(Ryuta POV)
Milk didn't help. In fact, it might have made it worse. My tongue still felt like it was doing push-ups in molten lava.
What was supposed to be a peaceful dinner had turned into one of those "we'll laugh about this later" memories. Sara, at least, was already laughing about it. I couldn't blame her—I'd have done the same if the roles were reversed.
Nanahoshi, however, wasn't laughing. She spent the rest of the evening hunched over, muttering about her stomach, constantly complaining to her. This is what happens when you don't taste-test first.
Once she excused herself to "recover" in the guest room upstairs, it was just Sara and me cleaning up in the kitchen.
"How come you seem fine?" she asked, glancing at me between plates, her tone carrying equal parts curiosity and concern.
"I have a strong metabolism," I replied automatically. Then I realized that was a little too clinical for her to understand. "I mean… iron stomach. Hard to upset it and all."
I reached over to the spice shelf, grabbed the culprit jar, and swapped it into a new container—this one labeled with a crude drawing of a chili pepper engulfed in flames. "Let's make sure next time we taste-test before cooking with mystery ingredients a certain someone bought on the market."
Sara froze mid-motion, dish towel in hand. A faint blush crept over her cheeks as she murmured, "…next… time?"
I blinked, realizing how that sounded. "Ah—no, I didn't mean it like we have to cook together. Or anytime soon, either. Just—hypothetically. You know. If there was a next time. That means, if you'd like to, of course."
Her lips curled into a small smile as she kept drying the plate. "I'd like there to be a next time," she said softly. "Preferably without the accidental attempt on our lives."
For a moment, the clink of dishes was the only sound between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything… it felt oddly nice.
***
We finished the rest of the dishes in a quiet rhythm—me rinsing, her drying. Every so often, I caught her humming softly under her breath, the sound threading through the quiet like it belonged there. Somehow, the earlier spice disaster had already faded into something that felt almost… domestic.
Eventually, Sara set the last plate on the rack and untied her apron. "I should get going. I have work tomorrow," she said, offering me a small, almost reluctant smile.
"Right," I nodded, wiping my hands on a towel. "I'll walk you out."
The night air was crisp, brushing against my skin with a coolness that made the kitchen's warmth feel far away. The gravel crunched beneath our feet in a steady rhythm as we approached the front gate.
Sara reached for the latch but didn't pull it right away. Her fingers rested there, unmoving. She glanced back toward the house, then at me, a faint crease in her brow as though she were weighing something.
"You know… it's strange," she said, her voice quiet. "Seeing you like this."
"Like what?"
"Just… living. Cooking dinner. Doing dishes." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "The way people talk about you… You'd think you spent every moment plotting some grand scheme."
I huffed a short laugh. "Yeah, well, people like to talk. I've given them reasons, I guess."
My inventions, my stubbornness toward the Magician Guild—it didn't take much for rumors to snowball. Too much, too soon. And now, too many eyes wanted more than they should.
"But you're not that person, are you?" she asked softly.
"Depends who you ask."
"Yeah, but…" She let her hand slip from the latch, turning a little closer toward me. Her eyes held mine, steady and unflinching, but there was something fragile under the surface. "I can't understand why they don't appreciate what you're already doing. Like the tools you made for the daycare—they make things easier every day. People overlook that."
"It's more like the things they don't know I can make that keep them interested," I admitted. "And those things… are dangerous."
"Then what is it you want?" she asked.
"A good life, yeah… but not the kind that's written about in history books. I don't care about being the strongest or richest. I just want a life where the little moments mean something—like today. Simple things, with people who make the world feel less heavy."
She was quiet for a moment, studying me like she could read past the words. Then, almost under her breath: "You make it awfully hard for people not to notice you."
I blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Instead of answering right away, she took one step closer. Close enough that the night seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between us. Her fingers brushed mine as she leaned on the gate—light, almost accidental, but not really.
"It means…" she said, voice steadier than her small hesitation suggested, "I like this version of you. The one who lets his guard down. It makes me feel like I'm part of a side of you no one else sees."
Something jolted in my chest, too sudden, too sharp. Her words weren't a confession, not exactly, but they balanced on the edge of one. And her eyes—warm, searching—felt like they'd given away far more than her voice dared.
The world felt unnervingly still. Just the faint creak of the gate, the hush of cool air, and the warmth of her breath hanging close between us.
Then, slowly, she pulled her hand back from mine, fingers brushing like she wasn't quite ready to let go. She opened the gate, her movements unhurried, like leaving sooner would break something fragile between us.
"Goodnight, Ryuta," she said at last, her voice softer than the night air.
And just before the gate closed, her eyes lingered on me one heartbeat too long.
The latch clicked shut behind her. I stood there longer than I should have, pulse still hammering, the warmth of her words echoing in my chest long after she disappeared into the dark.
When I finally turned back inside, I leaned against the closed door, my pulse still hammering.
But then—like a bucket of cold water—the thought hit me.
Sara, whose life—no, whose fate—wasn't hers alone. In Orsted's scheme, her descendant was meant to become someone important, someone useful in the future. That future only happens if she follows the path she was meant to take. If she was starting to… look at me that way…
I swore under my breath and pushed off from the door. No. No, this wasn't good. If she got tangled with me, the chances of her meeting whoever she was supposed to meet dropped to almost nothing. And without that, Orsted's plan—
I didn't even bother to put my shoes away. I strode up the stairs and stopped at the guest room. The faint light of a small lamp spilled through the crack under the door.
I slid it open. Nanahoshi was sitting up on the mattress—there weren't enough beds in the house for guests—still looking pale from the earlier chili powder fiasco. Her hair was a little mussed, and she blinked at me like she wasn't sure if I was here for an apology.
"We need to talk," I said, sharper than I intended. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?"
Nanahoshi tilted her head. "Here as in… my recovery? Or here as in… existing?"
"Don't play dumb. You just let—" I cut myself off, jaw tight. "I can't... be with her. She and I..."
Why am I struggling to say it!? Am I seriously forgetting that I am to keep Orsted's plans upheld first?
Nanahoshi sighed and straightened, resting her arms over her knees. "I know. Orsted told me. I know the role Sara's meant to play, and I know about her… family line. But you don't have to worry."
"Not worry?" I took a step closer. "If she changes course because of me, that could screw up things for Orsted."
She looked at me, deadpan. "Ryuta, do you honestly think it matters now? Her entire adventurer party is gone. The man she was supposed to end up with? Someone she would have met because of them in another few years. That chance is gone."
My chest tightened. "So you're saying it's already—"
"Even if she was still an adventurer," Nanahoshi continued, "the whole south of the Central Continent is in chaos right now. Between that and her losing her party, the odds of her meeting the 'right' person are practically zero."
I stared at her, my thoughts a mess. That was supposed to make me feel better. It didn't.
"So what? You're telling me it's fine to just… throw Orsted's plan out the window?" I asked, my voice low.
Nanahoshi's expression softened just slightly. "I'm telling you that sometimes, fate's already been rewritten before you even realize it. And maybe—just maybe—this is one of those times."
I stood there, the words hanging between us, a part of me still itching to argue while another part… felt the faint echo of Sara's smile in the back of my mind.
I let out a slow breath and sank down onto the floor beside the doorframe, the weight in my chest easing—if only a little. The idea that fate had already been knocked off its rails… it was strange, but it kept the knot in my stomach from pulling tighter.
Nanahoshi watched me with that half-annoyed, half-patient look she always had when I'd worked myself into a panic over something.
"So…" she said, crossing her arms, "are you thinking of going into a serious relationship with Sara?"
I blinked at her. "That's… a pretty direct question."
"It's a pretty direct situation. And it's pretty obvious she has some feelings for you."
She is right. I don't believe there has ever been a girl who wasn't either after my wealth or meant to get me to marry into their family.
But with Sara... something about her just feels... so different. Money and status hold no significance here.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "I don't know yet. I'll… see how things go once I'm done with my current task."
"The King Dragon Kingdom thing?"
"Yeah. Making sure they don't decide it's a great idea to start marching into Asura." I exhaled. "One step at a time."
I pushed myself back up to my feet, already turning to leave when my senses prickled—sharply, violently. My instincts screamed, and in the fraction of a second it took for me to pivot, the air in the room shifted.
Light rippled, bending, and a familiar figure began to take shape just behind Nanahoshi.
"—Ryuta."
Nanahoshi froze, her eyes going wide as she glanced over her shoulder. Standing there, tall and imposing, was Arumanfi.
Even under his fox mask, I could clearly tell that he was keeping his eyes on me the whole time he was here.
"Message from Orsted," he said without preamble, his voice cutting through the still air like a blade. "He requires your immediate attention."
///