Morgan's clothes were all beautiful.
Even if not every piece was absolutely exquisite, they all gave off a clear sense of elegance and luxury.
Any girl lucky enough to own a wardrobe like this would probably be over the moon.
However—
Faced with it, Artoria hesitated.
"Big sister… I don't think I should wear these."
"I… I'm not supposed to."
Even as she said that, she still kept sneaking glances at the dresses inside, like she was staring at a dream she'd long lost.
What she didn't know was—Morgan had expected exactly this reaction.
With a calm tone, Morgan said,
"Then what if I told you... this is an essential part of your journey?"
"Essential?"
"Yes."
Morgan casually picked out an outfit and laid it on the bed.
"If you travel the land as a king, you'll only see a limited version of the world."
"As a ruler, people fear you. How could anyone possibly reveal their true selves around you?"
"Only by disguising yourself—making sure no one knows who you are—"
"Can you truly understand..."
Morgan looked directly at Artoria, her expression growing serious.
"…what it means to bear the title of King."
"…"
Morgan spoke gently, but the pressure was intense.
Artoria found it hard to breathe.
Suddenly—
"Try this one."
Ian took Artoria's hand and pointed to one of Morgan's outfits.
"Eh?"
The moment she looked at him, the image of Little Ian raising his head flashed through her mind.
Wait, he's... back down again?
Before Artoria could fully process it, Ian added,
"If it feels right, try it."
"Artoria, why are you afraid to try something new?"
"You're the one who pulled the sword, aren't you?"
Drip—
Ian's words landed on her heart like a drop of water, sending ripples through her chest.
"…Alright, I'll try."
Artoria began sorting through Morgan's wardrobe.
What she didn't realize was—Morgan was watching her with a complicated look in her eyes.
Jealousy, and a tinge of envy.
"…How about this one?"
After rummaging for a while, Artoria held up a long robe.
It was blue, with elegant white trim.
She tried it on and spun around a few times, clearly pleased.
"Does it look good?"
"…"
"Ian, what's with that face?!"
Noticing something off in his expression, Artoria asked suspiciously.
"If you don't like it, just say so!"
"…"
Ian paused a moment before replying.
"I think... you might not like what I'm going to say."
"Of course not!"
Artoria pouted.
"I'm not unreasonable, okay?! Just tell me already!"
"…This outfit—"
Ian looked her up and down carefully.
"Looks like... a giant quilt."
"Eh?!"
Artoria froze like she'd been struck by lightning.
"But this one's my favorite!"
"…"
Though she didn't want to admit it, now that Ian had said it, Morgan started seeing it too—that quilt-like vibe. It was hard to unsee.
No.
I can't keep thinking like that.
"…That one is kind of old."
"Artoria, why don't I help you pick one?"
"…No!"
Artoria puffed up stubbornly.
"Today, I'm going to find an outfit that even he thinks looks good!"
"Otherwise, it's like saying my fashion sense is totally off!"
"…Alright then. Go ahead."
And so—
Morgan watched as Artoria pulled one outfit after another from her closet.
"Still looks like a quilt."
"Like a cake."
"Like a chicken drumstick."
"Like…"
Listening to Ian's bizarre yet strangely accurate comparisons, Morgan had to cover her mouth.
She really wanted to laugh.
Not a mocking laugh—a genuine, from-the-heart laugh.
But—
She couldn't.
If she laughed, it would mean she found this moment between them… fun.
But this wasn't supposed to be fun.
She was doing all this to sabotage Artoria, wasn't she?
"Which one will finally meet your approval?!"
Looking at the mountain of clothes on the bed, Artoria was starting to get frustrated.
"I've almost gone through everything!"
"Not a single one you like?"
"I never said I didn't like them."
"…Huh?"
Ian's unexpected reply made her freeze.
"What do you mean?"
"You just said they looked like quilts, cakes, chicken legs…"
"But those are all things I love."
Ian replied with complete sincerity.
"Artoria, whatever you wear—I'll like it."
"Eh?"
She misunderstood him.
But still, warmth blossomed in her chest.
From the very beginning, he had always found her beautiful.
Why am I only realizing it now?
Her cheeks felt hot.
Turning away in embarrassment, she noticed one final outfit still hanging in the wardrobe.
But—
"Morgan, Ian… could you both turn around for a moment?"
"…Sure."
"…Alright."
Rustle, rustle.
The two of them turned around.
The only sound left in the room was the soft rustling of clothes against bare skin—only the kind that came from a girl changing.
"…Okay~"
"You can turn around now."
"How's this one?"
Artoria had already taken off the rough cloth garments she wore when going out.
In their place was a white dress that fit her perfectly.
It was a pure and flawless outfit that subtly revealed the gentle curves of a girl on the verge of maturity, like a flower blooming in the human world.
"This should be fine—"
Just as Artoria spoke, her face suddenly turned red, as if she'd seen something shocking.
She rushed over to Ian and quickly shielded him behind her.
"Um, Sister Morgan!"
"I want this outfit! Is that okay?!"
"…"
Morgan's emotions were complicated.
That dress was something she'd prepared for herself.
Originally, if Artoria hadn't been around, it would have been Morgan wearing it on her travels.
She had hidden it at the very bottom for that reason.
Plans could require sacrifice, but surely one should have a say in what gets sacrificed?
But reality didn't seem to work that way—
"Mm." The princess's voice trembled.
"Take it."
"It looks… pretty good on you."