Sylphy and Allen had only been in the same room for less than a minute.
But when the door opened and Sylphy stepped out in a gown, she found the living room unusually quiet—at some point, everyone had stopped talking.
Puzzled, she turned her head toward the sofa.
Five people.
Ten eyes.
All staring at her.
The stares were intense.
Sylphy froze for a moment before instantly realizing what they must be thinking.
A fitting room.
Two people.
A man and a woman.
Changing clothes.
Just the thought made her already flushed cheeks turn nearly purple.
She had only wanted to show Allen Hilda's wardrobe, not… not anything else!
"I… that just now…"
Sylphy tried to come up with an excuse, but…
Unfortunately, she realized there was no way to explain this clearly.
The expressions on the others' faces were all far too telling.
Each one's emotions were plainly written, and their focus was clearly different.
There was simply no way to smooth this over in two sentences.
Her face felt as if it were on fire, and she could only cover it in embarrassment.
On the sofa—
Eris arched an eyebrow. At first, she hadn't even noticed that "Sylphy invited Allen to change clothes with her." It was only because everyone else reacted so strongly that she followed their gazes toward Sylphy.
But her focus wasn't on the "changing together" part at all—such things were common in the Boreas household, where Sauros always had beastwomen accompany him whether dressing or sleeping.
In her eyes, Allen was a figure much like Sauros—an elder, a teacher, an object of admiration.
Changing clothes with Sylphy?
Forget changing—sleeping together wouldn't be a big deal either. Even adding a few beastwomen in bed wouldn't raise her concern.
Her attention was on the gown Sylphy was wearing, her gaze drifting from Sylphy's face to the bodice and the tightened skirt that hugged her waist and hips.
She nodded slightly.
Yes, it was the right choice not to pick this dress. The restrictive cut made walking difficult—fox-trot dancing would be impossible.
Rudy's reaction was the complete opposite of Eris's. He looked delighted and gratified, arms crossed as he nodded repeatedly.
Perfect! Was there anyone more skilled at romance than him, a man who had conquered countless galgames?
Just a few words, and Allen had grown so much in these three months—he no longer avoided Sylphy, and even when Hilda wasn't around, his gaze lingered on Sylphy.
He was so much more at ease.
Look at him now—could there be any situation more "comfortable" than this?
Charge forward, Lord Allen!
I've seen your stats—your fighting spirit burns eternal!
Ghislane's eyes went to Sylphy's long ears, then down to her skirt hem.
No handprints.
It reminded her of many years ago, before Zenith joined the party, when Paul had met the lone adventurer Elinalise at a guild mixer. Sylphy's long ears brought back the memory of catching those two awkwardly leaving the restroom together midway through the event.
Arifa, meanwhile, looked at Sylphy's nearly purple ears and covered her own face.
So it was true—Allen-san really liked long ears?
Maybe she should listen to Lier and go find him tonight…
Just then—creak.
The door beside Sylphy opened.
Allen stepped out.
Sylphy, Ghislane, Rudy, Arifa—and even Sylphy herself—turned to look at him, then froze.
The suit fit perfectly.
Although it was a long, double-breasted style, Allen's height—already 175 cm at age twelve—his long frame, and excellent shoulder-to-waist ratio made it sharp and upright, without any hint of a child wearing an adult's clothes.
The Barrymore-collared shirt beneath wasn't fastened tight at the neck, instead left casually open over the lapels, yet without a trace of sloppiness.
It was elegance.
The glasses he usually wore were now tucked into his chest pocket.
The necklace Roxy had given him lay bare at his neck, catching the light of the evening sun spilling into the room.
He stood there—posture relaxed and natural—
yet somehow forcing his presence into everyone's vision.
The martial air from his usual swordsman's attire was entirely subdued by this noble suit. In their minds, the image of "Allen the swordsman" quickly faded—
Replaced by—
A tall, elegant young noble with a proud gaze.
And the reason everyone froze—
Even though it was their first time seeing Allen dressed like this, the change in his demeanor wasn't awkward at all.
The confident, sharp eyes tied to his swordsmanship now carried the faint pride of nobility.
The swift elegance of his sword swings had become a refined grace in every gesture.
The transformation was so seamless—
It was as if…
He had been born this way.
Born to stand in the Boreas estate.
Born to bear the Boreas name.
Born—
to be one of them.
—
While the others were still dazed,
Hilda rose from the sofa.
She wore a thick, plush nightgown and slippers, her steps a little unsteady from illness.
The rabbit-eared maid beside her, cheeks flushed from watching Allen, hurried to help her—
But Hilda refused.
"No need to support me, Arifa."
She walked toward Allen. At first her steps were shaky, but soon they steadied, growing faster and longer.
At last—
She stood before him.
She looked at him steadily.
Allen met her gaze with calm eyes.
A slow smile formed at her lips.
"Just as I thought, Allen," she said.
"This suit suits you well."
She placed a hand on his wrist—where the sleeve was clearly short by a few centimeters. She blinked, measuring roughly with her fingers, then said:
"It's about three centimeters short. Looks like I'll need to adjust the size later."
Allen looked down at her hand.
The warmth—
traveled up his arm, brushing gently along his skin.
Her hand was a little cold—
Yet somehow, it felt incredibly warm to him.
A warmth he hadn't felt in either of his lives.
Something like the warmth he had once felt from Zenith—
But entirely different.
—
"So, do you like the style and color, Allen?"
Hilda looked up into his eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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