Chapter 123: Normal Freya

Sunlight fell on her, coating her silhouette in a soft, warm glow.

Her eyelashes were long, casting a small fan-shaped shadow beneath her eyelids when lowered.

Her fingers were long and fair, holding the spoon with an elegant indolence.

Lyra crouched at her feet, pretending to organize the bundle, but her peripheral vision never left Freya.

She had never looked at Freya like this before—

No, she had looked, but before, her heart only held simple thoughts like “Boss is amazing” and “Boss is pretty.”

Now it was different.

Now, when she looked at Freya, her heartbeat quickened, her face flushed, her throat tightened.

She noticed the curve of Freya’s eyelashes, the color of her lips, the way she held her fingers—she noticed those tiny, subtle details she’d never paid attention to before, things that were impossible to look away from.

“What’s wrong?”

Freya’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Lyra looked up to find Freya staring at her, those light purple eyes carrying a hint of confusion.

“Nothing, nothing!”

She shook her head quickly.

“I just wanted to watch you eat, Boss.”

Freya stared at her for a few seconds, then averted her gaze and continued sipping her porridge.

Lyra let out a sigh of relief, though her heart was still racing.

She lowered her head, looking at her clenched fists.

‘What’s going on?’

She asked herself.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

No one answered her.

Freya finished the porridge and set the bowl down.

“The weather’s nice today.”

“Yeah.”

Lyra took the bowl.

“Do you want to take a walk outside, Boss? Soak up some sun. It’ll help you recover.”

Freya thought for a moment.

“Alright.”

Lyra smiled, revealing her little wolf fang.

“Then I’ll get your clothes!”

She ran to the wardrobe, opened the door, and rummaged through Freya’s outer robe.

Freya sat on the edge of the bed, watching her retreating figure with calm eyes.

She had no idea why Lyra was flustered this morning. She just felt sleepy—very sleepy.

She hadn’t told anyone about that Black Crystal Shard.

Not out of deliberate secrecy—she simply hadn’t remembered.

That stretch of memory felt like it was shrouded in mist. She knew what had happened that day, but it all felt separated from her by a pane of glass—blurry and unreal.

The Holy Sword, Irina, the black shard—they all felt like someone else’s story. She just wanted to sleep.

Maybe once she slept enough, everything would return to normal.

“Boss, how about this one?”

Lyra held up a light gray outer robe and turned to look at her.

“It’s fine.”

Lyra brought the robe over and helped Freya put it on.

Her fingers accidentally brushed against Freya’s nape. The icy touch made her flinch.

Freya didn’t notice. She just stood up and walked toward the washroom.

The door closed behind her.

Lyra stood in the room, staring at her fingertips.

That instant when she touched Freya’s skin, her heart raced again.

She clenched her hand into a fist and took a deep breath.

‘It’s okay.’

She whispered to herself.

‘I just accidentally touched her. It’s normal. Normal.’

The sound of water came from the washroom. Lyra stood by the door, waiting.

Sunlight streamed through the window, falling on the floor, warm and bright.

Lyra asked herself: ‘Have you ever felt this way? Heart racing, face burning, mind full of the same person—wanting to get close but afraid to, wanting to leave but unable to let go.’

The washroom door opened.

Freya walked out, her light purple hair already neatly combed and tied back with a simple ribbon.

She wore that light gray outer robe, looking fresh and clean, like a poplar washed by rain.

“Let’s go.”

Lyra nodded and followed behind her.

The two left the dormitory, walked down the corridor, passed under the phoenix tree, and crossed the stone path that gleamed under the sunlight. Freya led the way, her pace steady, her back straight.

Lyra followed half a step behind, her red eyes fixed on that light purple silhouette. That indescribable something inside her was quietly growing again.

The Training Ground was to the right of the corridor, just beyond the archway.

In the past, when Freya reached this spot, she’d instinctively turn in—

Even if she wasn’t training, she’d stand at the edge and watch for a while, observing others’ techniques, checking the newly posted Magic Array diagrams, studying the things she already knew by heart.

Lyra had grown accustomed to that rhythm: walk down the corridor, turn into the Training Ground, Boss stands at the edge watching, and she crouches nearby watching Boss.

But today, Freya didn’t turn.

She walked straight ahead, her pace unhurried, her gaze fixed forward, as if the Training Ground didn’t exist.

Lyra paused, glanced back at the archway, then at Freya’s retreating figure.

“Boss.”

She quickened her steps to catch up.

“Aren’t you going to the Training Ground?”

Freya didn’t slow down.

“Didn’t you say we were just going for a walk today?”

Lyra was at a loss for words.

Those were her words, yes.

When she’d helped Freya put on the outer robe that morning, she’d indeed said, “Let’s take a walk and soak up some sun.”

But—

“Taking a walk” meant just wandering around. Dropping by the Training Ground on the way was still part of a walk, wasn’t it?

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but felt like anything she said would be wrong.

Boss was right. Today was just a walk.

But that stubborn little thought in her heart refused to let go.

She wanted to see Boss train. Wanted to see Boss standing in the center of the Training Ground, her light purple hair lifted by the wind, ice mana surging from her fingertips, condensing into fine Ice Crystals in the air, refracting a spectrum of colors in the sunlight.

She’d seen that scene countless times, and every time she thought it was beautiful, every time she felt like it wasn’t enough.

“I…”

She lowered her head, her voice muffled.

“I want to see you train, Boss.”

Freya stopped and turned to face her.

Lyra didn’t dare look up. She stared at the tips of her shoes, the tips of her ears bright red, like two little shrimps roasted over fire.

She didn’t know how Boss would respond. Maybe she’d laugh at her, maybe she’d say “What’s so interesting about training,” maybe—

“That’s a rather peculiar interest.”

Freya’s voice came from above her, carrying no amusement or refusal—just flat, like a statement of fact.

Lyra looked up.

Freya had already turned and was walking toward the Training Ground.

Her light purple hair swayed gently over her shoulders, and the hem of her outer robe lifted into an arc in the breeze.

Lyra froze for a moment, then jumped up.

“Boss is the best!”

She hurried after her, nearly tripping over her own feet.

The Training Ground was quiet.

Most students were in class at this hour. Only two lowerclassmen were in the corner practicing basic incantations. When they saw Freya enter, they paused, glanced over, then continued practicing.

Freya walked to the center of the field and stopped.

Lyra crouched in her usual spot—

Under the old phoenix tree at the edge, hugging her knees, her red eyes sparkling.

Freya raised her hand.

Silvery-white mana surged from her fingertips, condensing in the air into countless tiny Ice Crystals.

They swirled and rose, like a swarm of startled fireflies.

Then she flicked her wrist lightly, and the Ice Crystals burst apart, turning into countless fine specks of light that refracted a rainbow of colors in the sunlight, like a miniature meteor shower.

Lyra looked up, watching the icy flowers scatter and fall—landing on Freya’s light purple hair, on her light gray outer robe, on her slightly lifted lips.

She was mesmerized.

This was her Boss.

Not the stranger from this morning, curled up under the covers with slightly reddened eyes, soft and delicate. This was the Freya who stood in the center of the Training Ground, surrounded by icy flowers, aloof and powerful.

Lyra’s heartbeat finally steadied. Her face no longer burned. She could watch Boss train openly, without fear of being caught, without having to explain why she was blushing.

Freya moved her hand again.

This time, the Ice Crystals didn’t burst. Instead, they coalesced in front of her into the shape of a flower—

An Ice Rose, with layers upon layers of petals, each one as thin as a cicada’s wing, refracting delicate light under the sun.

She stared at the Ice Rose for a few seconds, then gently blew on it.

The rose shattered into countless fine ice shavings that swirled in the air and slowly drifted down.

Freya looked up, watching the scattered icy flowers.

They were like fluttering petals, or like shards of starlight scattered across the ground.

Her gaze followed the icy flowers as they fell from the air to the earth, from brightness into silence.

Then, suddenly, she felt a sharp stab of pain in her heart.

Not the vague, dull ache from before, like something pressing down on her—but a piercing, needle-like pain deep in her Heart Meridian.

It came too fast. She didn’t have time to react.

She wanted to call out to Lyra, but though her mouth opened, no sound came out.

Her legs gave way, her body pitched forward, and the world around her began to spin—

The sky, the icy flowers, the phoenix tree, Lyra’s figure crouching beneath it—everything was spinning. She collapsed entirely, her light purple hair spreading across the ground, her light gray outer robe splaying on the cold stone floor.

She heard a voice, distant and sharp, panicked: “Boss—!!!”

It was Lyra.

She wanted to answer, wanted to say “I’m fine,” but her lips barely moved, and her consciousness was dragged into an abyss by an invisible hand.

Darkness surged from all sides, engulfing her.

By the time Lyra rushed over, Freya was already on the ground.

She knelt, her trembling hands lifting Freya’s upper body. Light purple hair slipped through her fingers, cold as winter snow.

“Boss! Boss, wake up! What’s wrong?!”

Freya’s eyes were closed, her eyelashes quivering slightly, her lips pale, her face white as paper.

Her breathing was so shallow that Lyra had to bring her face close to Freya’s lips just to feel a faint trace of warmth.

“Help! Someone—!”

Lyra’s voice was hoarse, almost tearing, echoing through the empty Training Ground.

The two lowerclassmen in the corner were frozen in shock. After a few seconds, one ran to call the Instructor, the other ran to find the infirmary.

Lyra held Freya, kneeling on the cold ground, tears falling one by one, landing on Freya’s pale face.

“Boss… you promised me… you wouldn’t collapse again…”

Her voice trembled.

“You lied…”

Freya didn’t answer.

She lay quietly in Lyra’s arms, as if asleep.