Her tone returned to its usual commanding manner, as if the previous scrutiny and questioning had never happened.
“Oh!”
Lyra suddenly perked up. She stood, wrapped herself haphazardly in a towel, jumped out of the bathtub, and gave Freya that same cloudless smile.
“Thank you, Boss! You’re the best!”
Freya glanced at her, turned to walk out of the bathroom, and closed the door behind her.
She walked to the window, gazing at the quiet night outside and the scattered lights of the Magic Tower in the distance. Her fingers unconsciously tapped lightly against the window frame.
In the bathroom, Lyra vigorously dried her hair while looking at her still clear red eyes in the mirror. She tilted her head slightly, seemingly a bit confused by her instinctive relaxation and honesty just now, but that feeling was quickly replaced by the joy of getting to wear dry clothes.
The bathroom door was pushed open without hesitation with a loud *clatter*. Lyra ran out with a *patter-patter* of bare feet, her wet hair sticking out in every direction from her messy toweling, looking like a bird’s nest swept by a gale.
She was loosely clad in the spare pajamas Freya had left by the bathroom door — a light beige cotton long-sleeved set.
The size, which fit Freya perfectly, was clearly a size too large for Lyra. The cuffs were long enough to cover her fingertips, and the pant legs bunched at her ankles.
She didn’t mind at all. Instead, she seemed to find it amusing, swinging her two overly long sleeves like a little bird trying to flap its wings without finding its center of gravity. She paced back and forth in front of Freya, her voice full of the excitement of a new discovery.
“Boss, your pajamas are so big!”
She buried her face in the cuff and took a deep breath. When she looked up, her red eyes were sparkling, and her mouth split into a wide grin.
“And they smell so good! Boss, what laundry detergent do you use?”
Freya’s finger tapping the window frame stopped abruptly, and she turned her head with a hint of helplessness.
What met her eyes was this “frizzy-haired” large dog in ill-fitting clothes, grinning heartlessly.
Her gaze lingered on that disastrous hair for a moment. She couldn’t help but raise a hand to her forehead, her voice carrying a trace of exhaustion.
“Your hair… why does it look like a bird’s nest hit by lightning?”
Hearing this, Lyra turned to look at the full-length mirror on the wall. The mirror reflected her wild blonde hair and her bloated pajama-clad figure.
Instead of being embarrassed, she gave her reflection a “hehe” grin and raised her hand to continue scrubbing haphazardly with the towel.
“Hehe, it’s fine. A little rubbing is enough; I’ll just let it air dry! Natural drying is the most comfortable!”
“Stop.”
Freya’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority.
With her slight germaphobia and obsession with tidiness, she truly couldn’t tolerate such crude treatment of hair, let alone seeing someone swaying in front of her with a messy head.
She walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and signaled to Lyra.
“Come here. Sit down.”
Lyra didn’t understand why, but she still obediently shuffled over in her overly long pant legs and sat as told. She looked up at Freya, her eyes full of trust and curiosity.
Freya didn’t speak. She simply turned and took a wooden wide-tooth comb from her vanity case.
She walked behind Lyra and reached out to gather that mass of wet, messy white hair.
It felt slightly cool to the touch. The hair texture was sturdier than expected, yet surprisingly soft.
The comb teeth gently parted the tangled strands. Freya’s movements weren’t particularly tender, but they were exceptionally patient and meticulous.
She first used her fingers to slowly untangle the knotted ends, then combed through from top to bottom, bit by bit.
The sensation of the comb passing over her scalp seemed to feel very good to Lyra. From her initial stiff posture, she slowly relaxed, even narrowing her eyes slightly. Another satisfied, tiny sound escaped her throat, and her body unconsciously swayed with the rhythm of the combing.
The room was very quiet, with only the faint sound of the comb passing through the hair and the soft breathing of the two.
Outside the window, the low cry of a distant Magical Creature or the rustle of the night wind through the leaves could occasionally be heard.
Soon, the “bird’s nest” was restored to smoothness under Freya’s hands, shimmering with a moist, healthy luster.
Freya took a dry, soft towel and gently absorbed the excess moisture from the ends.
Finally, she picked out a simple silver hairpin from her jewelry box and carefully tucked the unruly stray hairs from Lyra’s forehead and the sides of her face behind her ears, securing them.
After finishing, Freya stepped back half a pace and looked at the mirror.
The girl in the mirror was still wearing the oversized pajamas, but her long hair now draped smoothly over her shoulders. The stray hairs were neatly tucked away, revealing a clean forehead and her full face.
Lacking her usual boisterousness and the wildness of a dog ready to frolic, the Lyra sitting quietly in the chair now possessed a rare bit of obedience and… she could even be called exquisitely cute.
Her red eyes were clear as water, reflecting the indoor light as she curiously examined her transformed self in the mirror.
Lyra was clearly extremely satisfied with this new look.
She looked left and right in the mirror, her grin growing wider. Finally, she whipped her head around, eyes flashing with excitement. She threw her arms open and lunged toward Freya, looking like she wanted to give her a grateful and enthusiastic “cuddle.”
Freya had anticipated this. She stepped lightly to the side, causing Lyra to lunge at thin air.
Her expression was indifferent as she successfully brought Lyra to a halt with a single sentence.
“I haven’t bathed yet.”
The meaning was clear: she might still have the dust and fatigue of the outside world on her, making her unsuitable for close contact.
Lyra wasn’t annoyed at missing. She steadied herself and then made a move that caused Freya to raise an eyebrow slightly.
Like a little animal confirming a scent, she first leaned in close to Freya’s shoulder and sniffed gently, then lowered her head, pulled up her oversized pajama sleeve, and took a deep breath.
Immediately after, she looked up, her face blooming with a smile even more brilliant and purely happy than before. That slightly pointed little wolf fang, which had been flickering in and out of view, was now fully exposed, glinting with a childish yet wild light under the lamp.
“Hehe —”
She shook her sleeves, showing them off to Freya like a prized possession, her voice full of the joy of finding treasure.
“So it’s not the smell of laundry detergent on the pajamas! It’s Boss’s scent! Hmm… It’s not quite the same as the one on Boss herself. It’s like something that’s been dried in the sun, clean, and a little bit… hmm… the smell of books? I like it! It smells great!”
As she spoke, she buried her face in the cuff and rubbed against it, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in this scent that brought such peace of mind.
Watching her actions and listening to her straightforward, almost foolish description, Freya felt the suspicion about her non-human characteristics surge again. At the same time, a strange, almost soft wave brushed very lightly against the surface of her usually calm heart.
She didn’t respond to Lyra’s “research” on the scent. She simply turned to pick up her change of clothes and headed toward the bathroom, leaving behind a plain instruction.
“Stay put and don’t make a mess of the room again. Wait for me to come out.”
“Oh!”
Lyra answered briskly. She continued to clutch her sleeves and sit on the chair, dangling her overly long pant legs. Her gaze followed Freya’s back until the bathroom door closed.
Then, she turned back and continued to grin at her “new self” in the mirror, occasionally lifting a sleeve to sniff it, her red eyes curving into crescent moons.
—
The rhythmic sound of water echoed in the bathroom.
In the living room, the girl in oversized pajamas sat alone and quiet, immersed in the faint, comforting scent, forming a tranquil and slightly warm scene against the deep night outside the window.
Not long after the sound of the bathroom water stopped, the door was pushed open gently.
Almost at the same instant, Lyra, who was lying on the rug by the bed, snapped her head up. She turned toward the bathroom, her red eyes unblinking, like a loyal dog waiting for its master to return home.
Freya stepped out.
She had changed into a pair of pure white cotton pajamas. The material was soft and the style simple, making her already fair skin appear almost translucent under the light.
The aloof and rigorous aura she had while conducting research seemed to have been mostly washed away by the hot water. Her wet, silver-white hair had been carefully dried with a Warm Wind Spell. It now draped softly over her shoulders, with only one side casually braided into an elegant side ponytail secured by a silk ribbon of the same color. She looked less cold than usual and more possessed of a domestic laziness and softness.
Perhaps because she had relaxed completely, Lyra keenly noticed that the usual feeling around Freya — cold and unapproachable like thin winter snow — had faded.
What emanated from her now was a gentler, more peaceful aura, like a cloud warmed by the sun, or… a small wall-mounted fireplace with soft light, not scorching, but quietly emitting a reassuring warmth.
Freya walked straight to her bed. Just as she sat down on the edge, there was a rustling sound beside her.
Lyra had “scooted” over on all fours at some point. This time, she had clearly learned her lesson and didn’t lunge directly at Freya. Instead, she rested her upper body against the edge of Freya’s bed, her chin resting on her crossed arms, the side of her face lightly pressed against the soft, fine fabric of Freya’s sheets.
She looked up slightly, her red eyes sparkling as she gazed at Freya. Her posture was exactly like a large pet at its master’s feet seeking attention.
“Boss…”
Lyra spoke, her voice muffled by her arms and sounding a bit vague, but the worry in her tone was real.
“You’re all washed up and smelling good… You smell like the warm sun and clean snowflakes!”
She habitually praised the scent first before getting to the main point, her brow furrowing slightly.
“That Big Chest Monster said — I mean, your Senior — the Big Chest Monster said those two brothers who looked for trouble with you this afternoon won’t bother you for a few days. But what about after a few days?”
She paused, a flash of seriousness and alertness crossing her red eyes.
“That big guy, Raymond, looks like the vengeful and stubborn type. And his younger brother has such sneaky eyes; he definitely isn’t up to any good. They suffered today and were even caught and lectured by the Disciplinary Director, so they lost face… When the heat dies down, will they come back to cause even more trouble?”