all this time.”