Noira watched Roland’s back and bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Half of her was dying to see what would happen next; the other half picked up her glass, swirled the amber liquid, then took a light sip.

How long… had it been since he last held her in his arms?

When he came downstairs again, Roland had changed into a soft white cotton shirt. He was twirling a clear crystal orb between his fingers. Under the sunlight, it broke into shards of color.

Noira flicked a shiny coin straight at him. Roland caught it with one hand, checked that it was a silver piece, then lazily slipped it into his pocket.

He rolled his eyes and pulled a ridiculous face, grudgingly spreading his arms. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Go on then, feel free to ravage me.”

Noira flashed a bright smile, her pretty eyes curling into crescent moons. She swept her fiery red hair back over her shoulders. Like a butterfly she leapt, bringing a whiff of perfume with her as her slender body dove into Roland’s embrace.

Warm, soft, fragrant. Roland closed his arms, holding Noira gently. The famed Deputy Leader of Heran, the woman who shook the whole city, was shockingly light and soft in his arms.

One hand slowly stroked Noira’s back. With the other, he poured mana into the orb. A thin membrane like a curtain of water unfurled around them, wrapping them both inside. From the outside, it was almost completely invisible.

It was an invisibility trinket.

Noira rested her small face lightly on Roland’s shoulder and snorted a laugh. “You’re still afraid of being seen?”

Roland sighed. “Baron Barro, Captain Larrand, and a few other mercenary leaders… I’d rather not have to deal with your suitors.”

Noira lifted her head; her wine-red eyes were right in front of his. “That’s why I said, as long as you’re willing to be my pretty boy, I’ll protect you. If they dare bully you, I’ll beat them till they’re spitting teeth all over the floor!”

Roland shrugged and ignored the joke.

He closed his eyes. A faint golden glow rose from his heart, spreading outward like a halo. It flowed across his chest, down his arms, then through his whole body.

Then that golden light shifted onto Noira. It ran from her pale, delicate arms to her bare shoulders and back. From the soft, pressed curve of her chest down along her long legs.

“Mmm~” As the light faded, Noira let out a lazy, contented sound through her nose, her whole body relaxing. A warm current welled up from deep inside her chest, soothing the exhaustion that had been grinding her down for half a month.

She felt wrapped in a strange power. Every unpleasant thought seemed to drift away from her, one by one.

This was the unique skill Roland had gained after being summoned to the continent of Roland as a Hero—also one of the main reasons he was mocked as a Hero.

“Hero’s Embrace.”

Its effect was to soothe the target’s body and mind, to give them fresh strength and courage. With this skill, Roland looked less like a Hero and more like a therapist.

Of course, after Roland’s own development and experimentation, both the skill and what lay behind it went far beyond that. But back then, it had felt utterly useless.

Other Heroes, once summoned to another world, either had insane combat talent, or broken skills, or god-tier weapons. Someone even got to cross over with a goddess in tow.

And this stupid skill got Roland thrown out the very day he was summoned.

No levels. No gear. Not even enough money to register at the Adventurers’ Guild and take a quest. From then on, Roland survived by scavenging, never sure where his next meal was coming from.

One day, with his stomach growling, Roland passed a tavern and tried to find some scraps of leftover food. Instead, he ran into a beautiful young wife who’d gotten drunk because her rich merchant husband had cheated on her.

She had just stumbled out of the tavern. Too drunk to walk straight, she slipped right off the steps. Being a good boy through and through, Roland instinctively caught her.

Back then, Roland knew nothing about his own skill. It was also the first time since he’d arrived in this world that he’d had someone in his arms.

“Well, since I’ve got someone in my arms anyway, I might as well test my skill.”

Thinking that, he activated “Hero’s Embrace”—and the result was insane. The moment the skill triggered, the young wife was completely captured.

She treated Roland like a savior who’d pulled her from the fire. Clinging to him, she sobbed and poured out her misery, snot and tears all over his chest.

They went back into the tavern. She ordered a cocktail, then lay on Roland’s shoulder, drinking as she talked about the past.

Tears glimmered in her eyes as if she’d gone back to that pure younger self. She talked about how she’d been such a cheerful, adorable girl, and how she’d been swept up by sweet words and luxuries into marrying her current husband—only for him to turn into a heartless bastard.

When she got worked up, she cried like a rain-soaked flower, shoulders shaking as she sobbed on Roland’s shoulder. Any other man, faced with a woman this attractive crying in front of him, would’ve held her tight and murmured comfort.

Roland didn’t spare a second to pity her. Or rather, he had no time to pity her.

While calmly listening to her hiccuping monologue, he stuffed the last mouthful of meat sauce pasta into his own mouth. With cheeks puffed out like a hamster, he waved the server over and ordered a huge plate of roast chicken, eyes shining as he tore into it.

His eating was so shameless that every man in the tavern stared.

None of them could figure out why this well-off, still-gorgeous young wife was so taken with this ragged, half-starved stray.

But you couldn’t really blame Roland. According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the first level is survival, then safety, then emotional needs.

Ever since he’d come to this world, he’d been sleeping rough and never had a proper meal. Now that he finally had a chance, of course his top priority was satisfying that first-level need.

And so, thanks to this skill, Roland ate his fill for the first time in this world.

The tavern owner had a sharp eye. He immediately invited Roland to work at his place. From that moment, Roland’s controversial career as the “Host Hero,” Chen Ai the gigolo, officially began.

The job couldn’t have been simpler, and the boss even praised him as a natural-born host.

Because unlike everyone else, Roland didn’t need to learn any pickup tricks at all. All he had to do was pull someone into his arms. They’d be healed on the spot—some even fell hopelessly in love with him, throwing money at him without a second thought.

Roland even thought about renaming his skill “Embrace Kill.” Any girl who stepped into his arms was his to toy with.

Business boomed. In no time, Roland became a top host famous throughout the imperial capital, raking in money hand over fist.

But in the middle of his success, this very skill also left Roland deeply confused.

Was this really why he’d been summoned as a Hero? Just to be a gigolo? Was he really going to live off women for the rest of his life?

Thinking back on those days, Roland let out a sigh.

Noira shifted in his arms, her hair brushing lightly against his cheek. It tickled a little and carried a faint fragrance.

He knew that scent well. In his second year as a host, he’d met the girl with this fiery red hair.

Back then, Noira was nowhere near as mature as she was today.

That year, she’d still been a green, half-grown girl with a cute short haircut. She’d come to Roland’s club looking for some fun.

Under the dim lights of the bar, the girl swirled her glass and leaned against his shoulder. “Wanna go adventuring with me?” she’d asked. “It’s really fun.”

That was when Roland truly started down the path of a Hero. He accepted Noira’s invitation, quit his host job despite the boss’s desperate pleas, and joined Noira’s fledgling party from scratch.

And Noira, like a teacher guiding a child, had led him step by step down the road of a warrior. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that she’d made him who he was today.

They had been silent for a long time now, just holding each other quietly. Roland stroked Noira’s long hair. The gentle warmth of his glow washed over her body and mind again and again.

“Roland… have you ever thought about coming back and being an adventurer again?” Noira’s voice was soft, tinged with loneliness and a fragility she never showed anyone else.

Roland didn’t know how to answer. Too much had happened during his years on campaign against the demons.

He was just about to come up with some excuse when he heard a slow, even breathing at his shoulder.

“Noira?” he whispered, lowering his head. She was already fast asleep on his shoulder, long lashes resting against her cheeks.

Noira was already stunning to begin with. With those bewitching red eyes closed, her face took on a surprisingly fresh, gentle look.

She’d spent half a month on this mission, camping rough every night. Today’s return had started at dawn, and they hadn’t reached Heran until noon. Seven hours of marching had pushed her long past her limits. Now, with “Hero’s Embrace” relaxing her completely, the fatigue swallowed her in an instant.

“Looks like this really did wear you out,” Roland murmured.

He freed one hand and slipped it under her long legs. Moving as gently as he could so as not to wake her, he scooped her up and carried her over to the leather sofa by the wall, then sat down slowly.

Roland leaned back against the sofa. Noira curled against his chest. Her long, blazing-red hair draped over him like lingering threads of affection.

Sunlight slipped through the leaves outside and the dust in the air, falling into the shop in soft beams. Even the cicadas outside seemed to have gone quiet.

Holding Noira in his arms, Roland narrowed his eyes and let himself enjoy this rare, peaceful afternoon.