Her wary glance cuts my gentlemanly offer like a knife through paper, and a little deflated, I nudge another Balo cake between her small, chipmunking lips.

“I kind of want to head back to the casino now.”

Raven hugs her treasured alchemy machine with both arms, chewing the stuffed cake with hamster cheeks.

Like a tiny field mouse hoarding grain—too cute.

“Why… cough, cough—water.”

She wolfs down the Balo cakes I just bought, messy as a sparrow at a puddle. She’s always odd about money: if I treat a meal, she insists on splitting when she has cash; if it’s snacks, her hands move like quicksilver.

Miss Vega’s latest report says Raven’s finances are trash this week. Until the delivery date three days from now, she’s got no spare coins.

So after snatching a mountain of Balo cakes, she’ll probably skip lunch, like a drought-tightened belt.

I can’t openly treat her, but a little favor—no, a little courting—drips like spring rain and raises affection, drop by drop.

To be considerate, I of course brought a canteen. I pull it from the Shadow and ask, soft as wind:

“Raven, mind that I used it?”

“N-no… gimme. Now!”

“Really? Then if I hand it over, you don’t get to summon a Titan-class Construct because of an indirect kiss.”

“Cough—gimme—cough…”

“Well, since you insist…”

I’m about to pass the canteen when another hand moves faster and offers her a cup of juice.

“New from Brown Restaurant. Please enjoy… Sir, you look a little pale. How about one for you?”

The restaurant’s hostess, all scripted smile and sunshine, slices my romance plan clean in two.

It should’ve been my water she gulped in a pinch, then realized what she did and blushed like a dawn cloud. A tiny “Sorry…” from her, and I’d play the dense lead: “It’s fine. If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” while secretly savoring that shy sweetness. Love ferments in small, warm corners.

—all of which the hostess ruins like a pebble tossed into a still pond.

Dad used to mock that my thoughts were written on my face. After years of training, I wear a deadpan like a mask of stone. That hostess shouldn’t read me.

Maybe she just saw the killing intent flicker in my eyes like a drawn blade.

I ignore the “Would you like a cup?” smile pasted on her face. I steady the still-weak Raven and buy a box of Liwei Tentacle Wraps—Liwei octopus wrapped in flatbread, tentacles left to dance outside like sea-grass in current.

When the Creator shaped the world, He made more than His youngest child. He sprinkled it with wild creatures like stars across black water. The Liwei octopus is small—palm-sized—gentle, and common in every kind of water. It lives on mana like dew, and you see it everywhere.

It’s hard to catch. Its first gift is speed; at the slightest ripple, it darts off like a startled minnow.

Its second gift is life-force. In the Silver Era, we don’t speak of proteins and quarks; matter is woven from concepts—toughness, growth, vitality, stretch—and projected into the world like shadows onto stone.

So “cooked” means the fire brands food with the concept of “done” until it steams with fragrance, and that’s that.

But even when a Liwei octopus is “done” in concept, its brute vitality lingers like heat in embers—especially in the tentacles, which keep writhing. You watch sauced tentacles twitch after death, then bite in and it’s all springy, ocean-fresh tenderness.

People are split. Some think it’s stomach-turning, others say eating that live-thrum is exactly the point.

Raven is in the second camp. Back home, she could taste this only during major festivals, so childhood taught her to savor it like a holy day, and love followed.

Me? It’s fine. The Demon Realm has things just as lively—uglier, too. I like trying new bites, so I’ve sampled plenty. Liwei Tentacle Wraps aren’t special to me. Berenz loves them, though—good for bed, then good for a snack… let’s leave it at that, like a curtain falling.

“Thanks, Andor. You just said you wanted to go back to the casino?”

She looks weak not only from coughing. The alchemy machine in her arms is heavy as a small engine. She pants and hugs it, stopping every so often like a traveler on a steep trail.

“Yeah. Professor Alpha won a mountain off me. I want to see his face when he loses a mountain back.”

“Why do you think he’ll lose? Ah—another tentacle wrap.”

I think a moment, then spear a still-wriggling tentacle wrap, blow on it like cooling tea, and lift it to her lips. She rolls her eyes at my theatrics but still bites down, then tilts her head back like a river bird with a fish, letting it slide in and chewing with a blissed-out face.

“Careful, don’t choke again… So, you remember that classmate we ran into before we left?”

Canon says I don’t know Abigail yet, so this is me tap-dancing.

“That person… gives me a bad feeling. Hard to name it. Like trouble clings to him like burrs.”

So it’s not just fear of being seen gambling by a classmate.

She shrugs, shifts the machine’s weight, and walks on with me, footsteps like twin metronomes.

“Hmm. I don’t sense doom, but he has the face of someone who draws a straight flush or four aces. I don’t want to lose for nothing.”

“Face? What’s face reading?”

So that word hooks her?

“Think of it as reading the day’s luck from a person’s features, like weather off the sky. His says he might rake a pile off Professor Alpha.”

“Should we warn the professor? I don’t believe in luck much, but you gamblers pray to the Divine Beings for good fortune, don’t you?”

“Nope. Why would I warn the guy who just fleeced me?”

“Fair. Another one.”

At her word, I pick out another tentacle wrap. Just as I’m about to hand it over, a headline from the Academy news pops into my head.

“By the way, did you see the news about the Academy’s Martial Festival? You planning to join?”

“I am. Already signed up.”

The Festival has Singles, Doubles, and Team. All years mixed, no brackets, pure elimination. The last two fight in the Pantheon of the Mythology faculty, and the victor earns the gods’ blessing, like starlight poured on a blade.

“The Academy’s rewards are generous. I’m in it for that rain.”

Top twenty gets a fat purse. With her money drought, this is a normal well to dig.

But that’s not my angle.

“I mean, did you sign up for Doubles? We could—”

“Oh, signed.”

Great. Tell me who. Not everyone has a Hero’s trick of warding off assassins in their sleep.

“Eh? You’re that unhappy I teamed with Her Highness? Can you beat the princess? If you can, I’ll pick you.”

Oh, Princess Golia then. Say so earlier and we’d have avoided a bloodshed-level misunderstanding. She’s Iron Kingdom Colonna’s war-weapon, the Demon Slaying Sword, strongest in pure physical combat. No way I beat that monster.

…Demonfolk like me love blaming others, don’t we? Fine. I was wrong.

“No, I saw your eyes go sharp for a second—dangerous. Hm… maybe I imagined it…”

I plug her mouth with a tentacle wrap. She doesn’t resist, only smiles and starts the next round like a happy cat.

“In that case, I can only pair with Elina for Doubles, huh?”

Our squad’s Divine Healer, Elina, is almost certainly a watcher sent by the Divine Beings. I’m quietly working with the Wisdom God Haydon. I don’t know what faction of the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom she serves, so I keep her at arm’s length, like fire you respect.

“Speaking of numbers, only four of us can fight. Stini’s grounded by her dad for being too active lately. My maid work from her side is on hold, and I’m docking her pay when she’s back. And…”

I stop. Raven’s face stays composed, but a thin pallor creeps in like frost.

There’s also Catherine. In the last fight, Anna killed her. Everyone in the squad believes she’s gone.

“I remember you and her were chewing over the overlap of bestowed magic and enchantment. Sorry for stirring bad memories.”

“It’s fine. Go comfort Elina instead. She and Catherine were really close. She’s the one who should be hurting most.”

“But I really don’t want to see her…”

Our words tail off like smoke. I sigh and ruffle the hair of the girl beside me.

“What, you’ll feel lonely without me?”

Raven doesn’t dodge. She squints like a cat in sun, then bumps my shoulder and teases with a fox’s grin.

“Not that. As a knight, I just don’t want to fight two lovely princesses.”

If she fired back, “Who are you calling a lovely princess, you jerk!” I’d be close to winning her over. But—

“That means we can’t enter Team Battle. What a pity. With our squad, the crown was in the bag.”

She ignores it cleanly, like a willow bending past wind.

Well, expected. The plan’s on track. It just needs time, like tea steeping.

She quick-steps ahead with the heavy machine, then turns and flashes me a sun-bright smile.

“Andor! Today! I’m actually really happy!”

Happy where? Happy why? I don’t know. I thought this would be a failed date.

I don’t get girls’ hearts.

But if what she means is “the date itself is happiness,” then that’s perfect, like rain finding thirsty earth.