Moga had a strange dream: after a long time, she was once again bound up by the Eldritch God, yet the touch wasn’t cold and slick—it had turned soft and warm, even carrying a faint fragrance. She didn’t hate it at all; in fact, she felt an inexplicable trust.

On the morning of the first day of the new year, when the dawn light pierced the white, translucent curtains and spilled into the room, she blinked awake, groggy, and found herself wrapped around another girl on the bed like an octopus—shockingly unreserved.

In that instant, her pupils tightened. She had no memory of what had happened last night, but seeing the two of them squeezed onto a narrow bed, the silver-haired girl sleeping still with her eyes closed—it looked, in every possible way, like she had taken the initiative to cling to her teacher.

She hurried to retract the arm and leg draped over her teacher, but soon, gazing at that exquisite profile in sleep, her movements slowed and stopped.

She thought, a teacher who is a deity truly is perfect—like a work of art. Being able to experience her this closely was a rare chance; missing it would feel like a small regret. So, with a faintly unhealthy impulse, she kept holding that soft, warm jade in her arms, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. When she opened them again, her teacher’s face had turned at some point and was quietly watching her.

Moga’s fair cheeks flushed in a whoosh, and she scrambled to adjust her posture, stammering shyly, “I-I’ve never shared a bed with someone else before, so I’m a little not used to it, so…”

It was a barely passable explanation. After all, for the past few years, Yvette had curled at the head or foot of the bed in tentacle form at night; now she was in her true body, squeezed with Moga on a single bed. The space was cramped, and more contact was inevitable.

But Yvette didn’t care in the slightest; she got straight out of bed. Moga felt a faint, inexplicable disappointment and hurried to get up as well.

“Let’s go buy breakfast. I want stone-roasted dwarven bread porridge, with the local monster stew,” Yvette said expectantly.

“Oh, okay!” Moga answered, a bit aggrieved at heart. So you rushed to get up just to satisfy your appetite? There aren’t many days left—can’t you spend a little more time with your student?

After washing up carefully, the two pushed open the door and stepped outside. Fine snow like powdered sugar fluttered down in clusters, draping the world in a gentle silver veneer. With each step, their boots sank into the soft accumulation, making a clean, crisp rubbing sound.

They ate at the little tavern on the first floor of the Old Oak Inn as usual. In the mornings it served a few specialty breakfasts, most using monsters as ingredients, with a wide range of flavors.

During the meal, a few early-rising adventurers would occasionally strike up conversation or take seats nearby. Some already knew Moga—the famed “Wind Ranger” of Adelock—and were curious about Yvette; others were new to town and simply drawn by the pair’s looks, feeling that even dining beside them was a pleasure in itself.

Moga’s manner toward them, however, was icy to the extreme—none of the shy, girlishness she sometimes showed with her teacher. In its place was the aloof, sharp edge she wore when delving into the monster forest: a naked dagger unsheathed.

Under Moga’s cold gaze, the stares around them multiplied, yet aside from one or two who seemed to enjoy being scolded, most people wisely pulled back and behaved. This was Adelock, after all—if you dared provoke the Wind Ranger, you clearly had a death wish.

After breakfast, they stepped out of the tavern and joined the flow of people heading toward the town center.

That was where the churches of the three great True Gods stood. By custom, during the first three days of the new year, the churches organized blessings for the new year: prayers, services, coin-tosses into the wishing pools, and the like.

Given that she herself carried mythic attributes with a touch of the divine, Yvette didn’t participate in the prayers or services. Praying to any True God felt inappropriate—those very gods were her greatest threat in the Mortal Realm; she could barely hide fast enough.

So she went with Moga to the pool outside the Evergreen Revelation Church, ready to toss in a coin and make a simple wish.

They took their place at the pool’s edge with the other faithful. Yvette held out her hand to Moga for a copper, but what landed in her palm was a gold coin.

Yvette glanced at it. “Too pricey.”

Thanks to a currency unification decreed by a legendary mage, the Radiant Continent’s nations—say, the Herman Empire and the Sitt Kingdom, both human realms—might differ in mint quality or coin size, but within each country, the gold:silver:copper ratios were fixed at 1:100:10,000. One gold coin was worth ten thousand coppers—enough to feed a common family for months.

“The larger the denomination, the more devout it shows you are, and the more likely your wish is to come true, Teacher,” Moga explained earnestly.

“Then do you think the Tree God would grant the Silver Witch—the God of Serendipity—a wish?” Even in a world with real deities, Yvette still felt tossing coins in a wishing pool was pure entertainment.

Moga paused, then conceded, “Fair point—”

Only then did she recall that her teacher was a god, and she herself wasn’t exactly a devout Tree God believer. Never mind one gold coin—offer a hundred, and the Tree God still wouldn’t bother with them.

So, a few seconds later, Moga swapped the gold for coppers: one for her teacher, one for herself. She closed her eyes, pressed her hands together, and silently made a wish.

Yvette tossed her copper as well, then silently wished that all her students would live safe and sound all their lives.

She opened her eyes to find Moga finishing her prayer too, the girl flashing a slightly childish smile. “Teacher, can you guess what I wished for?”

“What did you wish for?” Yvette asked, taking Moga’s hand in hers.

Startled by the sudden hand-holding, Moga didn’t understand what it meant, but she didn’t overthink it and asked expectantly, “Take a guess?”

“Was it ‘I hope my teacher will always be safe’?”

“Huh?” Moga froze, eyes wide. She blurted, “H-How did you guess it in one go?”

Yvette quietly looked at her without speaking. The corners of her mouth lifted of their own accord into a wicked smile.

Seeing that sly curve, Moga was struck by a terrifying thought. She said in disbelief, “You—

you can read my mind, can’t you?”

Yvette still didn’t speak, only smiled. Moga felt the sky collapsing.

Now she was sure: her teacher really could read minds! And the method must have been that sudden physical contact just now!

After that, her thoughts shot back over the past four years. At the beginning, her teacher had needed physical contact to send intent into her mind, and she always replied by speaking aloud. Thinking about it now, back then all she had needed was to think it,

and her teacher already knew what she was going to say!

And taking it further—what about all the other things in her head?! Her occasional gripes and complaints about the teacher, her commentary on the bodily details of the teacher’s two forms, the odd fantasies she entertained about her while lying in bed, even some uncontrollable, risqué dreams—she had once wondered if the teacher could sense what she was thinking, but later she’d concluded not. So many thoughts were not only irreverent but downright blasphemous, and the teacher never reacted—clearly she didn’t know.

But now it seemed—of course she knew! She just never said so!!

Oh my god!!!

In an instant, a blush like burning clouds swept over the half-elf girl’s pale skin. Her face went tomato-red, and an unconscious “ah, ah” keening slipped out. It was as if steam were venting from her head; the next second her brain might overload and she’d faint on the spot.

Yvette, watching Moga wish she could crawl into a hole from shame, was even more delighted.

She’d held this in for five years for this very moment. One way or another, she had to say it before leaving—otherwise, hadn’t those five years been wasted?

Seeing the satisfactory reaction now, she cheerfully explained, “It’s not that I have a taste for this. At first I didn’t fully trust you, so I used this method to judge whether you were trustworthy—you could also think of it as a discreet assessment. Later, when I did trust you completely, there was too much built up, and it became awkward to bring up. So I decided I had to pick the right moment to tell you—like now.”

“Mnn—” Moga slammed her face into her teacher’s chest, her maiden heart shattering on the spot. She felt she had no face left to show anyone.

What do you mean ‘awkward to bring up’? You did it on purpose!

Teacher bullies people!!

Holding the girl’s slender waist, Yvette reached out and soothingly ruffled her golden hair. Feeling the moment was about right,

she snapped the fingers of her other hand.

The next second, countless enormous fireworks woven of magical elements blossomed overhead. They came without warning, but their hues were even more dazzling than last night’s, instantly drawing every gaze below.

Moga jumped at the sudden burst of color, tipping her face up in surprise, the shame in her chest briefly forgotten.

She watched for several seconds. When the first volley faded, she remembered she still had something to say to her teacher.

She wanted to tell her that although she felt mortified, she wasn’t truly angry. These four years had been the most precious of her short life so far. So she wanted to make a promise with her teacher: to meet again when the aurora next appears. With that as her goal, she could keep living well.

She gathered herself and turned—only to realize, all at once, that her teacher was nowhere to be seen. Only a tender breeze lingered in place,

“Teacher—?”

Thinking of the possibility, she looked around in a rush—but found nothing.

Little by little, she grew still, standing on the street with her spirits low, like a statue drained of color, out of step with the tourists rejoicing around her for the new year. Only snow laced with fine rain kept falling, piling cold silver frost upon her shoulders.

She didn’t know how long it was before she raised her head. On the far skyline washed by the winter sun, a faint ribbon of rainbow hung quietly there—like a flickering aurora.