Lyra noticed something wrong with Freya on the morning of the third day.
The academy had given Freya a week off to rest and recover.
For the first two days, Lyra didn’t notice anything unusual—her boss had been badly injured and unconscious for three days, so it was only natural that she needed extra sleep.
But on the third day, she began to sense something was off.
Freya used to wake up before dawn, freshen up, and only then come to call her.
Every time Lyra opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was her boss sitting at the desk, reading.
That silhouette was cool and upright, like an ice sculpture that would never bend, and it made her feel at ease.
But these past few days had been different.
When Lyra woke up, Freya was still asleep.
Not a light sleep, but a deep one—like she had sunk into the ocean. She was curled up under the covers, her light purple hair spread across the pillow, covering half her face. Her breathing was faint and slow, as if afraid of disturbing something.
On the first day, Lyra didn’t think much of it. She went to the canteen by herself and brought back a meal for Freya.
Freya didn’t wake until noon. She ate a couple of bites and went back to sleep.
The second day was the same—Freya woke up even later than her. She skipped breakfast and only had a few bites of lunch.
Lyra asked if she felt unwell. Freya shook her head and said she was just sleepy.
This morning, Lyra woke up to find the sun already high.
Sunlight squeezed through the gap in the curtains, drawing a golden line on the floor.
She sat up and looked at Freya’s bed—
The light purple figure was still curled under the covers, motionless.
Lyra got up, walked over to the bed, and crouched down.
“Boss, time for breakfast.”
She said softly.
“Mm.”
Freya responded, her voice muffled and hoarse with sleepiness. Then she turned over, buried her face in the pillow, and continued sleeping.
Lyra waited for a moment. Seeing no sign that she was getting up, she gently pushed her shoulder.
“Boss, get up. You can sleep more after you eat. Grandfather said you need to eat well to recover.”
Freya didn’t move.
Lyra pushed again, this time a little harder.
“Boss—”
The next second, Freya sat up abruptly.
The blanket was tossed aside, her light purple hair falling messily over her shoulders, making her face look even paler.
Her eyes were half-open, a layer of misty haze covering her light purple irises, as if she hadn’t yet surfaced from a very deep dream.
The corners of her eyes were slightly red—not the red of crying, but a softer, more delicate blush, like petals soaked in morning dew.
Lyra froze.
The Freya in front of her was completely different from the cold, distant Freya she usually saw.
There was no bone-chilling coldness, no oppressive pressure that made it hard to meet her gaze. Only a soft, languid laziness that made you want to reach out and pinch her.
Her lips were slightly dry, and she unconsciously licked them with the tip of her tongue.
The movement was casual, an instinctive reflex.
Lyra felt her face burn up in an instant. From her cheeks to her ears, from her ears to her neck, it was as if she were being roasted over a fire.
Her heart pounded like a drum, blood rushing through her veins. Her mouth went dry, and her throat tightened so much she couldn’t speak.
She opened her mouth, and her voice came out strained and faint, as if squeezed from far away.
“Boss… I, I’ll go get you breakfast!”
She turned and ran.
Her movements were as fast as a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She almost tripped over the blanket on the floor mat, staggered, steadied herself, and rushed out the door without looking back.
The door slammed shut behind her with a bang.
In the hallway, Lyra leaned against the wall, gasping for air.
She raised her hand to touch her face—it was burning hot.
Her heart was still racing, as if it might leap out of her chest.
She closed her eyes, but her mind was filled with that scene—
Freya sitting on the bed, her light purple hair cascading down, the corners of her eyes flushed red, her lips slightly parted. Those eyes, usually cold as ice, were now covered in a hazy mist, as if looking at her, or perhaps at nothing at all.
“Calm down, calm down…”
She whispered to herself, pressing her hand against her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat.
But it didn’t work. Instead of slowing, her heart beat even faster.
She remembered the way Freya had licked her lips—the tip of her pink tongue gliding lightly over her dry lips, leaving a moist trail.
Her face burned again.
“I was just startled.”
She muttered to herself.
“Yeah, startled. Boss has never been like that before. It’s a normal reaction, normal…”
She took a deep breath, then another.
Finally, her heartbeat slowed a little.
She straightened up, patted her skirt, and headed toward the canteen.
After a few steps, she suddenly stopped.
She looked down at her hand—
It was still trembling slightly.
She clenched her fist, then released it.
“It’s fine.”
She told herself.
“Boss just woke up. That’s how people are when they’re not fully awake. Nothing special.”
But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.
She had seen Freya just after waking up before—
In the dormitory, in the morning, on days when she woke up before Freya.
When Freya woke up, she was always quiet. She would open her eyes, sit up, let her light purple hair fall from her shoulders, her expression indifferent, her gaze clear.
Never like today—soft and delicate, like a piece of ice melting under the sun.
Lyra shook her head, trying to shake those images out of her mind.
“Breakfast. Right, breakfast. Boss hasn’t eaten yet.”
She quickened her pace and almost ran to the canteen.
Back in the room, Freya sat on the bed, staring at the closed door.
Her eyes were still half-open, her mind not fully awake.
What had just happened?
Lyra seemed panicked, her face very red, and she ran away quickly. Why?
She thought about it for a while but couldn’t figure it out.
Drowsiness surged again, flooding over her like a tide.
She lay back down, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Her light purple hair spread across the pillow. She closed her eyes.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on her face, warm and cozy.
She fell into a deep sleep.
The canteen wasn’t very crowded—most students had already finished eating.
Lyra stood in front of the serving window with a tray, staring at the steaming food, but her mind was still on that scene—
Freya sitting on the bed, light purple hair cascading, the corners of her eyes red, her lips slightly parted.
“Student, what would you like?”
The auntie’s voice pulled her back to reality.
“Huh? Oh…”
Lyra snapped out of it, looking at the dishes in the window.
“This, this, and that. Soup too. And the soft bread.”
The auntie swiftly packed everything. Lyra turned with the tray and almost bumped into someone.
“Sorry—”
She looked up. It was Anke.
“Lyra?” Anke looked at her, a flicker of surprise in her brown eyes.
“Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?”
“No!” Lyra quickly denied.
“I… I ran here, too fast.”
Anke glanced at the tray in her hands, then at her face, red as a boiled shrimp.
“How’s Freya today? Any better?”
“Still asleep.” Lyra paused.
“Anke, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“When Boss… wakes up, what’s she like?”
Anke was taken aback. The spoon in her hand clattered into the bowl with a crisp sound.
“What did you say?”
“I mean…”
Lyra chose her words carefully.
“When she just wakes up, what does she look like?”
Anke stared at her for several seconds, as if confirming whether she was joking.
“Freya? Just waking up?”
She thought for a moment.
“Very quiet. She opens her eyes, sits up, her hair isn’t even messy, and her eyes are especially clear. Then she goes to freshen up, changes clothes, and sits at her desk to read. By the time I get up, she’s already been reading for a while.”
She paused.
“It’s always been like that. Ever since I’ve known her—over ten years—it’s never changed.”
Lyra fell silent.
Over ten years, never changed.
Then was that soft, delicate Freya from this morning just her imagination?
“What’s wrong?”
Anke leaned in.
“Is Freya different this morning?”
“No.” Lyra shook her head.
“I was just asking.”
Anke didn’t believe her but didn’t press further. She patted Lyra on the shoulder.
“Freya has been too tired lately. It’s normal for her to sleep more. Don’t overthink it.”
Lyra nodded, picked up her tray, and walked out of the canteen. The sunlight was nice, warm on her skin, but her mind was in turmoil.
She remembered what Anke had said—
“Very quiet, opens her eyes, sits up, her hair isn’t even messy, and her eyes are especially clear.”
Completely different from Freya this morning.
This morning’s Freya had messy hair, drowsy eyes, reddened corners, and was soft and sticky like a piece of candy about to melt.
Had she seen wrong?
Or was her boss really different today?
She pushed open the dormitory door.
Freya was still in bed, but now awake, half-reclining against the headboard, her light purple hair falling over her shoulders.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, landing on her face, making her cool features look almost translucent.
Hearing the door, she turned to look at Lyra.
There was still a trace of lingering haze in those light purple eyes, like a lake shrouded in morning mist.
Her lips were slightly parted, as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
Lyra stood there, looking at that face, those eyes, those slightly parted lips.
Her face burned again.
It wasn’t an illusion.
She hadn’t seen wrong.
Her boss was really different.
That cold, aloof aura had disappeared, replaced by a softness she had never seen before.
Like a flower blooming on an icy cliff, finally having the snow melted by the sun, revealing the true color of its petals.
“Boss, time to eat.”
Lyra walked over and placed the tray on the low cabinet. Her voice was a little hoarse.
Freya nodded and slowly sat up.
Her movements were slower than usual, as if she wasn’t fully awake yet.
Her light purple hair slipped from her shoulders, and the collar of her nightgown was slightly open, revealing a pale collarbone.
Lyra quickly averted her eyes, her heartbeat speeding up again.
Freya sat down at the table, picked up the bowl of porridge, and started drinking slowly.
She drank very slowly, pausing for a long time after each sip, as if savoring something, or perhaps just spacing out.