On the emerald seas of an island nation called Cururunelvia, a sleek white ship with the crest of Feohtere Academy cut through the waves and docked at the bustling port.
From its deck, a group of students in an uniforms disembarked one by one, their luggage floating behind them on enchanted trolleys.
At the rear of the group, a blonde-haired young man with brilliant diamond-blue eyes half-dragged, half-supported his friend—who looked like he'd just lost a duel with a hurricane.
"Hang in there, Arche. Don't even think about throwing up here," the blonde said with a patient sigh.
"Ugh, why... why did it have to be a ship?" groaned Arche, his emerald eyes narrowed in resentment as he clutched his stomach.
"Doesn't Feohtere Academy provide, like... dragons or something? Surely they're faster"
Arthur—the blonde-chuckled dryly. "Of course not, you idiot. Can you imagine a whole class riding dragons into port?"
Before Arche could fire back, a timid voice called out from behind them.
"U-Um... A-Arche..."
It was Luna, their soft-spoken classmate, standing with her satchel clutched tight and her cheeks a faint pink.
She shifted her weight nervously, as if just speaking up took all her courage.
"Um... when we go back to the academy," she began hesitantly, "if you'd like... I could give you a potion. Something to help with your seasickness..."
"You can?" Arche suddenly straightened, staring at her as though she'd just revealed a hidden superpower.
"If you had one, why didn't you just give it to me before the trip?"
"Ah-! S-sorry! I... I didn't know you got seasick..." Luna admitted, flustered.
Arthur raised a brow and snorted in amusement. "You never even told us, Arche. I thought you were too proud to admit it."
Before the banter could continue, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the chatter:
"You three! Over here—now!"
The trio flinched and scrambled to join the neat line of students gathering on the pier.
Standing at the head of the group was their homeroom teacher, Rufina—a tall woman in a crisp white coat and boots that gleamed in the morning sun.
Her cool gaze swept over the students like a hawk watching over her fledglings.
"Listen up!" Rufina barked, her voice carrying over the sound of gulls and waves.
"After the inter-class competition here in Cururunelvia, you will each receive a one-month vacation in this country."
"Consider it a reward—if you can prove yourselves."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of a smirk on her lips.
"Frankly, I still doubt any of you can actually win. But after you've experienced what this island has to offer, I expect you to come back stronger."
"You will win the next competition—and cement this class as the best in all of Feohtere Academy."
Her tone left no room for argument.
"And don't make me repeat what I already explained on the ship. You all paid attention, didn't you?"
A collective murmur of agreement ran through the students.
Rufina's sharp heels clicked as she turned back toward the road, her long coat fluttering dramatically in the sea breeze.
"Then let's move. Welcome to Cururunelvia... and don't embarrass me."
What Rufina didn't realize—too focused on leading her class like a drill sergeant—was that one particular student wasn't listening to a word she said.
And, of course, it was none other than the emerald-eyed boy himself: Arche.
In his defense, it wasn't exactly his fault. He was still swaying on his feet, dizzy and nauseous, his head spinning like the ship's propellers had never stopped.
While the other students nodded obediently at Rufina's stern instructions, Arthur even chimed in with an enthusiastic, "Yes, ma'am—" before glancing to his side.
Only to realize his best friend was... gone.
"Huh?" Arthur blinked at the empty space next to him. "Arche—?"
"He ran off to find the bathroom," came a casual voice from behind.
Arthur whipped around, startled, and found himself staring at a nonchalant boy in dark sunglasses who leaned against a post like he owned the place.
The boy lazily jabbed a finger at the ground, where Arche's bag and other belongings had been unceremoniously dumped.
"Oh—and he left all his stuff for you to carry," he added with an almost amused smirk.
"Murphy?!" Arthur blurted out, flabbergasted. "When did you get here?!"
Murphy simply adjusted his sunglasses and shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I've always been here."
"You're just bad at noticing things."
"Seriously?" Arthur grumbled, crouching down to pick up Arche's bag with a resigned sigh.
"Arthur, come on!" another voice called.
This time it was Selene, her blue hair catching the sunlight as she glanced back at him impatiently. "You don't want to get lost on the first day, do you?"
Arthur groaned. "Yeah, yeah, coming..."
But then his gaze flicked worriedly to the road where Arche had disappeared earlier. "You think he's gonna be okay...? He's not exactly... uh... reliable."
Murphy pushed himself off the post with a lazy stretch.
"Relax. Arche may be stupid sometimes, but he's not dumb enough to actually get lost," he said dryly, walking past Arthur.
"Besides... Rufina already told us where the hotel is. Even he should manage to find his way there eventually."
Arthur exhaled, reassured—at least a little. "...You're probably right."
Hoisting Arche's bag onto his shoulder, he finally fell into step with his classmates.
At the front of the group, Rufina was already marching toward the main street, her coat fluttering behind her as she barked reminders about curfew and decorum.
She never even looked back.
Not once did she notice that one of her students had wandered off and was nowhere to be seen.
Meanwhile—elsewhere in the lively streets of Cururunelvia—one student sat slumped on a low stone bench, trying to steady his spinning head.
"Hm..." he muttered under his breath, finally glancing up and taking in his surroundings.
"...Where am I?"
The sight before him was-put mildly-not what he was used to.
The cobblestone avenue bustled with people of all kinds—tall, graceful elves, sharp-eyed beastkin with tails and ears that twitched at every sound, and, of course, ordinary humans.
They mingled seamlessly, chatting, bartering, carrying parcels under the warm glow of floating crystal lanterns.
Arche blinked a few times, still woozy. "...This is not what I expected at all."
Rubbing his temple, he stood up at last and began walking... aimlessly.
He had no idea where the hotel was. Not even a clue.
Because, of course, he hadn't heard a single word of what Rufina had said earlier. Seasickness was a cruel mistress.
But at least he did remember one thing Rufina said back on the ship: "There are no mages in this country. And if you're a mage, don't even bother—you won't be able to cast here anyway."
Why that was the case, Arche couldn't say. But right now, it didn't matter.
What did matter... was finding his classmates. Preferably before he got himself even more hopelessly lost.
"...Right. Let's just keep walking and hope I see someone I know," he muttered, trying to convince himself this was a good plan.
Not long after, Arche's steps slowed to a stop as something caught his eye.
It was a quaint shop.
A wooden sign, its letters painted in a graceful script:
RIVIERE ANTIQUES
"An antique shop...?" Arche murmured, emerald eyes narrowing with curiosity.
He'd always had a soft spot for antique things. There was something about their history—the way each scratch and dent told a story—that fascinated him.
His curiosity gnawed at him, louder and louder, until at last he found himself standing before the shop's weathered door.
"Well... just a peek won't hurt, right?" he murmured, almost to himself.
Gripping the handle, he pushed the door open, the faint chime of a bell announcing his entry as he stepped inside.
Inside the shop, the faint scent of old wood and lavender filled the air.
Trinkets and relics lined the shelves, each one humming with silent history. But Arche barely noticed any of them.
Because his eyes... had already fallen on her.
Seated at a table by the window, a woman sipped her tea with a quiet grace.
Her crimson hair was like a streak of fire amidst the muted tones of the shop, drawing every eye to her without even trying.
And then—she looked up.
Her gaze locked onto him, and Arche froze in place, his hand still gripping the door handle.
Emerald green met ultramarine blue.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop.
Arche stood there, speechless, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't quite explain.
The woman set her delicate cup down onto its plate with a faint clink, then rose from her seat, her movements effortlessly elegant.
"Welcome," she said warmly, her voice carrying a calm confidence that somehow unsettled him even more. "I'm pleased to have you here."
She approached him with quiet steps, her long dress whispering against the wooden floor.
Arche's eyes followed her almost helplessly, his heart hammering for reasons that made no sense.
In all his life... he'd never felt anything quite like this.
There was only one word echoing in his mind as she stopped before him, her lips curved in a gentle smile.
Gorgeous.
For a moment, all he could do was stare, as though his tongue had forgotten how to form words.
The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint curiosity flickering in her blue eyes.
"...You're not the talkative type, are you?" she said with a small, knowing smile, one hand resting lightly on her hip.
The teasing lilt in her tone jolted Arche back to reality.
He shook his head quickly, "Ah—sorry. Maybe it's just... the seasickness still messing with me," he said, finally managing to find his voice.
The woman's piercing ultramarine eyes swept over Arche, studying him from head to toe. Her gaze was neither hostile nor rude—just... curious.
She frowned slightly. "Seasickness? You... traveled here by ship?" she asked, her tone laced with surprise.
Then, as though catching herself, she added with a faint shake of her head, "But... that's impossible. The ship bound for the Land of Prayer only departs once a year."
Her words carried disbelief and a hint of suspicion, her brows knitting ever so slightly.
Arche, unfazed, crossed his arms and met her gaze evenly.
"My academy is one of the best academies in the world," he said matter-of-factly.
"For occasions like this, they provide a special ship to bring students here for holiday programs."
The woman's eyes widened at his explanation, a quiet understanding dawning on her features.
"...I see. So you're a student from a famous academy," she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Her gaze lingered on his uniform now, as though the strange cut and fabric suddenly made sense.
"And what's a student like you doing in my little shop, hm?" she added, tilting her head slightly, her crimson hair spilling over her shoulder.
Arche glanced around, emerald eyes scanning the rows of relics and trinkets, before meeting her eyes again.
"I happen to have a fondness for antiques... and old barnabs," he replied calmly, though the faint glint in his eyes betrayed his genuine interest.
"Is that so?"
Her lips curved into a brighter smile this time, warm and just a little amused.
"I suppose the taste of an academy student is much more refined than I gave credit for," she said lightly.
She gestured gracefully toward the shelves and displays around them.
"Please—have a look around," she offered kindly, stepping aside to give him space.
Arche strolled deeper into the shop, his fingers occasionally brushing over weathered wood or polished brass.
His eyes fell on a plain white canvas leaning against a stand near the corner.
He frowned slightly. "...What's so antique about this?"
Behind him, a soft chuckle rang out.
The woman came to stand at his side, her expression touched with quiet pride.
"This one's rather special," she said as she lifted the canvas into her hands.
"Look closely, okay?"
And with that, she pressed her fingers to the blank surface.
To Arche's astonishment, colors bloomed instantly wherever her fingertips moved—lines and shapes forming without a single brush.
The image of a bird in flight began to take shape, vivid and alive.
"This canvas can draw anything you imagine, even without a brush," she explained, glancing at him with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"And if you ever want to erase it, all you need is a damp cloth. Neat, isn't it?"
She stepped back, holding the painted canvas proudly, her crimson hair catching the light as her smile deepened.
For a moment, Arche couldn't help but stare—not at the canvas, but at her.
"How... is that even possible?" Arche asked at last, his voice betraying a mix of skepticism and awe as he eyed the strange canvas in her hands.
The woman simply smiled, her ultramarine eyes sparkling faintly.
"Because," she said lightly, "this is a Sancta."
Arche blinked. The word was entirely unfamiliar to him.
"…Santa?" he repeated blankly.
At that, the woman couldn't hold back her laugh. A soft, lilting giggle escaped her lips as she shook her head, her crimson hair swaying.
"It's Sancta, not Santa," she corrected, amusement dancing in her eyes.
The woman gently set the canvas back on its stand and turned to him, her tone shifting into something more instructive, yet still warm.
"Sancta are physical objects," she began, her words measured and clear.
"Objects born from a strong prayer... or an unshakable wish. When such a prayer is granted at the Cathedral, it takes form—like this canvas here."
She gestured at it, her fingers brushing the edge almost fondly.
"A Sancta embodies the meaning and intent of its owner's prayer. That's why they come in countless forms... and their powers are just as varied. No two are quite alike."
Arche listened silently, though his emerald eyes gleamed with growing curiosity.
"And so," the woman continued with a faint shrug, "people come to my little shop to sell their Sancta... or to buy one. That's what I do here."
Arche folded his arms, his gaze lingering on the canvas before returning to her.
"That's... actually really interesting," he murmured honestly.
The woman's lips curved into another gentle smile. "I thought you might say that."
She gestured to a nearby chair.
"Why don't you sit for a while? I'll make some tea," she offered kindly.
Arche hesitated for a beat before nodding. "...Sure."
He settled into the chair she indicated, watching as she moved with quiet grace behind a small counter, setting out a porcelain teapot and cups.
The faint scent of black tea began to fill the shop.
"I don't often see students from an academy here," she remarked lightly as she worked. "So, you're a pleasant surprise."
Then, as she began pouring steaming tea into the cups, she glanced at him with a polite smile.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" she asked.
Arche gave a little shrug, leaning back in his chair.
"Go ahead," he said simply, his curiosity about her and this strange shop only growing stronger.
"First of all," she said, her tone calm but inquisitive, "can you tell me your name? You... haven't mentioned it yet."
She brought her own cup to her lips, taking a quiet sip as she watched him expectantly.
Arche blinked, a little startled by the realization.
"Oh. Right. It's... Arche," he said at last, clearing his throat a little awkwardly.
Across from him, her blue eyes seemed to sparkle faintly as she repeated his name, almost as though tasting it.
Then she set her cup down and gave him a faint, warm smile.
"My name is Riviere. It's nice to meet you, Arche," she said simply, her crimson hair falling like silk over her shoulder.
Arche only nodded in reply. In his head, though, the thought quietly slipped through before he could stop it:
Riviere... what a beautiful name.
But for some reason... he didn't say it out loud. A brief silence passed before she spoke again.
"Second," she began, her head tilting slightly, "do you like dark tea?"
The question caught him off guard.
"...Dark tea?" he echoed, glancing down at the deep—colored liquid in his cup as if seeing it for the first time.
"Yeah. I love them." he answered honestly.
Riviere froze for a beat—then broke into a bright, almost childlike grin.
"I'm glad to see you have good taste!" she said, her tone brimming with enthusiasm.
Her fingers curled delicately around her cup as she added, almost with a little huff,
"A lot of people these days don't appreciate dark tea... but people like you make me happy. It feels like there's still hope for refined taste in the world."
Arche couldn't help but watch her quietly for a moment. There was something unexpectedly... childish and cute about the way her eyes sparkled when she said that.
He let out a quiet chuckle, then explained, "I live with my grandparents. They always brewed dark tea for me since I was little... guess it stuck."
Riviere arched an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a teasing smile.
"So you live with your grandparents? I imagine they spoil you quite a lot, then," she said, her tone playful yet knowing.
She lifted her cup again, taking another slow sip, her eyes never quite leaving him.
Across from her, Arche closed his eyes and let the faint bitterness of the dark tea fill his senses, savoring every note of it.
"Then..." Riviere's voice cut softly through the quiet clink of porcelain.
"Where are your friends?" she asked, her ultramarine eyes watching him with faint curiosity.
Arche, who'd just taken another sip of her perfectly brewed dark tea, froze mid-thought.
He set the cup back down on its small plate with an almost mechanical motion.
"I forgot," he said flatly, his tone devoid of shame.
Riviere blinked—then giggled into her hand, her crimson hair swaying as her shoulders shook lightly.
"You forgot," she repeated with a laugh, her smile growing warmer.
"Your friends must be really worried about you right now," she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.
Arche shrugged, reaching for his cup again. "Well, they already know I can take care of myself," he replied, as though that settled the matter.
But as he raised the cup to his lips, the image of Arthur flashed in his mind—his loyal, exasperated friend who never left his side, who probably hadn't stopped looking for him since he disappeared from the group.
Arche's expression twitched faintly.
"Maybe not," he admitted a second later, lowering the cup as his confidence visibly crumbled.
Riviere couldn't hold back a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.
"You're honest, I'll give you that," she murmured with a grin.
Arche didn't answer this time, simply finishing the last of his tea with a quiet sigh.
He set the empty cup down and stood, his chair scraping softly against the wooden floor.
"I think I should head back now," he said at last, his voice steady. "Thank you for the tea. I loved it."
Riviere rose from her seat as well, her arms crossing lightly over her chest as she watched him walk toward the door.
"Of course you loved it," she replied with a hint of smugness, her eyes glinting as if to say naturally, it's my tea after all.
Then her expression softened, her smile turning genuinely warm.
"It's been a pleasure talking with you," she said sincerely. "Come back another time, won't you?"
Arche paused at the door, his hand on the handle.
"Of course," he said, glancing back at her with a faint grin of his own. "There are still plenty of things I want to ask you."
As Arche pushed open the door of the shop, a sudden blur of white streaked past his face, carried on a rush of air.
"Huh—?!" Arche staggered back, startled, his emerald eyes following the shape as it darted into the sky.
It was a bird.
Or at least... something like a bird.
Its feathers were pure white, but its entire body was outlined with thin black lines—like a rough sketch brought to life.
"What is that?" Arche muttered under his breath, still staring after it as it flew into the distance.
Behind him, he felt a presence.
Riviere had stepped outside as well, her crimson hair catching in the faint breeze.
"I don't know either," she admitted softly, her voice low.
But before either of them could speculate further, the ground began to tremble beneath their feet.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound was unmistakable-heavy, deliberate stomps that rattled the wooden boards of the shop's porch.
Arche turned his gaze forward and felt his breath catch.
A massive white elephant ambled into view, its towering form outlined just like the bird's—black, unfinished strokes framing its shape.
Its trunk swung lazily, its mismatched eyes scanning the street as though it belonged here.
Arche's brow furrowed.
"I know there are all kinds of races here, beastkin, elves, humans..." he muttered, almost to himself.
"But that?"
Even Riviere, usually so composed, looked genuinely surprised as her eyes narrowed, as if trying to determine whether she was imagining things.
"...That's definitely not normal," she said finally, her voice firmer now.
Arche, still staring, caught movement above them out of the corner of his eye.
When he looked up, he froze.
A thin, lanky figure sat cross-legged on a nearby rooftop. His turquoise hair fluttered slightly as he leaned over a canvas perched on his knees.
A long brush moved quickly in his hand, and with each stroke, a shape formed and began to peel off the canvas itself—another creature, this time an eagle, beating its wings as it sprang into the air and soared past Arche's head.
Arche's eyes widened.
"What the—?"
Before he could react further, a hand shot past him and pushed the door shut with a sharp click.
"I don't want any strange animals wandering into my shop," Riviere said matter-of-factly.
Arche blinked at her, then glanced back at the door in disbelief. "Wait."
Ignoring her protests, he yanked the door open again and craned his neck to peer up at the roof.
But the man was already gone.
The rooftop was empty, save for the faint flutter of an eagle's feather drifting down from above.
Riviere raised a brow at him, folding her arms as she watched his puzzled expression.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her tone edged with curiosity now.
Arche didn't take his eyes off the roof as he answered.
"I saw someone," he began slowly, "...painting. And whatever he painted it came off the canvas."
Riviere's ultramarine eyes widened in visible surprise.
"What do you mean the painting came to life?" she asked sharply, her voice betraying her disbelief.
She stared at Arche, half-expecting to see some hint of mischief or exaggeration in his expression. But instead his emerald eyes were unwavering, deadly serious.
The strange white elephant let out a low, hollow moan as it lumbered past them, its massive body outlined in those same black, sketchy strokes.
Without missing a beat, Arche raised his finger and pointed directly at it.
"Like that," he said flatly.
"The painting that man made became a living creature," Arche continued, his tone calm but firm. "I saw it with my own eyes. There's no mistake."
Riviere froze, her breath catching slightly.
But then her expression shifted. Her eyes narrowed, and after a tense second, she muttered under her breath as if pieces of a puzzle were falling into place.
"That means..." she whispered, her gaze still fixed on the creature's retreating form.
"The person you saw was using a Sancta."
Arche's eyes hardened as he repeated the word. "Sancta, huh..."
Then, with a quiet sigh, he straightened his back and clenched his fists.
"Either way, we can't just stand here and let him keep creating more of these things."
"If he keeps going he could ruin this whole place." His voice carried an edge of conviction now.
Riviere glanced at him briefly-then nodded in agreement.
"I agree with you," she said, her tone quiet but resolute. "Let's go."
And with that, she stepped briskly out of the shop, her dress swaying as she walked.
Arche followed close behind her, his emerald eyes scanning the crowded streets.
But after only a few moments, Riviere spoke again, her brow furrowed as she searched the bustling avenue.
"But how are we supposed to find him?" she asked, her tone a little sharper now, though not aimed at him.
Arche stopped in his tracks and looked around for a second. Then he turned to her, his expression calm and confident.
"You wait here," he said simply.
Before Riviere could even respond, he darted toward a narrow alley nearby.
"Wait—what are you—" she started, but her words caught in her throat as she watched him move.
With practiced ease, Arche climbed onto a dumpster, then kicked off the wall to grab a ledge above him.
He vaulted upward with fluid grace, his shoes barely making a sound as he scrambled higher and higher, finally pulling himself onto the rooftop of a nearby house.
From there, he straightened, scanning the city from his new vantage point, his emerald eyes sharp and focused.
Riviere could only watch from below, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted in surprise.
The way he moved—fast, precise, almost effortless—left her momentarily speechless
From his vantage point on the roof, Arche finally spotted him—the turquoise-haired man, still crouched on the far side, his brush dancing furiously across his canvas.
Arche narrowed his eyes.
Still at it, huh...?
But then... the man stopped.
Slowly, he turned his head—his sharp gaze locking with Arche's for the first time.
For a split second, neither moved. Then the man's lips curled into a faint smirk.
In one swift motion, he slashed his brush across the canvas.
With a sudden burst of air, a flock of white doves, outlined in those same dark strokes, exploded into existence—wings flapping wildly as they shot straight toward Arche.
"Tch—!"
Arche dropped into a low crouch and slid down the slanted roof tiles, his shoes scraping as he descended at full speed.
The doves' wings cut the air around him as he landed hard on the street below with a heavy thud.
Pain shot up his legs, sharp and hot, but his face betrayed nothing.
He forced himself upright, his emerald eyes still fixed forward, his jaw tight.
From the ground, Riviere had seen everything—how fast he'd reacted, how deftly he'd evaded the attack. Her lips parted slightly in quiet awe.
And then she was at his side in an instant.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft-tinged with clear worry.
Arche's legs trembled beneath him, every muscle screaming, but he managed to straighten his back with sheer force of will.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Let's go after him."
But when he took his first step, his knees nearly buckled.
Riviere caught his shoulders quickly, her ultramarine eyes narrowing at him, her expression somewhere between exasperation and concern.
"You can barely walk," she said bluntly, her grip on him firm.
Arche winced faintly but said nothing, waiting for the tremors in his legs to subside.
In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her face—her quiet determination, her unwavering attention.
It was... nothing special, really. Anyone would've helped someone in his condition.
And yet...
Something inside him twisted at the sight.
...Pathetic.
He almost hated himself for feeling something over such a trivial gesture.
After a long breath, he straightened at last, brushing her hands from his shoulders.
"I'm fine now," he muttered.
Riviere didn't look entirely convinced, her ultramarine eyes narrowing slightly at him.
But after a moment, seeing the firm, unyielding expression on Arche's face, she decided not to press the matter.
"Fine," she murmured, her tone still skeptical.
But then, as they started walking again, she shot him a sidelong glance, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"Why did you jump straight down like that anyway?" she asked, her voice teasing.
"Couldn't you have... you know, parkoured back down like you climbed up? You made it look so easy going up."
Arche stiffened ever so slightly. He turned his face away, as though suddenly very interested in a random crack on the ground.
"...I was panicking," he admitted curtly.
Riviere blinked—then chuckled softly, a light, airy laugh that made her crimson hair sway.
"Oh?" she murmured, her voice tinged with amusement. "Are you embarrassed, perhaps?"
Her teasing was gentle, but it still made the tips of Arche's ears heat faintly.
He sighed, his emerald eyes narrowing as if to shut her out entirely.
"Let's just go find that guy."
And without waiting for a response, he broke into a sudden run, his long strides carrying him ahead.
Riviere blinked in surprise, her smirk fading.
"H-Hey—! Wait up!" she called out, startled at how fast he was moving despite barely being able to stand moments ago.
With a faint huff, she chased after him, her skirt swishing as her boots clattered against the stone.
When she finally caught up to him, gasping for breath, Arche stood perfectly still in the middle of the street, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on something ahead.
Riviere bent slightly forward, her cheeks flushed from exertion as she glared up at him between breaths.
"C-Can you..." pant "...run slower?" she demanded, her tone sharp with annoyance.
But Arche didn't even glance at her. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his emerald eyes darkening, his brows furrowing deeply.
And then—
"Get down!" he barked.
Before Riviere could even process his words, Arche's hand shot out, gripping the back of her head firmly and shoving her down to the ground.
She gasped, startled by his sudden force, her breath catching as her knees hit the dirt.
She instinctively turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of him beside her—also crouched low, his body tense, his hand still steady on her head.
And then—fwip!
Something sharp and fast sliced through the air just above them.
An arrow.
Riviere's eyes went wide at his words.
Someone... shot at us?!
Her heart skipped a beat as she immediately raised her eyes toward the direction the arrow had come from, her gaze scanning the rooftops and alleys for any sign of their attacker.
Slowly, Arche released his grip on the back of her head and stood, his posture still rigid and alert.
Following his gaze, Riviere spotted it—just barely visible in the shadows of a nearby alley, the faint silhouette of someone crouched low, trying to remain unseen.
The hunter had revealed himself.
The skinny man's brush moved with frightening speed, his turquoise hair catching the dim light as his hand slashed across the canvas.
From the shadows of the alley, black-stroked shapes bled into reality—forming into a solid white wall that rose abruptly, blocking their path completely.
Dust scattered as the wall finished materializing, tall and imposing, cutting off any view of the man as he slipped away behind it.
Arche skidded to a halt, his teeth gritted.
"Tch..."
The mysterious painter had gotten away again.
At his side, Riviere caught up and stopped, She stared at the wall for a moment before letting out a long, frustrated sigh.
"He's getting away again" she muttered under her breath.
But then Arche turned slightly, his sharp emerald eyes softening as he tilted his head toward her.
"Rather than that," he said quietly, "are you okay?"
Riviere blinked.
Her gaze snapped to him, surprise flashing across her face. Of all things he could've said, she hadn't expected that.
Not with the culprit escaping right before their eyes.
And yet, here he was... asking about her first.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, warm and sincere.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice softer now. "Thanks to you."
She meant it, too—if not for his quick reaction earlier, that arrow would've found her.
Hearing her words, Arche exhaled quietly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.
"That's good."
And just like that, his expression hardened again, his focus snapping back to the wall in front of them.
"Let's go after him."
Riviere could only nod, a little taken aback by how quickly he shifted back into pursuit mode.
"Yeah. Let's go."
He's... something else, she thought to herself as they moved, her eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer.
Even though he cared enough to ask about her safety, his determination to catch that man hadn't faltered one bit.
But as they turned into the next street, they were met with another wall.
And the next path.
And the next.
Every route they tried was already blocked off by those strange, white walls, each one as tall as the last, cutting off any chance of pursuit.
Finally, they stopped in front of yet another wall.
Riviere glared up at it, her frustration simmering as she crossed her arms.
"This guy is really good at making trouble," she muttered through gritted teeth, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Arche's emerald eyes narrowed as he stared up at the towering wall blocking their way.
Without hesitation, he crouched low-and sprang upward in one fluid motion, his fingers catching the top edge.
With practiced strength, he pulled himself up and swung a leg over, perching easily atop the wall.
From above, he extended a hand downward.
"Come on," he called simply, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
Riviere blinked, startled. She hadn't expected him to scale the wall so easily—let alone turn around and offer to pull her up.
For a moment she hesitated, her ultramarine eyes darting between his hand and his steady expression.
"You're serious?" she muttered, half to herself.
But then she sighed, placed her hand in his and the next thing she knew, she was being hoisted effortlessly upward.
Her boots barely grazed the wall before he had pulled her up completely.
Before she could even thank him, however—he did something completely unexpected.
Arche shifted his grip, scooping her up into his arms in one smooth motion—like a princess from some fairy tale—and jumped.
"Wha—HEY!?"
The air rushed past her as they descended, Arche's hold on her steady and secure as they landed on the opposite side of the wall.
He didn't set her down roughly, either—he crouched to absorb the impact, then lowered her gently onto her feet.
Riviere froze, her crimson hair falling into her face as she stared at him in speechless shock.
"Hm? What?" Arche asked, tilting his head as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
Riviere blinked a few times, utterly at a loss.
Is he... this nonchalant by nature, or just an idiot? she wondered, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Instead of saying that out loud, she sighed, brushing the dust off her clothes. "Nothing. Just—thanks."
"Mm." He nodded like he'd just solved the mysteries of the universe, then bolted off again without waiting.
Riviere followed, her lips curling into an amused smile despite herself.
They darted through the streets until the buildings widened into the open square at the center of town.
And there, seated on a low stone platform, they finally saw him—the turquoise-haired painter.
He was hunched over his canvas, his brush moving with frenzied speed, his lips curled into a wide, unhinged smile.
When he finally noticed Arche and Riviere approaching, his grin faltered, his eyes narrowing into a glare.
"Tch..." he hissed.
"You two... why are you still chasing me?!"
His voice cracked slightly, as though equal parts anger and disbelief, as though he hadn't expected anyone to make it this far.
They stood in the center of the ruined square, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of paint.
All around them, the aftermath of chaos stretched—broken stalls, shattered stones, claw marks gouged into the ground.
The strange creatures born of canvas had left their mark here.
Arche's emerald eyes swept the scene coldly before landing on the painter, his expression hardening.
"You, yourself," Arche began, his tone even but sharp, "why are you doing all this?"
The thin man froze for a beat... before chuckling darkly.
And then—he threw his head back and screamed.
"BECAUSE THIS COUNTRY DOESN'T UNDERSTAND MY ART!"
Riviere groaned audibly, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as if his words physically pained her.
"So this is it?" she muttered flatly. "You're throwing a tantrum because people don't understand your art?"
She glanced sidelong at Arche, and for a moment they shared a wordless realization:
This man was nothing more than a petulant artist having a spectacular meltdown.
"Yes! That's right!" the man barked, straightening abruptly. His arm shot out dramatically to point at them, his eyes wide and wild.
"They've always dismissed my paintings... called them childish, amateurish!"
His voice cracked as he continued, bitterness dripping from every word.
"My paintings have never been appreciated! Never! And that's why..."
He took a deep breath, his fingers trembling as he clenched his fist.
"I'll DESTROY this country... with the very paintings they belittled!!"
His frustration, his anger, his years of quiet resentment—everything he'd bottled up—spilled out, each syllable raw and jagged.
Riviere stared at him for a moment, her initial irritation melting into something more complicated.
She still thought his actions were despicable, but there was something... pitiful in the way his voice shook.
Something human in his bitterness.
Even so... it didn't excuse him.
She glanced at Arche quietly, curious to see how he'd respond.
Arche simply stared back at the painter, his face utterly blank. Then, with perfect deadpan delivery, he muttered:
"Talk about overreacting."
Riviere pressed her fingers to her lips, stifling a laugh.
She had to give him credit—his timing and tone were impeccable.
The painter, however, was anything but amused. His face flushed with rage.
"Overreacting?!" he shrieked. "HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF YOUR TALENT WAS MOCKED, HUH?!"
His voice cracked again as his whole body shook with anger.
Arche let out a long, tired sigh, as though the entire thing bored him more than it angered him.
"Well," he said calmly, "I'd just ignore it."
That stopped the painter cold.
"Because," Arche continued, his emerald eyes narrowing just slightly, "why waste time crying over insults when you can use them to improve yourself instead?"
The words hung in the air like a quiet slap, sharp and cutting.
For the first time, the painter faltered, his expression twisting into something between fury... and shame.
Riviere couldn't help but glance at Arche, her ultramarine eyes glinting with a mixture of admiration and faint surprise.
His calm, cutting response had completely deflated the painter's dramatic outburst.
The turquoise-haired man froze for a beat, fists trembling as his voice cracked with raw frustration.
"You don't get it! When dozens of people mock you—laugh at you—dismiss your art—it eats away at you!"
Arche didn't so much as flinch.
His expression stayed neutral, almost bored, as if he were listening to the weather report instead of an emotional outburst.
He exhaled through his nose, rolled his eyes faintly, and gave a half-hearted wave of his hand.
"Wow. Riveting. Truly heartbreaking," he muttered, his voice flat but cutting. "Maybe you should cry a little louder—so the gods can hear how tragic your life is."
The man's jaw clenched, his face twitching with suppressed rage.
Arche's gaze didn't change; calm, detached, a faint glimmer of disdain in his eyes.
"Or maybe—" he added softly, almost like an afterthought, "—they're ignoring you too. Ouch."
The painter's face flushed deep red, veins pulsing in his neck as his fists clenched tight.
"How dare you..." he seethed, his eyes narrowing into a venomous glare. "Who do you think you are?!"
Arche simply met his gaze with a calm, indifferent stare.
"Arche," he replied casually, as though stating the weather. "Just a random student."
That finally broke Riviere's composure. She let out a small laugh, her hands settling on her hips as her lips curled into a playful smirk.
"And I'm Riviere," she added smoothly. "Just a shop owner."
The man's jaw clenched at their irreverence. His fingers gripped his brush with white-knuckled fury, and he slashed it across his canvas in a fit of rage.
Bright strokes of white light surged from the canvas, forming into towering walls that rose on all sides—sealing off the square, trapping the three of them inside.
The only way out now... was through him.
The painter's chest heaved as he glared at them from across the enclosure, his turquoise hair falling into his wild eyes.
"My name is Silas!" he roared, raising his brush like a weapon. "I'll make sure you at least know the name of the man who defeats you!"
Arche's expression didn't change—except for the faintest twist of his lips into a look of pure disgust.
"Cringe," he muttered under his breath.
That earned another laugh from Riviere, who shook her head with a smirk.
"He really does sound like the villain from some badly written story," she quipped, her ultramarine gaze fixed on Silas with a hint of mockery.
The turquoise-haired painter bristled at their words, his whole frame shaking with fury.
Arche's sharp emerald eyes shifted toward her.
"...Riviere," he called, his voice low and calm even in the tense silence.
Riviere's head snapped toward him, her ultramarine eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.
"Yes?" she replied, tilting her head just enough for a few strands of crimson hair to fall over her cheek.
Arche didn't answer at first. Instead, he stepped closer—closing the distance between them until his lips were just near her ear.
He began to whisper.
Riviere's eyes widened faintly as she listened, then quickly softened into something brighter.
She nodded as she absorbed the details, a spark of understanding lighting up her gaze.
When he finally pulled back, her lips curved into a confident grin.
"Alright," she said softly. "I got it."
Across the square, Silas straightened suddenly, his turquoise hair falling across his wild eyes.
His brush hovered over the canvas, his voice dripping with impatience.
"Have you two finally cooked up a plan?" he sneered, his tone mocking. "Because I'm more than ready to finish you both off!"
Riviere didn't even flinch. Instead, she flashed Silas a daring grin.
"It's showtime."
Arche blinked, turning his gaze to her, caught off-guard by the strange, almost playful declaration.
"Huh?" He echoed, his brow quirking as he eyed her curiously.
"It's just a phrase," she explained with a faint laugh. "Something people say before a big fight or performance."
Her eyes glimmered mischievously as she added, "It adds a little flair to the moment."
Arche tilted his head slightly, still staring at her as though trying to fully grasp her reasoning.
"I see," he said at last, his tone quiet but thoughtful.
He gave a small nod, though his eyes still held a faint glint of confusion.
After a moment, he added, almost absentmindedly:
"I'd like to ask you more about that catchphrase later."
Riviere smiled warmly at him and nodded in return.
But before either of them could say another word, Silas's enraged voice cut through the moment like a blade.
"Enough TALKING!" he roared, his brush glowing as he raised it high. "It's time to FIGHT!"
Silas finished his drawing, and from his canvas, three white wolves with bold black outlines along their bodies leapt into reality.
Riviere grabbed a metal pipe lying nearby and tossed it to Arche. "Careful," she warned.
Arche gave a sharp nod, gripping the pipe tightly before charging at the wolves.
With a powerful swing, he smashed the pipe into the skull of the nearest wolf, eliciting a pained snarl as the beast staggered, momentarily stunned.
From the side, another wolf lunged at him, jaws wide. Arche reacted instantly, shoving the pipe horizontally into its maw, letting the creature bite down hard on the metal.
Sensing movement behind him, Arche didn't hesitate—he vaulted over the immobilized wolf, landing just behind the first one, which was still writhing from his earlier blow.
With a fierce tug, he yanked the wolf's tail, spun it around with brute strength, and hurled it straight into the wolf still clamped on the pipe.
The two wolves collided mid-air and crashed to the ground in a heap. The third wolf released the pipe, which clattered onto the floor.
But there was no time to rest. Without a sound, the wolf lunged again, its gaze fixed on Arche.
He darted toward a nearby storefront, drawing the beast closer.
With a feral snarl, the wolf leapt, aiming to tear into him—but at the last second, Arche sidestepped with a swift pivot.
The wolf sailed past him and crashed headfirst through the shop's glass window.
The glass shattered, shards embedding into the creature's white pelt as it let out an agonized, guttural growl, writhing amid the wreckage.
The three wolves slowly faded away, dissolving into nothingness.
When Arche turned to check, he saw Silas already fuming, furiously sketching again.
"How will you beat this?!" Silas roared, holding up his latest drawing—a massive white rhinoceros, which immediately tore itself free from the canvas and charged into reality.
The beast wasted no time. It lowered its horn and thundered toward Arche with terrifying speed.
Arche, without missing a beat, sprinted toward a painted wall Silas had previously created.
As the rhino closed in, just a heartbeat away from skewering him, Arche leapt up at the last moment, gripping the top of the painted wall and vaulting over it.
The rhino crashed straight into the wall with an earth-shaking impact, and Arche landed deftly on its back, straddling the beast as it thrashed beneath him.
The rhino bucked wildly, trying to throw him off, but Arche held fast, gripping one of its ears and pulling hard, sending the creature into an even greater frenzy.
Bellowing, the rhino spun around, this time barreling straight toward the one who had summoned it.
Arche dropped down from its back just as it closed in on Silas. But Silas, unfazed, quickly scribbled a large cage around his own creation, trapping it just in time.
"Useless rhino!" he shouted in frustration, his voice cracking with anger.
"Fine then..." He slammed his brush to the canvas and began sketching once more.
This time, his hand moved faster and more viciously, lines forming the shapes of a pride of lions—each one poised to tear Arche to pieces right where he stood.
But just as Silas raised his glowing brush to the canvas—A rope suddenly coiled tightly around him from behind.
"What the—?!" Silas cried out, his turquoise eyes going wide in shock as the brush clattered from his hand, the canvas tumbling to the ground.
He twisted his head to look—and froze when he met the sharp ultramarine gaze of a woman with striking crimson hair.
Riviere's lips curved into a sly grin as she pulled the rope tighter, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"You bastard!" Silas spat, thrashing in her grasp, but it was useless.
His arms were pinned and the rope only dug in further as she yanked him away from his tools.
Arche came running up a second later, his emerald eyes calm and collected, his uniform only slightly dusted from the earlier scuffle.
All of this had gone exactly as he planned.
While he distracted Silas by keeping the man's fury squarely focused on himself, Riviere had slipped behind him unnoticed and quietly tied the rope in place.
Silas writhed in the bindings, veins standing out on his neck as he glared venomously at the two of them.
"You... you two...!" he growled through gritted teeth.
Riviere only smirked in reply, casually adjusting her grip on the rope before shooting Arche a glance.
Clenching her free hand into a fist, she held it out toward him with a proud little grin.
"I didn't expect he'd actually fall for that," she said, her tone dripping with amusement.
"Well, he's an idiot," Arche said dryly.
"That he is," Riviere agreed, letting out a light laugh. "You got that right."
"Hey! HEY!" Silas shouted, still straining uselessly against the ropes. "I'm RIGHT here, you know?!"
Neither of them even looked at him.
Instead, Riviere stepped closer to Arche, her grin softening into a more serious expression as she gave him a quick once-over.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine worry. "You just fought off a whole bunch of those wild creatures, after all."
Arche tilted his head slightly, as if to ease her concern.
"I'm fine," he replied simply. He even raised his arms lightly, turning a little to show her. "See? Not even a scratch."
Riviere's eyes swept him from head to toe, noting the dust and faint scuffs on his uniform—but no actual wounds.
After a beat, she nodded, letting out a small sigh of relief.
"That's good then," she murmured, her lips curling faintly.
Then Arche's gaze shifted slightly, his emerald eyes settling on her.
"How about you? You okay?" he asked evenly.
It was an obvious question—she clearly hadn't even broken a sweat—but something in his tone made it clear he still needed to ask.
Riviere's grin returned, full of quiet confidence as she placed a hand on her hip.
"Of course I am," she replied.
Her smirk widened as she leaned just slightly closer.
"I didn't even have to do any real work back there. You're the one who handled all the hard parts, you know?"
Suddenly, the sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoed from behind them.
Instinctively, Arche stepped forward, shielding Riviere with his body.
His emerald eyes narrowed as his hand hovered near his blade.
"ARCHE!"
The familiar voice made him pause.
He turned his head just as a man with blonde hair and dazzling diamond-blue eyes came barreling toward them at full speed.
"...Ah," Arche muttered, recognition dawning.
Arthur.
Arthur skidded to a halt in front of the two of them, chest heaving as he bent over, struggling to catch his breath.
"...I... finally... found you..." he panted, wiping sweat from his brow.
Riviere raised one elegant brow, glancing at Arche with an amused glint in her ultramarine eyes.
"He knows you?" she asked.
"Hm? No," Arche replied flatly, his tone as deadpan as ever.
Arthur shot him a tired glare, straightening up.
"Bad joke, Arche..." he muttered between breaths.
He took another deep inhale before continuing. "Where have you been?"
Arche shrugged, his gaze calm.
"Still in this country, obviously," he answered, as if that was explanation enough.
Arthur's jaw tightened in frustration.
"I've been searching everywhere for you," he said sharply.
Then his blue eyes flicked toward Riviere, narrowing slightly as he pointed a finger at her. "And... who's this woman?"
Riviere, who'd been quietly observing their back-and-forth with growing amusement, finally stepped forward.
Her crimson hair shifted slightly in the breeze as she gave Arthur a graceful smile.
"My name is Riviere," she said warmly. "Your friend Arche here has been assisting me."
Arthur blinked, caught off-guard by her poise. Then he quickly gave a small, polite bow.
"My name is Arthur," he said, flustered but managing a faint smile. "Nice to meet you."
But his eyes quickly darted past them, noticing for the first time the turquoise-haired man tied up behind them—struggling against the ropes, his face twisted in pure annoyance as he muttered curses under his breath.
"...Eh? What's... actually going on here?" Arthur asked, utterly bewildered.
Riviere chuckled softly and took it upon herself to explain.
"This man here—Silas," she began, gesturing lazily at the bound painter, "has been using his paintings to bring creatures to life and wreak havoc on the town."
Arthur's expression shifted between confusion and alarm as he glanced between Silas, Riviere, and then finally Arche.
"Huh? Then... are you two okay?" he asked, scanning both Arche and Riviere—who stood infront of him perfectly unharmed—and let out a deep sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness..." he muttered. But then, as if suddenly remembering something, his eyes went wide.
"Ah—rather than that!" Arthur blurted out, stepping forward frantically.
"Arche! Miss Rufina is looking for you! She's furious!" Arthur practically wailed.
At that, Arche's expression instantly went dull and lazy.
"Huh? Tell her I'm busy," he replied flatly, as though it were the most obvious solution in the world.
Riviere couldn't help but chuckle softly at his nonchalant attitude, covering her mouth as her ultramarine eyes sparkled with amusement.
Arthur, meanwhile, looked even more flustered.
"I don't think she'll accept that!" he cried, nearly pulling at his own hair.
"She'll burn you alive," he added with exasperation.
"She can't use her magic here," Arche replied matter-of-factly, his tone unbothered.
"...You're right," Arthur admitted after a beat, shoulders sagging in defeat.
At that, Riviere finally let out a laugh, her melodic voice cutting through the tension. She looked at Arche warmly, a playful smile on her lips.
"Arche, you better go," she said softly. "Don't worry—I can handle things here."
Her smile was so radiant, so effortlessly charming, that even Arche found himself pausing for half a second.
He stared at her, captivated... before finally letting out a quiet sigh and giving a faint nod.
"Alright. Let's go," he muttered, his expression as flat as ever—but the way he glanced back at Riviere betrayed just a hint of reluctance.
Arthur blinked, dumbfounded.
"W-Wow... how did you change his mind so quickly?" he asked Riviere incredulously.
But before Riviere could even open her mouth to reply, Arche reached over, grabbed Arthur by the back of his collar, and started walking off without another word.
"You're the one who's been forcing me to go," Arche said coolly as he dragged his friend along.
"W-Wait! A-Arche! You're strangling me!" Arthur sputtered, flailing helplessly as he was hauled away.
Arche didn't even look back—he just raised one hand and gave Riviere a small wave over his shoulder, his emerald eyes briefly meeting hers one last time.
Riviere smiled softly as she watched them disappear in sight.
Behind her, the sound of ropes straining caught Riviere's ear.
She didn't even turn her head.
"Don't even bother trying to escape," she said coldly, her ultramarine eyes sliding to Silas with a quiet, steely determination.
Silas groaned in frustration, continuing to writhe uselessly against the bindings.
"Let me go!" he barked, his voice breaking. "You don't understand... the greatness of my art!"
Riviere's arms folded across her chest, her gaze unyielding.
"Your art," she said sharply, "is nothing but destruction. Reckless. You never once thought of the consequences your actions would have on others."
Her tone softened slightly, though her eyes stayed on him.
"I saw one of your paintings once," she admitted. "And I knew right then—you had potential."
Silas froze, his breath catching.
"...You've... seen my painting?" he asked, his voice suddenly small, disbelieving.
Riviere gave a single, deliberate nod, knowing exactly how much those words would sting.
"Yes. I did," she said plainly. "And it was clear your talent was there. Unique even."
"But instead of growing stronger through criticism... you let anger consume you. You chose to throw it all away."
Her words hit him like a blade.
"You could have fixed the flaws. You could have proven them all wrong." Her eyes narrowed.
"But you chose despair instead."
Silas's trembling eyes dropped to the ground, his whole body slackening as tears welled in his eyes.
"...Why...?" His voice cracked as his tears fell freely. "Why am I... such a loser?!" His cry was desperate, furious-not at them anymore, but at himself.
Riviere didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her calm presence almost suffocating.
"Because you have no direction," she answered bluntly, each word striking true.
"When faced with challenge, you chose to run," she went on mercilessly, her piercing gaze cutting through him.
"You clung to the past, never looking forward. That's why... you're a loser."
Silas didn't argue. He couldn't.
Her words stripped him bare-because deep down, he already knew they were true.
And so, he wept quietly, shoulders shaking in bitter frustration, as Riviere stood silently, watching over him with a hard but honest stare.
After that, Silas was handed over to the city officers, his Sancta confiscated, and the chaos he'd caused in the town square finally undone—thanks to Riviere's own touch, dissolving the errant magic with practiced ease.
Later that evening, Riviere was back in her shop, quietly dusting the shelves, the soft scent of tea still faint in the air.
The little bell above the door jingled softly.
Riviere looked up from her work, and when her ultramarine gaze landed on the familiar figure stepping in, her lips curved into a warm smile.
"Arche," she greeted, still holding the feather duster delicately in one hand. "It's good to see you."
Arche closed the door behind him and sauntered in, his emerald eyes catching the light for just a second.
"Hey," he said casually, "am I disturbing you?"
Riviere shook her head lightly, her red hair swaying. "Not at all," she replied with her usual gentle charm.
"I was just cleaning up a bit."
Her eyes softened as she studied him more closely.
"You look tired," she remarked quietly, concern slipping into her voice.
Arche blinked, just a little caught off guard that she'd noticed.
"I'm tired of hearing Rufina nag me to death," he muttered, sinking into a chair with a sigh.
Riviere chuckled, finally setting her feather duster down on the table and taking the seat across from him.
"So," she asked, her tone teasing, "what did your teacher say?"
Arche slouched a little in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well... basically she chewed me out because I didn't show up at the hotel," he admitted.
"And?" Riviere pressed, leaning her cheek on one hand.
"I told her I didn't know the way," he continued flatly.
"Which, apparently, only made her angrier. Something about her already explaining everything back on the ship..."
He let out another sigh, looking away. "Not my fault I was too seasick to even focus," he grumbled under his breath.
When he glanced back, he noticed Riviere watching him quietly, her expression soft but with an amused glint in her eyes.
She smiled, resting her chin in her palm, as though she could sit there listening to him all night.
Arche blinked, realizing just how much he'd been rambling.
"What?" he asked, his voice quiet but a little defensive.
Riviere's smile only deepened.
"Nothing," she murmured, her voice warm and teasing. "You just talk more than before."
"O-Oh?" Arche blinked, and quickly cleared his throat, trying to play it off.
Riviere tilted her head, still smiling faintly.
"Then did your teacher give you a punishment?" she asked, her voice teasing but curious.
Arche leaned back in his chair and replied flatly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world,
"I was kicked out of the hotel. For three days."
His tone was so casual that Riviere couldn't help but blink in surprise.
"Three days?" she repeated.
"Mm." Arche nodded, his expression completely deadpan—as though being homeless for three nights was nothing to bat an eye at.
That's when Riviere finally noticed the worn-looking backpack slung over his shoulder.
Her eyes narrowed slightly in realization.
"So, have you found a place to stay tonight?" she asked, though the answer was already clear from the way he carried himself.
"No," he replied just as casually, not even a hint of worry in his voice.
For a moment, Riviere simply stared at him—then she chuckled softly, shaking her head in disbelief.
"You're surprisingly relaxed about your situation," she remarked with a little smirk, as though amused by how little he seemed to care.
Then she stood gracefully, her confident smile returning.
"Well then," she said, placing a hand on her hip as she looked down at him. "I can offer you something."
Arche raised an eyebrow, curious.
When he looked up, he saw Riviere extending her hand toward him, palm open, her ultramarine eyes gleaming with playful determination.
"Do you want to be my assistant?" she asked, her lips curling into a soft but confident smile.
Arche froze, blinking at her as if making sure he'd heard her right.
"Assistant?" he repeated, his tone skeptical yet intrigued.
Riviere gave a small nod, her red hair catching the light as she did.
"Mhm. You'll help me with my work here," she explained lightly, her tone smooth but with a teasing edge.
"And as payment," she added, her smile deepening, "you can stay here for a while. There happens to be another room you can use."
Her words hung in the air, her hand still waiting for his answer—her smile making it feel less like a proposition and more like a challenge.
Arche hadn't expected such an offer. For a moment, he just stood there, doubt flickering in his emerald eyes—yet, deep down, his heart screamed at him to accept.
Still, he hesitated.
"...But," he began carefully, "are you really okay living with a male like me? I mean—" He scratched his cheek awkwardly, glancing aside.
"Usually, women tend to have a problem with that, don't they?"
Riviere raised a single eyebrow at his words, but her friendly smile didn't falter.
"I don't have a problem with your gender," she replied simply, her tone calm yet full of quiet confidence.
Then she added, almost offhandedly, "Besides, you're only here temporarily. It's not like we'll be living together forever."
"And honestly, having a male assistant might even give me a fresh perspective."
Her confidence was almost overwhelming—and it left Arche momentarily at a loss for words.
He looked away, his expression faintly troubled, though he couldn't quite understand why.
Why was his heart beating so fast? Why did hearing her say those words stir something so unfamiliar in his chest?
After a long, quiet breath, he steeled himself, stood up straight, and extended his hand toward her.
"...Well then," he said, his voice low but steady, "it'll be a pleasure working with you, Lady."
Riviere raised her hand and clasped his firmly. But when she saw the seriousness on his face, she let out a light, melodic chuckle.
"You're so serious," she teased, her smile warm and amused. "No need to be so formal. Just call me Riviere."
"You're my boss now," he replied dryly, "so it only feels right to call you that. And you can call me anything you want."
"Oh?" Riviere's smirk widened, a playful glint in her ultramarine eyes.
"Alright then, Assistant," she said, taking his hand before shaking it.