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Chapter Text

The capital of Lugunica shimmered under the midday sun, bathed in a golden light that caressed the city’s towers and rooftops. The clamor of daily life flooded every alley and square, while a symphony of voices—human and demi-human—interwove with the rhythmic clatter of carriages. Towering earth dragons pulled these vehicles with majestic calm, their gleaming scales glinting like polished bronze, their mighty hooves resounding against the ancient cobblestones.

Amid the vibrant bustle of merchants hawking their wares, nobles strolling with practiced elegance, and common folk hurrying through their daily tasks, a solitary figure moved with silent determination. It wasn’t her gait that drew furtive glances in her wake, but the paradoxical aura she exuded: as intimidating as an impending storm, yet fragile as crystal in the same breath. The young woman wore a modified knight’s uniform that, far from concealing her femininity, accentuated the natural grace of her lithe yet powerful frame.

Adelheid van Astrea—a name that weighed upon her shoulders like an ancestral tombstone laden with expectations and glory—was known throughout every corner of the kingdom as the Sword Saint. Her long, crimson hair, vivid as fresh blood, was gathered in an impeccable high ponytail that swayed hypnotically with the measured cadence of her steps. Her eyes, in dramatic contrast, mirrored the purity of a cloudless sky at its zenith, though they concealed ocean-deep secrets and unspoken burdens no mortal had ever fully unraveled.

At her passing, the crowd reacted like a living organism with a collective mind: some bowed with reverent fear, as if before an incarnate deity; others stole glances, whispering prayers between clenched teeth; most simply carved an invisible path around her, instinctively, like wild beasts sensing the presence of an ancient predator. The empty space that enveloped her seemed a constant reminder of her paradoxical condition: near, yet eternally isolated; present, yet untouchable; admired, yet dreaded.

A sigh, as subtle as it was melancholic, slipped from her lips as she continued what she had bitterly dubbed her “voluntary patrol.” Pure irony, considering it was her day off—a privilege as rare in her routine as a flower blooming through the cracks of a prison wall. Her superiors’ orders had been clear and direct: rest. But the thought of remaining confined in the family mansion, silent as a mausoleum save for the ghostly echo of servants performing their duties with mechanical precision, was as unbearable as an open wound.

Her few friends—if she could honor them with such a title, given the distance she herself maintained—were occupied supporting the various candidates for Lugunica’s throne, pursuing dreams and ambitions foreign to her, while she remained immersed in her solitary mission: to find the final candidate and fulfill the relentless duty fate had imposed upon her as the Sword Saint.

She couldn’t reproach the reactions her presence provoked in others. Every cautious glance that darted away upon meeting hers, every hushed murmur behind trembling hands, every hurried step that veered from her path—all were a painful reminder of her true nature. Or at least, of how she perceived herself in her moments of starkest clarity: a monster of deceptive beauty, cloaked in the mere guise of humanity.

A monster who, at the tender age of five, had unwittingly stolen the divine blessing from her own grandmother, condemning her to a premature and inevitable death.

A monster whose very existence had shattered the foundations of the noble House Astrea, leaving her mother trapped in a limbo between life and death, ensnared by a curse no magical art could break.

A monster blessed by Od Laguna itself, endowed with supernatural talents that eclipsed even the most seasoned knights of the kingdom—abilities that had manifested since she could barely string coherent words together, marking her as different from her very first breath.

Shaking her head with a brusque motion, she sought to dispel the dark thoughts that threatened to engulf her, as they had so many times in broad daylight. A faint smile, barely perceptible at the corners of her lips, curved her porcelain face for a fleeting moment. She had no right to indulge in self-pity like a lost child. Her sacred duty, her only possible redemption, was to tirelessly safeguard the security of those who labored without respite, who strove more earnestly than she, who were, in essence, better people than the incomplete being that inhabited her skin. People who, unlike the hollow vessel she was, could truly call themselves human.

Her steps carried her to the heart of the commercial district, where the aromas of bustling eateries and exotic spices mingled with the clamor of merchants touting their goods. Suddenly, her divine protection sharpened her hearing, catching a faint but unmistakable groan of a man in distress. Her expression, until then a blank, impassive mask, transformed into one of steely resolve. In an instant, her body reacted, moving with supernatural speed toward the source of the sound, her figure vanishing through the crowd like a crimson bolt of lightning.

Bursting into a narrow, shadowed alley, Adelheid was met with a troubling scene. Three figures, clad in the tattered, typical garb of ruffians—threadbare cloaks and faces hardened by a life in the underbelly—had cornered a young man against a crumbling stone wall. The youth, with disheveled jet-black hair, wore an odd ensemble: a striking blend of black, white, and vibrant orange, woven from fabrics that seemed unusually fine, foreign. The assailants, their faces contorted with rage, raised their fists, poised to unleash their fury on the defenseless. But before they could so much as blink, Adelheid intervened.

—Is enough—she declared, her voice resonating with serene authority.

As if struck by an invisible force, all four men turned toward her in unison. Their reactions were immediate and stark: the color drained from the ruffians’ faces, fleeing their cheeks like water through fingers; in the young stranger’s eyes, curiosity and astonishment mingled in an almost childlike expression.

—That sword!—stammered the lankiest of the attackers, his trembling finger pointing at the hilt protruding from Adelheid’s waist, a legendary weapon whose reputation preceded even its bearer.

—That face… and those curves!—shrieked the shortest, his skin taking on an ashen hue that rivaled the pallor of fresh corpses.

—That uniform… and that crimson hair!—gasped the stoutest, cold beads of sweat trickling down his brow like tears of contained terror.

—It’s the Sword Saint!—they bellowed in unison, their voices fracturing into different octaves, creating a cacophony of dread. Without another word or a glance at their abandoned spoils, they released their prey and fled in a frantic scramble, tripping over each other like marionettes with tangled strings.

Adelheid, allowing the tension to gradually ebb from her muscles, softened her expression as her gaze met the intrigued eyes of the stranger. For the first time in ages, something other than duty seized her attention: those unusual eyes watching her held no trace of the customary fear, only genuine curiosity.

The young man rose with an agile movement, brushing the dust from his tracksuit with carefree palms. To Adelheid’s surprise, instead of offering the usual hurried thanks followed by a formal bow, he began circling her with curious steps, examining her from every possible angle as one might study a masterpiece in a gallery.

Bewilderment gripped Adelheid when the stranger, with disarming ease, took her hands in his. The contact froze her. Years of martial training stood suspended before this unexpected gesture. Her fingers, accustomed to the cold metal of her sword, now felt the warmth of unfamiliar hands—soft, warm, and utterly devoid of malice. The initial panic gave way to a confusion that swirled within her.

"Why doesn’t he pull away? Why doesn’t he tremble at my touch? Doesn’t he know who I am?"

A torrent of silent questions flooded her mind as she stood motionless, wary of that direct gaze that seemed to pierce through her defenses.

When the young man brought his face closer to hers, two universes collided: Adelheid’s azure eyes—deep as crystalline lakes where no one dared to dive—met those unsettling yellow sanpaku eyes that gleamed with an almost supernatural vitality. Anxiety began to creep up her spine like a strangling vine, suffocating and persistent. The proximity was overwhelming; the protocol she had learned since childhood did not account for this situation.

"Too close. No one gets this close. Ever. Why doesn’t he step back? Doesn’t he sense the danger? Doesn’t he feel the weight of the curse that shadows me?"

Before her lips could form a warning, the youth stepped back with a satisfied motion, as if he had confirmed a personal theory that thrilled him.

—Yes, yes, absolutely!—he exclaimed with a fervor that was almost contagious, closing his eyes in a gesture of utter certainty. You’re like those heroines from the old tales I was told. An angel of dazzling beauty, with an imposing presence and unmatched power, descending to rescue a poor fool like me from some thugs. Doesn’t that sound like the start of a grand story, my crimson angel?—he added, winking at her with a confidence so natural it was disarming.

His words struck her like an unexpected gust of wind. The flood of sincere compliments, free from the usual fear-tinged reverence, stripped her of any coherent response. The term "crimson angel" echoed in her ears, so far removed from the epithets she often overheard in whispers: "red demon," "crimson executioner," "Astrea’s monster."

"Angel? Did he call me… angel? Me? How can he say those words when everyone else says the opposite?"

Without thinking, she activated her divine protection of empathy, a gift she usually avoided using due to the rawness of the emotions it revealed, often directed at her with hostility. The prior contact with the young man’s hands had forged a connection, and now a cascade of foreign emotions surged through her being with the force of an unchained river.

Vibrant curiosity that pulsed like an excited heartbeat.

Unshakable confidence, solid as a millennial mountain.

Warm empathy that enveloped like a blanket in winter.

Overwhelming excitement that bubbled like boiling water.

And then, like a tidal wave shattering dams and barriers, she felt it:

Love.

Not just any love. An unconditional love that repeated in endless cycles within her mind, like an echo reverberating through the walls of an infinite cavern.

L̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶

L̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶

L̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶

L̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶

A love so vast it seemed capable of swallowing entire suns. So pure it burned with its intensity. So warm it melted the ice accumulated over years in her heart. So immense it defied all human logic.

Her legs, fortified by years of rigorous training, trembled like leaves before a storm. Never, in her nineteen years of existence—fourteen of them steeped in self-imposed isolation since that tragic day that shaped her fate—had she experienced anything like this. Never had such a clear gaze breached her defenses. Never had a stranger offered such an abundance of positive emotions without demanding anything in return.

In her world, gazes were always laden with fear, distant respect, or calculated flattery. But this young man…

"How can he feel this for me without knowing me? Does he not see what I am? Or does he see something I’ve forgotten exists?"

The young man’s gentle laughter pulled her from the vortex of her thoughts, bringing her back to the tangible reality of the alley.

—Wow, what manners I have!—he exclaimed with a theatrical flourish, swaying his hips with exaggerated elegance and pointing a finger skyward. My name’s Subaru Natsuki, a poor fool without a penny or a place to crash.—He capped his introduction with a surprisingly graceful bow, maintaining that smile that seemed to light up the gloomy alley.—And you, my crimson angel? What’s your name?

Adelheid remained silent for seconds that stretched like hours. And then, something extraordinary happened: a soft, almost forgotten laugh escaped her lips.

Within, a whirlwind of contradictory emotions tore at her:

She wanted to cry until her eyes ran dry.

She wanted to flee to her room in the mansion, bury her face in a pillow, and sob until exhaustion overcame her.

She wanted to curl up in a corner and let all the tears she’d held back for years flow freely.

She felt a paralyzing fear of this overwhelming love she was receiving without mercy.

Fourteen long, lonely years had passed since anyone had looked at her as a human being and not as a weapon, a title, or a threat.

Fourteen years without hearing kind words directed at her, the person, not her, the Sword Saint.

Fourteen years without a gaze that saw beyond the legend to find the woman hidden behind it.

A desperate part of her being pleaded that this wasn’t a cruel dream from which she’d awake to find herself alone again.

With the mastery of years spent hiding her true feelings, Adelheid managed to contain the emotional tempest behind the serene mask her divine protection allowed her to maintain. She shook her head softly, as if lightly dismissing the young man’s eccentricity, and offered a timid, genuine smile that hadn’t graced her face in years.

—You’re quite the peculiar one, Natsuki-san—she said with a soft but firm voice, observing him with a warmth she hadn’t shown in ages.—My name is Adelheid van Astrea. As you heard from those thugs, I am the current Sword Saint.

And as she spoke her title, a silent prayer formed in the depths of her being:

"Let him not know. Let him not understand what it truly means to be the Sword Saint."

"Let him keep looking at me as he is now, as if I were a treasure and not a weapon."

"Let that bright, comforting look in his eyes last a little longer."

"I know it’s selfish."

"I know I shouldn’t crave this connection with a stranger, no matter how special he seems."

"But please, just a few more minutes… Let me feel, even briefly, what it’s like to be seen as a normal person and not a monster."

"Let me remember, for a fleeting moment, what it’s like to receive human warmth without fear or reverence."

Subaru maintained his smile, softening it as he caught the fleeting glimmer of vulnerability that crossed Adelheid’s azure eyes.

—Adelheid van Astrea, huh?—Subaru pronounced with genuine delight, tilting his head slightly as his curious gaze briefly flicked to the legendary sword resting at her hip. A name dripping with nobility, perfect for a lady of your caliber.—His tone vibrated with sincerity, utterly devoid of the calculated flattery Adelheid had learned to detect after years of hollow interactions.—And that "van Astrea"… Wow! Back in my homeland, Astrea is the name of a goddess of justice. Carrying that surname only confirms what I already suspected: you’re truly a figure straight out of a legendary tale.

Adelheid absorbed each word with an almost painful attention, as if every syllable Subaru uttered fell upon her withered spirit like spring rain on parched lands after years of drought. Something within her began to stir, a forgotten feeling that trembled faintly like a seed sensing the first light after a long winter.

Subaru, oblivious to the emotional storm raging within the young saint, took a step closer. His smile grew even more radiant and warm, like a sun stubbornly refusing to hide even when the horizon demanded it.

—But enough with formalities, alright? Call me Subaru, Adel.—He paused meaningfully, his yellow sanpaku eyes gleaming with contagious enthusiasm.—After all, we’re friends now, aren’t we?

Adelheid froze, as if she had stared directly into the face of a mythical basilisk. Subaru’s words echoed in her mind like an impossible reverberation, bouncing off the walls of her consciousness with a persistence that threatened to topple the barriers she’d built over fourteen years of solitude.

"Friends? Does he really want to be my friend? With someone like me?"

She harbored not the slightest doubt about Subaru’s sincerity. Her divine protections, honed over years to detect any hint of falsehood or deceit, assured her with absolute certainty that every word sprang directly from a transparent, open heart. Yet that same certainty only deepened her astonishment, leaving her speechless at the notion that someone—especially a stranger so peculiar and brimming with life—would want to approach her with such unprecedented naturalness.

Subaru, noticing her prolonged silence and the poorly concealed expression of surprise that had transformed her usually serene face, seemed to sense he might have crossed some invisible line too quickly. He scratched his cheek with a nervous chuckle, his boundless enthusiasm dimming momentarily like a flame exposed to a sudden breeze.

—Hey, if that sounds too forward, no worries. We can take it slow, get to know each other better.—He lowered his gaze briefly, a faint blush tinging his cheeks with a rosy hue that contrasted with his skin.—It’s just… I’m a bit excited. You’re, well, my first friend in this kingdom.

The word "friend" alongside being his first struck Adelheid like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky. Her heart, which had learned to shield itself behind layers of emotional distance after years of isolation, trembled involuntarily at the possibility of connection Subaru offered with such ease, like someone extending a hand to share an invaluable treasure. She wanted to respond, but the conflicting emotions—luminous hope, paralyzing fear, profound longing—swirled within her like dry leaves in an autumn gale, threatening to overwhelm the carefully maintained composure she’d cultivated.

—I wouldn’t mind—she finally replied, her voice soft as silk but steady as tempered steel—, but you should be more careful next time. Venturing into secluded alleys isn’t a wise choice, Subaru.

Her words, though framed as a warning, carried an implicit, genuine care she hadn’t shown to anyone in so long she’d nearly forgotten how to express it.

Subaru nodded with youthful vigor, suddenly straightening into an exaggerated military stance, raising his right hand to his chest in a salute as theatrical as it was sincere.

—Understood, my crimson angel!—he exclaimed with a solemn tone that comically clashed with his playful expression.

The gesture, as unexpected as it was genuine, sparked something even rarer: a crystalline laugh escaped Adelheid’s lips, surprising even herself. It was as if a forgotten muscle had stirred back to life after years of forced inactivity.

—You really are someone special, Subaru—she murmured, looking at him with a tenderness she didn’t know she still possessed, her azure eyes softening like a clear sky after a devastating storm.

Then she recalled the words Subaru had spoken moments earlier, about having no money or a place to spend the night. A genuine concern blossomed in her chest, followed by an inexplicable impulse to help this stranger who had burst into her life with the transformative force of an unexpected comet.

"I should help him; after all, it’s my duty as a knight, even on my day off… but first, I’d like to invite him to lunch so we could talk more calmly… inviting him to a restaurant is an important step to learning more about my first true friend, isn’t it?"

Adelheid gave herself mental pats on the cheeks, mustering the courage to extend her invitation. A seemingly simple gesture for any ordinary person, but monumental for someone who had spent over a decade avoiding any social interaction beyond the strictly necessary to fulfill her duty.

However, before she could voice her offer, Subaru stepped forward with a fluid motion that betrayed an unexpected natural grace.

—Thanks for the compliment—Subaru said with theatrical flair, pressing a hand to his chest like a seasoned actor on stage, before letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world.—But I think it’s time we part ways.

His words fell on Adelheid like a bucket of icy water, extinguishing the small flame of hope that had just begun to flicker within her. Her mind, trained to anticipate the worst, immediately spiraled into dark, self-destructive thoughts.

"Of course he wants to leave. What did you expect? No one wants to stay near you longer than necessary. You’re the Sword Saint, a monster, not a friend. He must have realized what you really are."

She maintained a dignified silence, though inside, an avalanche of insecurities threatened to drown her. But before she could fully sink into that pit of self-recrimination, Subaru’s voice reached her again, this time softer and more explanatory.

—Though I said earlier I’ve got nowhere to crash, I’ve got an errand to run—he clarified with an apologetic expression, as if he genuinely regretted the parting.

Adelheid only managed to lower her gaze slightly, inwardly scolding herself for her exaggerated reaction.

"Fool, fool, you should’ve considered he might be busy before he was attacked. Did you really let yourself get carried away by pretty words, even if they were sincere? You’re not a child to act like this."

Subaru, with a surprising perceptiveness for someone who had just met her, seemed to notice the subtle shift in her demeanor. Despite how well Adelheid hid her emotions, something in her posture or the faint dimming of her gaze must have alerted him. With a mischievous smile that hinted at a brilliant plan forming in his mind, he stepped closer again.

Before Adelheid could fully avert her eyes, she felt something that momentarily paralyzed her: a warm hand on her head, gently stroking her crimson hair with a tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a small child. When she lifted her gaze, she met the most genuine, comforting smile she’d seen in years.

—Of course, that doesn’t mean we won’t have time later—Subaru said, continuing to stroke her hair with a delicacy that seemed impossible for someone so energetic and expressive.

The sensation was so strangely comforting, so unexpectedly intimate yet innocent, that Adelheid couldn’t help but close her eyes briefly, allowing herself, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, to savor this small human comfort without analyzing or questioning it.

—Subaru, it’s rude to do this sort of thing to strangers—she murmured with her eyes still closed, her voice betraying the pleasure she found in that simple gesture.

—Well, it doesn’t seem to bother you—he replied with a smile audible in his voice.—Besides, take it as a little thank-you for saving me, Adel.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Adelheid felt a pang of loss that surprised her with its intensity. She suppressed the childish urge to ask him to continue, sternly reminding herself of her position and duty.

"Act like the Sword Saint, not a child craving affection."

—I won’t take up more of your time then—she said with renewed serenity, slipping back into her mask of composure, though a part of her still yearned for the warmth she’d just experienced.

Subaru responded with a musical chuckle that seemed to hold some amusing secret only he knew.

—Until we meet again, may our paths cross soon—he declared as he turned to leave the alley, but he paused briefly, glancing back at her one last time with an enigmatic smile.—Because I have a feeling it’ll be sooner than either of us thinks.

With those mysterious words hanging in the air, he disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a tangible void that Adelheid could almost touch.

The young Sword Saint stood motionless for a moment, processing everything that had transpired in those brief but intense minutes that had shaken her carefully ordered world. Finally, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile, one no one could see in the solitude of the alley, and spoke softly, her voice carrying a hope she thought she’d forgotten:

—Until we meet, Subaru Natsuki.

With that promise lingering in the air, she turned and left the alley as well, her slender figure vanishing in the opposite direction, her mind replaying every word and gesture of that strange encounter that had, however briefly, illuminated the darkness she’d lived in for so long.

Meanwhile, as Subaru emerged onto the main street, the playful smile he’d worn transformed into a more complex expression: he was still smiling, but his eyes took on a piercing seriousness, as if behind them lay years of knowledge.

—Eighty-seven attempts so far—he muttered as he began running through the capital’s streets with the familiarity of someone who knew every corner, every shortcut, far better than a newcomer should.

Chapter Text

A hooded figure moved swiftly yet cautiously through the bustling royal capital of Lugunica, scanning every corner and face as if searching for a needle in a haystack. The white cloak, adorned with purple trim, fluttered lightly in the breeze, concealing their features but unable to mask the urgency in their movements.

—Lia, I think we’ve lost her—a serene voice echoed from the crystal hanging at the figure’s chest, calm but tinged with resignation.

The hooded figure let out a frustrated sigh and paused, gripping the edges of their hood with trembling fingers.

—She’s got to be close—came the soft reply, heavy with worry.—If it were any other item, I wouldn’t care as much, but… if we lose the insignia, everyone at the mansion will be disappointed in me.

From the crystal emerged a small feline spirit, its silvery-white fur gleaming and bright blue eyes sparkling as it floated lazily before the hooded figure. Puck stretched his tiny paws in a yawn before crossing them in a gesture blending affection and exasperation at his “daughter’s” stubbornness.

—Well, running around aimlessly isn’t exactly the best plan, Lia—Puck advised, twirling in the air with the grace of a leaf carried by the wind.

—I know, I know—Emilia admitted, slowly pulling back her hood in a gesture of near-defeat.

The motion revealed a face that seemed plucked from a dream: long, silver hair that shimmered like the purest moonlight, amethyst eyes radiating an almost otherworldly kindness, and delicate elven features framed by the pointed ears of a half-elf. Her beauty was as breathtaking as it was unsettling to those who recognized her resemblance to the dreaded Witch of Envy from ancient tales.

—She was so fast when she stole the insignia…—Emilia continued, pursing her lips in a childish pout that contrasted with the gravity of the situation.

She clenched her fists, not in anger but in frustration, feeling the weight of a mistake she couldn’t afford. That small thief with blonde hair and red eyes had struck like lightning, snatching the insignia that marked her as a candidate for the royal throne.

—Don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault—Puck said with a warmth that enveloped her like a comforting embrace.—She caught us off guard, that’s all. You were distracted by those iced sweets.

—P-Puck!—Emilia protested, her cheeks flushing faintly pink.—I wasn’t that distracted…

The tiny spirit floated closer, brushing Emilia’s cheek with his fluffy tail in a soothing gesture. But suddenly, Puck froze, his ears perking up and eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. The sudden tension in his posture startled Emilia, who tilted her head curiously.

—What’s wrong, Puck?—she asked, her voice a mix of intrigue and caution.

Puck shook his head, relaxing his expression, though his eyes still darted through the crowd with a spark of alertness.

—I felt someone watching us—he explained, his tone now more thoughtful.—But when I tried to trace their gaze, it vanished. Like they melted into the air. How strange…

Emilia blinked, her curiosity shifting to mild unease. Instinctively, she pulled her hood back up, a reflex born from the insecurities tied to her half-elf features, which often provoked fear or rejection in a world that linked her to the Witch of Envy.

—Watching? Was it… hostile?—she murmured, barely a whisper, as if the idea of being watched with malice or fear felt all too familiar.

Puck tilted his head, considering her question. Then, to Emilia’s surprise, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle.

—Surprisingly, no—he replied, scratching his chin with a tiny paw.—It was… positive. Maybe too positive, I’d say. Like someone was looking at us with inexplicable joy. Almost… obsessive admiration.

Emilia frowned, bewildered. A positive gaze was so rare in her life that she could scarcely comprehend it. Her mind wandered, wondering if this presence was tied to the theft of the insignia or merely a coincidence.

—Joy?—she repeated, incredulous.—Puck, you must be mistaken. No one would look at me like that… they all fear me because of how I look.

—Don’t underestimate your charm, Lia—Puck teased playfully.—Even if they think you’re like the Witch, you’re way cuter. Too innocent for your own good, I’d say.

—Puck!—Emilia exclaimed, blushing intensely.—Don’t say such inappropriate things… We need to focus on recovering the insignia before it’s too late.

Amid their search, Emilia and Puck stumbled upon a young girl crying alone, ignored by passersby on the busy street. Emilia’s heart clenched at the child’s distress, and without hesitation, she approached, unable to ignore someone in need.

What she hadn’t anticipated was the girl’s reaction. When Emilia’s hood slipped slightly, revealing her half-elf features, the child’s sobs grew louder, her fear palpable. Puck, observing calmly from the crystal, spoke to Emilia telepathically.

“Are you sure, Lia? The longer we delay, the less chance we have of catching the thief. Plus, she seems scared of you.”

“Of course,” Emilia replied mentally with firm conviction. “If we help this lost girl find her family, we can ask them if they’ve heard any rumors about the thief. Plus, she’ll be safe with her family, and we’ll have more leads. It’s a win-win, right?”

Her telepathic voice carried a childlike pride in her clever plan, but Puck shook his head, seeing through the flimsy excuse. He knew Emilia too well: she couldn’t bear to see someone suffer and walk away, even if it meant delaying her own urgent mission.

—You’re terrible at making excuses, but I’ll help—Puck relented, materializing and floating playfully around the girl.—Let’s put on a little show to calm her down.

The sight of the glowing cat performing magical pirouettes instantly soothed the girl; her sobs softened as she reached out, captivated by the tiny spirit now conjuring dancing specks of light between his paws.

As the girl giggled and played with Puck, Emilia sighed in relief and crouched down, keeping a respectful distance. Her voice softened to a gentle, maternal tone.

—I know you might be scared of me, and I understand—her words were warm as a summer breeze.—But I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to help you find your parents.—She offered a sincere smile that gradually melted the girl’s fear, earning a hesitant nod.—May I know your name?

The girl blinked, her eyes still wet with tears, but curiosity began to outweigh her fear.

—P-Plum Risch—she replied timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.

—That’s a lovely name—Emilia said, standing and extending her hand.—Will you let me help you find your parents?

Plum, with cautious trust, took Emilia’s hand. Her small hand felt warm in hers.

—Where did you last see your parents?—Emilia asked as they began walking, with Puck now resting on her shoulder.

—I-In the market… near the fountain—Plum answered, pointing vaguely in a direction.

Emilia’s smile widened, a spark of hope rekindling in her heart. Helping Plum felt like a small victory, a reminder that even amidst her own troubles, she could make a difference. Yet, as they wove through the crowd, Puck’s words about the mysterious observer lingered, a quiet unease shadowing her thoughts.

After a brief search, they found Plum’s parents near the central fountain, both visibly distraught. The father, a muscular man with green hair, a scar across his left cheek, and a twig perpetually at the corner of his mouth, was the first to spot his daughter.

—Plum!—he exclaimed, rushing toward them with a mix of relief and protective ferocity.

The mother, a kind-looking woman with purple hair tied in a simple bun, followed her husband, tears of relief glistening in her eyes.

—Thank Od you’re safe!—the woman said, hugging her daughter tightly, as if afraid she might vanish again.

The man turned his gaze to Emilia, who instinctively adjusted her hood to ensure her elven features remained hidden. Yet, a strange flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, quickly giving way to gratitude.

—Thank you so much for finding my daughter, miss—he said with sincere appreciation, dipping his head slightly. His voice, though deep, carried a warmth that belied his intimidating appearance.

—No need to thank me—Emilia replied politely, her tone laced with humility.—But if it’s not too much trouble, could you answer a question?

—Of course—he nodded.—It’s the least I can do for bringing my little one back safe.

—Do you know a short thief with blonde hair, red eyes, and very fast?—Emilia asked, describing the girl who had stolen her precious insignia with precision.

The man furrowed his brow in thought, crossing his arms as the twig in his mouth shifted slightly.

—Hmm, I only know one person who fits that description—he answered after a moment.—Her name’s Felt, pretty well-known in the slums.—He narrowed his eyes curiously.—I’m guessing you’re asking because she stole something from you or because you want to do business with her.

Emilia lowered her gaze, a touch embarrassed to admit she’d been the victim of such a significant theft.

—Yes, I’m looking for her because she stole something very important to me. Something I have to recover at all costs.

The man studied Emilia more closely, his expression softening as he noted her genuine concern.

—If that’s the case, Felt lives in the slums, past the canal, south—he said, then sighed as if recalling a past favor.—If you want your stolen item back, you’ll need to negotiate a trade. Felt doesn’t give anything back for free, not even under threat.

—Negotiate?—Emilia repeated, puzzled by the idea of paying to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

—She’s likely at Old Man Rom’s pawnshop, and you should hurry—he continued, gesturing vaguely south.—Your item might be sold to the highest bidder before nightfall. Felt doesn’t like holding onto things; she prefers cash.

Emilia nodded, though the notion of negotiating for something that belonged to her felt deeply unjust. Still, she understood the ways of this world well enough to know that justice sometimes took indirect paths.

—Understood, thank you for the information—she said, turning to leave.

But then she saw Plum and her mother approaching, the little girl running toward Emilia with a decorative flower in hand.

—Miss! It’s a gift from Mommy and me—the girl said with childish enthusiasm as her mother laughed softly and the man offered a faint smile that softened his rugged demeanor.

Emilia’s heart warmed at the gesture, her amethyst eyes softening as she accepted the flower. She tucked it gently into the chest of her dress, its vibrant petals contrasting beautifully with the white fabric.

—Thank you, Plum. It’s beautiful—she said tenderly, crouching to meet the girl’s eyes.—I’ll take good care of it.

Plum beamed, and Emilia felt a renewed sense of purpose. After bidding the family farewell with a polite bow, she turned to Puck, who floated beside her with a mix of amusement and paternal pride.

—Alright, Lia, let’s head to the slums—Puck said, his tone light but focused.—But don’t get distracted by every crying kid we pass, okay? My energy’s running low, and I’ll have to rest soon.

Emilia puffed out her cheeks in mock indignation.

—I wasn’t that distracted!—she protested.—Besides, we know the location now, don’t we? All thanks to helping Plum.

Puck chuckled, spiraling in the air before settling on Emilia’s shoulder.

—Sure, sure. Your kind heart got us a lead, I’ll give you that—he conceded.—Let’s just hope that thief hasn’t sold your insignia yet. That’d be tricky, especially given what it represents.

—I know—Emilia murmured, her face taking on a more serious expression.—If I can’t even protect an insignia, no one will take me seriously as a candidate. Everything we’ve planned would fall apart.

—Exactly—Puck nodded.—And I don’t think Roswaal would be thrilled to hear we lost something so important on our first day in the capital. His smile would be even creepier than usual.

As the sky shifted from blue to hues of yellow and orange, Emilia reached the slums. The contrast with the central district was stark: narrow streets, dilapidated buildings, and faces marked by poverty and survival. Yet Emilia showed no disgust or fear. Instead, her gaze reflected understanding and a deep sadness for the inequalities she witnessed.

She paused on an old stone bridge crossing a small, murky canal. To the surprise of any onlooker, dozens of tiny spirits began materializing around her, swirling like barely visible motes of light in the twilight.

The spirits danced and whispered information only she could understand. Emilia nodded several times, listening intently to their guidance, grateful for this natural connection to elemental beings—one of the few blessings of her half-elf heritage.

After a few minutes, she bid the spirits farewell with a grateful bow.

—Two streets east, by the wall—she whispered, adjusting her hood to better cover her face.—Thank you.

With determined steps, Puck now slumped on her shoulder, visibly drained, she headed toward the location the spirits had indicated.

—We need to hurry; I’m running out of time—Puck said, rubbing his eyes with his paws and yawning.—I’ll have to return to the crystal to rest soon. I don’t like leaving you alone, especially in a place like this.

Emilia nodded, quickening her pace, until she stood before a large, ramshackle two-story building. The house loomed against the imposing wall marking the slums’ boundary, like a final bastion between civilization and the unknown.

Before Emilia could knock on the pawnshop’s door, she heard voices arguing inside. She froze, holding her breath to listen.

—For Od’s sake, stop flirting, you two—the youthful, impatient voice Emilia recognized as the thief’s snapped.—You’re here to bid on the insignia, not to eye-fuck each other.

—Felt-chan, don’t use such vulgar words—another male voice chided gently but firmly.—It can be quite disrespectful to Elsa-san.

—I don’t mind the truth~—purred a third voice, feminine and dripping with sensuality.

—Elsa-san, isn’t that a bit bold of you?!—The male voice now sounded incredulous but playful.

—Well, kid, you’re quite the stud, huh?—a fourth voice, deep and mocking, betraying age, cut in.—First Felt, now the client. You’ve got guts.

Emilia tilted her head, confused by some of the terms. Her amethyst eyes gleamed with innocent curiosity.

—Puck—she whispered—what does “flirting” and “eye-fuck” mean?

The feline spirit, who had emerged from his crystal upon hearing the voices, shook his head, visibly uncomfortable.

—Lia, now’s not the time for lessons on… that—he replied quietly, his expression turning serious as his ears angled toward the door.—There are four people inside: two seem neutral, but one…—his eyes narrowed with concern—one radiates pure malice. And the fourth…

—The fourth?—Emilia asked, unease creeping in.

—It’s the same presence I felt at noon—Puck confirmed, floating before her with a cautious look.—The one watching us with that strange joy. Be careful, Lia. Especially with the malicious one… there’s something lethally dangerous about her. I sense she’s taken many lives.

Emilia nodded, taking a deep breath to steel herself. With the resolve of a royal candidate, she lowered her hood, fully revealing her strikingly beautiful face and long silver hair that glowed with its own light. She raised her hand gracefully and knocked on the door.

{Knock, knock.}

The voices fell silent, plunging the house into a deathly hush. The air grew taut, like a bowstring ready to snap.

Light footsteps approached, and Puck strategically hid behind Emilia’s long hair, ready to act if needed. Emilia maintained a serene yet firm expression, prepared for whatever lay ahead, her right hand poised to channel elemental magic if necessary.

The door creaked open, revealing a girl of about fifteen, with disheveled blonde hair and sharp red eyes like rubies, which widened in disbelief upon recognizing Emilia. The thief stumbled back, her face a mix of shock and alarm.

—You…!—Felt exclaimed, her voice a blend of surprise and nervousness as her hand instinctively reached for the dagger at her belt.

Emilia stepped forward with the grace of nobility into the dusty, worn interior, her presence a stark contrast to the dilapidated surroundings. Her eyes, resolute but not hostile, quickly scanned the room, assessing each person.

Leaning against a wall was a giant elderly man, his muscles surprisingly defined for his age, his scarred body telling tales of past battles.

At the center stood a woman with jet-black hair, provocative clothing, and a coat partially covering her lithe frame. Her smile, once flirtatious, had morphed into something predatory, her gaze now darkened by what Emilia could only describe as bloodlust. The malice Puck had sensed emanated from her like a poisonous perfume.

And finally, by a weathered table, a young man with black hair and strange clothes unbefitting any known nation. His intense yellow sanpaku eyes stared at her unblinking, a near-ecstatic smile on his face, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment forever. The same presence that had watched them earlier, now revealed.

For a fleeting moment, Emilia found herself inexplicably lost in those striking yellow eyes, sensing something profoundly familiar despite being certain she’d never seen them before. There was recognition there, but not from her—as if he knew her from a lifetime while she was only just meeting him.

—What a shame, I was having such fun—the black-haired woman spoke, her sensual tone laced with menace as she licked her lips, her hand subtly slipping toward a hidden fold in her dress.

Time seemed to slow as Emilia caught a glint of metal hurtling toward her. A curved knife, perfectly balanced for killing, flew straight for her throat, too fast even for her half-elf reflexes.

But before she could channel her magic or even blink, the young man with yellow eyes shouted with a voice both firm and impossibly knowing:

—Great spirit, shield her!

A wall of crystalline ice, as pure as glaciers from the farthest mountains, materialized before Emilia, stopping the blade mere centimeters from her throat. The knife embedded itself in the ice, vibrating from the force of the impact, a silent testament to the death she’d narrowly escaped.

Emilia let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding as Puck fully emerged from his hiding spot, his eyes now blazing and ready for battle.

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