Raymond and Willow stood there, watching the direction where Irina had disappeared, then looked down at the lunchboxes in their hands.
The greasy aroma of roasted meat mixed with the steam from the rice seeped through the gaps in the oil paper, smelling exceptionally inviting in the cool late-night air.
“Brother… this Irina…”
Willow tried to speak, his tone complicated.
He knew Irina, of course.
He knew she was a Special Admission Student whom the Crown Prince had been paying quite a bit of attention to lately, even showing signs of wanting to protect her.
But he had not expected her to appear at this time, in this manner.
“Eat,” Raymond interrupted him, brief and to the point.
He tore open the oil paper and, ignoring all etiquette, grabbed a large piece of still-warm roasted meat with his hand and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
The feeling of hunger was smoothed over by the food, and his irritable mood gradually calmed with each swallow.
“This girl… she’s okay,” he said muffledly while eating.
“Better than those who just stand around watching the show.”
Willow did not dare say more and silently opened his lunchbox to eat as well.
The taste was ordinary, but as the hot food hit his stomach, it dispelled the night’s chill and the unease in his heart.
The two brothers stood by the closed Academy Canteen doors, silently eating this unexpected “relief food” by the light of the streetlamps.
Meanwhile, in the shadows around the corner, Irina stopped and looked back at the two blurred figures eating under the light.
The innocent and timid look in her pink eyes had long since vanished, replaced by a cold calculation and satisfaction.
‘The Bouquet family brutes… big appetites, hot tempers, simple minds, and a strong sense of “loyalty”… they make for quite a good blade.’
She whispered to herself, her lips curling into a slight, deep arc that was the complete opposite of her usual image.
‘A cheap lunchbox in exchange for a “favor” and some initial goodwill that might be useful in the future… quite a bargain.’
She pulled her clothes tighter and did not stay any longer.
Her figure completely merged into the thick darkness of the night, as if she had never appeared.
Only the lingering scent of food at the canteen entrance and the slight irritability soothed by an unexpected act of kindness in the hearts of the Bouquet brothers proved that a “pure” pink-haired girl had quietly placed a seemingly insignificant yet potentially far-reaching piece on the chessboard of fate that night.
Inside the dormitory, the lights were warm, isolating the noise and calculations of the day.
Freya brought out a set of brand-new bedding and a fluffy cushion, placing them on the smooth floor in the center of the room.
This was her single dormitory, simply furnished, with the only bed against the window.
Recalling the “painful” experience of Lyra hugging her legs and rubbing against her before, Freya was determined not to let history repeat itself.
She looked at Lyra, who was curiously observing her surroundings, and pointed at the bedding on the floor. Her tone was calm and flat.
“You can sleep on the floor, right?”
Lyra turned her head, her red eyes blinking. Instead of feeling wronged, she looked as if she had discovered something interesting.
She approached in a few steps, reaching out to touch the bedding and the cushion. They were soft and warm to the touch.
A large, cloudless smile immediately bloomed on her face.
“What’s that? This is so soft! It definitely won’t be cold sleeping on the floor. It’s much better than sleeping on the ground in the Black Market. Don’t worry, Boss!”
Her tone was full of sincere satisfaction, as if occupying this softness was already an immense stroke of luck.
Hearing such a straightforward, even joyful response, Freya paused slightly and nodded, saying nothing more.
She pointed to a small door on the side.
“That’s the washroom. Go take a shower first.”
Freya then walked to the desk, turned on the soft desk lamp, and took out the heavy Starry Sky Legacy from her bag, preparing to study it before bed.
“You got it!”
Lyra responded brightly.
Like a happy little animal given permission, she scurried into the washroom. Soon, the sound of splashing water came from inside.
Freya immersed herself in the ancient, obscure text and star charts, trying to decipher the metaphors regarding the origin of magic and the trajectories of the stars.
Time passed quietly amidst the sound of turning pages and the faint flow of water.
30 minutes passed.
Freya temporarily pulled herself away from the profound content, gently closed the book, and stretched her back, which had grown stiff from sitting too long. She rubbed her slightly aching eyes.
She suddenly realized that the water in the washroom seemed to have stopped for a while, but Lyra had yet to come out.
“Lyra, aren’t you done washing yet?”
She stood up, walked to the washroom door, and knocked.
A panicked, somewhat muffled voice immediately came from inside.
“Bo… Boss? Wait… don’t come in yet!”
This suspicious nervousness instead piqued Freya’s curiosity.
Not allowed in?
She tentatively turned the doorknob — it was not locked.
With a soft click, the door pushed open a crack.
Immediately, the corner of Freya’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.
Thick, snow-white foam, like a living tide, was continuously “flowing” out from under the door crack and the edge of the bathtub.
It covered nearly half the washroom floor, and a few stubborn clumps of bubbles were even trying to march out toward the living room.
The air was filled with an overly strong, sickly sweet floral scent.
At the center of this bubble disaster, Lyra stood helplessly in the bathtub.
She was completely encased in a thick layer of trembling foam, with only her head barely sticking out.
Her wet white hair was also covered in bubbles.
She looked like a large, fluffy canine that had accidentally fallen into a giant cream cake or had just crawled out of a blizzard.
Seeing Freya push open the door, Lyra’s foam-covered face showed a strange mix of embarrassment, guilt, and a bit of “I messed up but it seems fun.” Her voice weakened.
“That… Boss, this body wash… as soon as I pressed it, so much came out… I, I couldn’t control it…”
Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to throw the girl and the foam out together.
She took another deep breath, forcing back the vein throbbing at her temple and the mountain of complaints in her heart.
Freya raised her hand. A dim but precise glow of Magic flowed from her fingertips as she chanted a concise Cleaning Spell.
Instantly, the magic took effect.
The foam flowing wildly throughout the room was wiped away as if by an invisible palm.
Even the overly sweet scent in the air dissipated, leaving only the clean, wet floor and tiled walls, as well as Lyra.
She stood in the bathtub, soaking wet and dripping with water, yet flashing a bright smile that was a mix of fawning and silliness.
With the foam gone, her white hair stuck to her cheeks and neck.
Her red eyes looked exceptionally clear and bright under the bathroom lights, and even… a faint, non-human, magnificent luster flickered through them.
It was so fast that one would think it was a hallucination.
Looking at her like this, the last bit of Freya’s anger vanished like those bubbles, leaving only a deep sense of helplessness.
She spoke, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Are you finished washing?”
Lyra seemed keenly aware of the “storm” that might be lurking beneath Freya’s calm surface.
She shrank her neck, her red eyes blinking as she tried to use innocence and weakness to get away with it.
“Boss, you can’t hit me… I don’t know how to use this. It just goes poof poof when you touch it. It was fun… Achoo!“
Before she could finish, a genuine, small sneeze interrupted her poor explanation.
The wet hair and the cool air made her shiver.
This sneeze was like a needle, gently popping the last balloon of “annoyance” in Freya’s heart.
She sighed silently, admitting defeat.
Without saying anything more, Freya walked to the bathtub, reached out for the showerhead hanging on the wall, and adjusted it to a suitable temperature, testing the flow.
Then she looked at Lyra, who was still standing there foolishly.
Her tone returned to its usual flatness, but with a hint of something indisputable.
“Sit down. I’ll rinse you off.”
Lyra was stunned for a moment, apparently not expecting this development.
She looked at Freya’s calm side profile and the warm water flowing from the showerhead. That familiar feeling of reassurance welled up again.
She obediently sat in the bathtub, her back to Freya, and lowered her head slightly like a large dog waiting for its master to groom its fur.
The warm water gently washed over Lyra’s hair, neck, and back.
Freya’s movements were not particularly gentle, but they were careful and patient. Her fingers occasionally ran through the thick strands of hair to ensure no foam remained.
The sound of splashing water echoed in the quiet bathroom, creating a new, comfortable steam.
Lyra narrowed her eyes comfortably, and a small sound, like an animal purring, even came from her throat.
She relaxed completely, enjoying this unexpected care, her previous trouble and nervousness long forgotten.
As Freya rinsed, she could not help but notice Lyra’s skin.
Years of wandering and fighting should have left many marks, but her skin looked surprisingly smooth and firm, with only a few darker old scars.
And…
Under the light and the flow of water, the skin on her nape and shoulder blades seemed to catch a very faint, pearl-like luster, different from normal people. The texture was also exceptionally fine.
Freya’s gaze narrowed slightly.
She instinctively sensed something unusual.
This did not look like ordinary skin. It looked more like a type of extremely fine, scale-like structure that was almost integrated with the skin.
Or perhaps an ancient, natural armor Magic Pattern?
A vague suspicion quietly surfaced in her heart.
“Lyra — “
Freya’s voice remained steady, showing no sign of anything unusual.
“Where is your hometown? Or rather, where… did you live before?”
Lyra seemed a bit drowsy, answering fuzzily.
“Hometown? Um… in the mountains. Big mountains, lots of trees, stone caves… it was a bit cold, but you could see very bright stars…”
Her description was fragmented and simple, like a child’s impression.
Freya did not press further.
She turned off the water, took a clean, large towel from the side, draped it over Lyra’s head, and rubbed it.
“Get up and dry yourself. Then get dressed.”