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Isolte was pretending to sleep—and doing a terrible job of it. Everyone could tell.
And it was all Sylphie's fault.
A few hours earlier, when Isolte had witnessed Sylphie "naturally" dozing off, "naturally" treating the bed like a carriage cushion, and then "naturally" slipping down to rest her head on Allen's lap with a contented sigh before "falling asleep," she had been stunned.
Admittedly, the rocking of a carriage provided plenty of excuses for such behavior—losing balance "accidentally," dozing off from exhaustion, or even "unintentionally" clinging to Allen's waist because of the cold draft.
But tonight, none of those conditions existed. The drafty, rattling carriage had been replaced with a warm guest room and soft bedding.
Under these circumstances, how could Sylphie be so... skilled? It was too smooth. Too practiced.
As a disciplined practitioner of the Water God style, Isolte couldn't bring herself to fake it like that. Yet, Allen's lap was undeniably tempting—especially after tonight's events. She had already steeled herself for bolder steps, so settling for just leaning on his shoulder again was out of the question.
What to do?
The raven-haired girl only pondered for a moment before arriving at a solution that suited her perfectly.
She simply opened her eyes, glanced at Allen's lap, shifted into position, and laid her head down. Meeting his startled gaze for a brief second, she immediately closed her eyes and "fell asleep."
If I like him, I like him. No point hiding it.
But unlike Sylphie, Isolte stiffened almost instantly. This level of casual intimacy was unfamiliar to her, leaving her flustered and hyper-aware of Allen's reaction.
The two girls had vastly different histories with Allen, shaping their approaches.
Sylphie was used to physical contact with him. From their days in Buena Village, Allen had often held her hand. When they tumbled down the snowy ravine, he had clung to her tightly. So even if her "sleeping" act was transparent, resting on his lap felt completely natural to her.
But!
The moment her thoughts strayed toward anything further, Sylphie panicked. That was uncharted territory—especially with everything that had happened tonight and Isolte right beside them. So she stayed blissfully unaware, "sleeping" peacefully without a care.
She didn't even need to worry about Allen's reaction. She already knew he wouldn't say a word.
Isolte, on the other hand?
Her relationship with Allen had always been that of senior and junior disciple. Aside from the occasional head pat, they had little physical contact.
Yet, during Allen's absence from the capital, exposure to the scandals of her peers—and her growing familiarity with silent-casting water magic—had left her mentally prepared for much more.
And she was bold about it.
But this? Just lying there, knowing nothing further would happen? It left her strangely restless, her body tense, her mind unable to relax.
It felt like... pure love. Or some other peculiar emotion.
When she heard the rustle of Allen's sleeve, she instinctively used her Detection to "see" what he was doing.
—He was about to stroke her hair.
Her breath hitched. She counted silently.
One. Two.
Then, in her Detection, his hand paused.
Isolte hesitated—then, in a split-second decision she couldn't explain, she grabbed his wrist and pressed his palm against her cheek.
The moment she realized what she'd done, panic set in.
If she had guided his hand to her chest, she wouldn't have batted an eye. But this? This simple, affectionate touch sent her heart racing.
Cheek against his knuckles. Palm against palm.
Warmth passed between them.
Senior Brother's hand...
It's so warm. Like...
Mom and Dad's...
A flash of realization struck her.
This was why deeper, more intimate acts didn't faze her, yet something this mundane left her flustered.
This was a warmth she hadn't felt in years.
Shared growth. Long companionship. The clumsy comfort he'd offered when she cried over her parents.
—A family's presence.
She had long since placed Allen in that role.
But Isolte, ever the rational Water God swordsman, understood the truth:
Allen wasn't her mother. Not her father. Not an older brother. And certainly not her grandmother.
So where did that leave her feelings?
There was only one position left that could preserve this sense of family.
—Husband.
Isolte wanted Allen to be family. She wanted him as her husband.
She wanted to claim him.
That was why her gaze had always lingered on him.
In this moment of clarity, the heat against her cheek softened.
Senior Brother is family.
And he will be my husband.
He had already confessed to her. Once Roxy gave her approval, she could officially make him hers.
How wonderful.
With this thought, her body finally relaxed.
From age five to now, at thirteen...
Eight years.
Isolte had finally found her "comfort zone."
"I've heard it said that you can't wake someone who's pretending to sleep."
"Do me a favor and get up."
"Dawn's here."
Isolte knew she should "wake," but lost in her emotions, she hesitated. Beside her, the white-haired girl's heartbeat quickened—yet she didn't move, likely waiting for Isolte to rise first to avoid awkwardness.
Then Allen's voice cut in again, laced with exasperation.
"I know you don't mind the bloodstains, but I need a bath. So unless you two plan on—"
WHOOSH!
Sylphie and Isolte shot upright at lightning speed!
"Th-Then I'll go wait outside! Hurry up, Allen...!"
"How about I scrub your back, Senior Brother?"
Sylphie: (◎◎;)
Allen: (°ロ°) !
Isolte: ^^
"Just go wake Eris and Rudeus! I'll be quick!"
"R-Right!"
"Understood~"
The sky was still pale blue.
Dawn approached, and a thin mist clung to Rainshear City.
Quiet footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as five figures cut through the fog, moving swiftly through the empty streets.
"It's so quiet... We haven't seen a single person since we left," Sylphie murmured, her nerves fraying after last night's corpse disposal. Every corner felt like it might bring a squad of guards descending upon them.
Rudeus grimaced.
"That's normal, right? After the Lantern Boat Festival, most people are probably still asleep."
"I... guess so..."
As they rounded a corner, the sound of flowing water greeted them. Houseboats lay still along the intersecting canals, and the bridge they'd crossed yesterday stood deserted.
Sylphie exhaled in relief at the sight of the quiet vessels.
"Guess they are sleeping..."
She took two more steps before pausing and glancing back.
Allen had stopped, frowning at a nearby houseboat with an odd expression. Isolte stood beside him, her usual relaxed brows now tightly knit.
"What's wrong, Allen? Isolte?"
Allen stared at the boat for a moment longer before shaking his head.
"Nothing. Let's keep moving."
Sylphie blinked, then looked to Isolte—only to find her frown deepening at Allen's words.
They pressed on, passing through the houseboat district and the lantern boat area until they reached the bridge where they'd been ambushed the night before.
Only then did they spot a few weary-looking women in disheveled clothes tossing out bathwater from their windows. Some even leaned out, waving flirtatiously at the group.
Sylphie instinctively hunched her shoulders at the sight of their ample bosoms, then glanced at Allen—only to find him staring straight ahead, walking faster.
She hurried after him.
Then she caught Isolte's muttering.
"Strange... There are so few people."
"Few people?"
Isolte quickened her pace to catch up. Eris and Rudeus, sensing the tension, stuck close as well.
"What do you mean?"
Isolte's frown deepened.
"Senior Brother chose this time specifically because the city—known for its nightlife—would still be asleep. That way, we could leave this trouble behind unnoticed."
"After last night's assassination attempt, something's clearly off."
"But the houseboats and lantern boats are nearly empty. Most guests should still be asleep, and the courtesans wouldn't wake this early—their work leaves them exhausted until midday. It's unnatural."
Rudeus paled.
"Then where are they? Did they flee because of... last night?"
"Unclear."
"Look at the ground," Allen cut in.
They all stared at the cobblestones, confusion dawning.
The morning mist had left a fine dew on the pavement, like the sheen of sweat on a courtesan's back after a vigorous performance.
Or so it should have been.
Instead, the stones were unevenly colored—some retaining their natural hue, others tinged pale.
Allen pointed to a distinct path of darker stone cutting through the lighter patches ahead, like a trail through snow.
"The footsteps are chaotic but concentrated. They all lead toward the Great Bridge of Blaige."
The group tensed.
"Are they leaving Rainshear?"
Allen shook his head. "Not enough information. But this is connected to last night's abnormal attack. We're missing a piece of the puzzle."
He turned to Isolte.
"Are there any religious ceremonies or festivals around this time during the Water Festival?"
"None that I know of..."
Allen's brow furrowed as he mentally retraced yesterday's events.
A forgotten snippet of conversation surfaced.
"Heading to the lantern boats tonight?"
"Yeah! Ugh, I'm exhausted. We were fully booked, but then three people suddenly died—one's head even exploded! Tch."
"Huh? How'd they handle that?"
"Hushed it up. City Hall ordered a media blackout. They cleaned up fast—heard some big shot's arriving tomorrow..."
"Big shot..."
From last night's two off-duty guards on the bridge.
The pieces were almost connecting—but a final layer of fog obscured the full picture.
Then, the streets finally "awoke."
A rising clamor echoed from around the corner.
Allen sped up. The others followed closely.
Step.
Step.
One meter.
Ten.
The noise grew louder—not just chatter, but cheering. Frenzied, feverish cheering.
They turned the corner.
The Stellan Well came into view, and beyond it, the Great Bridge of Blaige in the hazy dawn light.
They stopped.
The spectacle hit them like a wave.
A massive crowd packed the streets flanking the bridge, split by the main channel of the Tiltis River.
Shoulder to shoulder. Packed tight.
Even more densely packed than when they'd first arrived yesterday.
Pat pat pat!
A group of people rushed past, shooting the party curious looks before eagerly pushing toward the riverbank.
"No good spots left!"
"Wait up! What's the rush?!"
"Hurry! It's the most beautiful woman in Asuran history—!"
The voices faded.
Allen's voice snapped the group back to attention.
"Keep moving. To the passenger docks."
As they pressed forward, Eris, Sylphie, and Rudeus cast bewildered glances toward the river, their views blocked by the throng. What were they all staring at?
Isolte, however, stiffened. The crowd's cries had given her the answer—and explained the frenzy.
Her? Here? Now?
What were the odds?
She turned to Allen.
At the same moment, from a tower overlooking the bridge, another pair of eyes locked onto him through the mist.
James stood at the window, clutching the assassin guild's grim report.
—Last night's operation failed! Lord James, this mission never should've happened! 'Dusk' suspects you never intended to honor—
Crunch.
He crumpled the paper and waved a hand at his butler.
"The top thirty assassins are dead. Eliminate the rest of the guild. Leave no witnesses."
"Yes, my lord."
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