While Aqua continued to enthusiastically play with his abs—fingers tracing every ridge and valley with an adoring look in her eyes—Cassius sat stiff and frozen on the low wooden stool.
He didn't know what to do.
He didn't know what to say.
His face was a perfect mask of confusion.
Brows furrowed, mouth slightly open, eyes wide like a deer caught in lantern light.
And just like on the outside, he was reeling internally as well.
After all, just moments ago he had told her that story—the one about the tiny barking dog and the childhood humiliation that had sparked years of secret training—because he genuinely wanted to make a good impression.
It wasn't even a lie; the original Cassius really had done exactly that.
He had trained, had pushed himself, had wanted more than anything to become someone who could stand in front of his big sister and protect her.
But the moment Aqua left for the capital, that same little boy had crumbled.
