Akira stood in front of Alfia, waving his hand slowly, as if testing the responsiveness of a puppet that had lost its strings. But beneath her still exterior, Alfia's mind was in turmoil. Her pride clashed fiercely with reason.

On one hand, she didn't want to accept help from a brat barely past his teens—especially one who spoke so freely, so unfiltered, so rude.

She had always been proud. Always self-reliant. She had long since grown unaccustomed to depending on others.

But on the other hand, her body… betrayed her. The fatigue that gnawed at her bones made her want to collapse. Her limbs trembled faintly from weakness, and she could feel her strength slipping away with each breath.

Still, just as she was about to open her mouth, Akira's voice reached her again—this time carrying a grumble.

"Do you want me to be your crutch now? Am I supposed to drag you around the dungeon while wasting precious hours of my life? I've got a lot on my plate, you know."

Alfia's eyelids twitched violently, her heart filled with a stormy annoyance.

She had never thought herself the kind of woman who'd fall for anyone—let alone some loudmouthed, disrespectful boy. Her pride was unshakable.

And yet…

Over the years, she'd become used to the way adventurers in Orario looked at her—eyes full of admiration, lust, awe.

She was confident in her appearance. Men stopped and stared. Women whispered in envy. But now, this brat mocked her left and right, treating her like an inconvenient old lady.

Had Orario changed that much during her absence?

She immediately pictured herself drawing her hand and smacking it down on Akira's skull to vent her frustrations.

Again. And again.

And again.

She sighed, releasing her breath slowly, and finally squeezed out two cold words, "…No need."

Akira's eyes twitched at her flat response.

"Can't you say a full sentence for once?" He muttered in exasperation. "How the hell am I supposed to know what you're responding to?"

He rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

If it weren't for that beautiful silvery-grey hair—his favorite shade.

If it weren't for those heterochromatic eyes that stabbed right into his visual preferences.

And if it weren't for… well, certain other assets—

He wouldn't have put up with her frosty, thorny attitude for this long. Nope. He would've walked away already.

But instead, he exhaled heavily, stuffed away his complaints, and crouched slightly.

He didn't ask for permission. He simply scooped her up into a bridal carry and began striding toward the exit.

Her lithe frame was surprisingly light in his arms—too light for someone of her strength.

From his pocket, Akira pulled out an ornate silver watch. The cover snapped open with a crisp click, and the second hand ticked away mercilessly.

"Ah, crap." He sighed.

"…Guess I'm completely late now."

The mental image of Iska and the others popped into his mind—smiling, lively, cheerful girls whose warmth soothed his heart.

And now?

Now they were probably waiting, disappointed.

"Hmph. Didn't expect Akira to be the type to show up late."

"I don't want to date someone who can't even keep a promise…"

Akira clasped his hands in silent prayer.

Please don't be too mad… I swear I have a good reason.

After all, it was to save someone's life.

He trusted that the kind-hearted girls would understand.

They had to.

…Right?

Behind him, Alfia shot a sharp glare at the dreamy expression on his face.

What was this noisy, arrogant boy even thinking about?

Honestly, this is why she hated leaving her seclusion. She shouldn't have bothered coming to the dungeon to "observe new adventurers."

Grinding her teeth, she hissed, "I said I don't need you to carry me or to be my crutch, you rude little devil."

But the moment those proud words left her lips, her legs, frail from exhaustion, began to tremble again.

A subtle, near-invisible shake but one that betrayed the truth.

Akira raised an eyebrow at her wobbling limbs and sighed. "Alright, alright, don't get so worked up. Not good for your blood pressure."

He glanced at her pale complexion and her clenched jaw. The mocking words that had risen to the tip of his tongue were quietly swallowed.

Now wasn't the time.

"…Yeah, yeah. Give me your hand."

Alfia's grey brows lifted sharply, her expression shifting into one of confusion and wariness.

"What?"

She stared at him, suspicion in her mismatched eyes. She didn't trust this strange boy. Not one bit.

"Don't talk so much." Akira grumbled. "I'm not gonna do anything weird, alright?"

His tone was brusque but not malicious.

"…Rude." Alfia muttered, but still, she extended her black-gloved hand slowly, as if offering a limb to a beast.

After everything that had happened, even she had to admit—this kid wasn't bad.

He was insufferable. Annoying. Loud.

But not bad.

And he wasn't treating her like a burden, either. Still, he fussed over her like she was some helpless little girl. It was infuriating.

"It's not that hand," Akira sighed, shaking his head. "The other one."

Before she could argue, he reached out and took her gloved hand—the one she had used earlier to cover her mouth while coughing up blood.

The surface was dark red, the dried blood congealed and crusted around the fingers.

Alfia stiffened.

But then, Akira raised his index finger and lightly tapped her palm.

Shhh—

In the blink of an eye, the blood vanished.

Just like that.

Alfia's eyes widened.

She didn't see a flash of magic. No magic circle. No chant. It simply disappeared.

Even with all her experience, she didn't understand what had just happened.

Before she could voice her confusion, Akira calmly peeled off her glove. He took out his canteen once again, gently poured water onto her exposed palm, and began to rub it clean.

His movements weren't exactly delicate but they were precise. Cautious. Careful not to hurt her.

"…There. Done."

With a satisfied nod, he handed the now-clean glove back to her. He looked rather proud of himself.

Alfia stared at the glove, then at Akira. Her fingers moved on their own as she took it back, unsure why.

Her gaze lingered on the boy's face—this strange, infuriating, unpredictable boy. He had an annoying mouth. But behind the teasing and sharp tongue…

There was a gentleness. A rare kind of thoughtfulness hidden beneath layers of attitude.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

Just who was this boy?

And how many more secrets was he hiding?