I run on a humanitarian policy: anything with no real value—like a smile—gets given away like petals on the wind.

Problem is, my face is a grave slab most days, so smiles don’t grow on it.

Kissing, though? To me it’s a firework that leaves no ash. It makes nothing, adds nothing to the world. Only people in love feel their hearts heated. If someone asks for a kiss, I usually oblige, like tossing a coin into a fountain.

Since I don’t love anyone, all I register is a quicksilver tongue, lips hot as embers, and then the tide falls flat.

Good thing I hesitated when Anna made her request.

Not out of guilt, but because the haggler in me wanted to push back, to show a little wound, to fish for better terms.

Thank the stars I stalled.

Otherwise, mid-kiss, Stini would’ve popped up and turned the pond to mud.

Very messy, I told myself, calm as a winter lake. A wild Hero-girl leaped out of the crowd—Fight, Item, Run—

What the hell! Stini, you idiot! Where did you spring from?!

“Yo-ho, Andor, I missed the airship!”

She waved at me with that sun-bright grin, like a flag on a blue day.

She’s a Hero who never plays by the book. If she claimed she came here to catch me cheating, I might’ve believed it.

“Sniff, sniff. Something reeks of love. Who is it? Who’s giving off that sour smell? Ah, Naiqie, you’re here too.”

You’re the one stinking of it, you dunce.

Headache or not, some things need explaining. Time to weave a small lie like a straw hat.

“Naiqie and I planned to pick up a few things—”

“I get it. That’s a date!”

Instinct is a straight arrow—hateful because it hits at once.

The girl swung her long lance in giddy arcs, and pedestrians scattered like pigeons on the shopping street.

A flower garland looped her neck; she wore sleeveless, floral beachwear fit for sun and sand, not hard fights. If not for her missing right hand, I might’ve thought she’d cleared her trial and taken a victory vacation.

“Eh-heh. After missing the airship, I didn’t want to go home and get scolded. So I spent my last coins on a local-tour day. Even if you scold me now, Andor, I don’t care.”

Her smile was still springwater bright, same as always.

Is that resignation, or a sail cut loose?

My head throbbed. All the analysis I did earlier went up like smoke. I should’ve had Vega shadow this sneak at all hours.

Trouble. Anna’s date got cut short; she should be furious. If she goes off—

I glanced back. She wasn’t raging like I’d pictured.

She sat quiet on the bench, breeze lifting then laying down her white dress like foam. She smiled at us, soft as clouds.

“Since you’re here, Naiqie, Andor, let’s walk together. Let’s all go on a date.”

Watching Stini vibrate with excitement, I figured my first job was reminding her to stow the lance and not wreck the parade.

A Hero’s voice carries a natural sway, like a current. According to Head, that’s a trait that moves story along. It isn’t a charm spell you cast on purpose; it’s innate charisma.

Too bad the two people here are Demon Kings. The halo doesn’t stick.

Anna shook her head.

“I’m a bit tired. Andor, go with her. And Andor… I want your answer. Don’t drag it out.”

“O-kay—” Stini drew it out like a child, then prodded me like she was herding sheep, using the blunt end of the lance. “Let’s go first!”

I stumbled forward, then looked back.

Anna sat on the street-side bench. Her pure-white skirt rose and fell like breath. She gave me a gentle smile.

It reminded me of dreams and bubbles—tender, and ready to vanish.

——————

“I think you need time, Andor.”

“So you jumped into the date for that… How long were you tailing us?”

“I wasn’t. I just felt you needed me to jump out, so I followed your scent.”

Is she a dog? No—dogs can’t smell “need.”

I carried the cumbersome lance for her while she picked through beachwear. This souvenir-shop clamor rattled like tin; it was nothing like the hush when I picked fine clothes with Anna.

So cheap it hurts.

“About that… Are you going to accept Naiqie’s confession?”

She still hadn’t adjusted to one-handed life. She pinched the collar with her chin, pried it open with one hand, and posed before the mirror.

“Ah, that… that wasn’t really a confession—”

“I think it was. So you should think it through.”

“…How much did you hear?”

“Not a word. I just feel it was a confession. Instinct, instinct.”

Stini sounded cheerful as ever.

She faced the mirror, clever in the way she hid her expression from my eyes.

“Will you accept her confession?”

“I’ve said it a lot. I like Raven.”

“I often toss out confessions like jokes. There’s some truth in them, but more often I think we get along so well I’m scared a real confession would change what we have. But Naiqie’s different. She confessed for real—one person, one lifetime, one true heart. If you refuse her, you won’t meet that moment again.

“So I’m saying, Andor, you should think carefully. A girl who truly likes you stands across from you. You need to—should—decide how you’ll answer that heat.”

Stini headed straight into the fitting room. She took longer than most—one hand turns every knot into a net.

I sat and used the borrowed quiet to think.

“…Anyway, thank you, Stini.”

“Mhm. You still have time. Use it.”

I understood what Anna meant.

For Demon Kings, “give me a child” isn’t a couple of nights and done.

Conception is rare; you need years of night and day, like rain carving a canyon.

In the Golden Era—and hardly less in the Silver Era—offspring meant power and soul passed down. Demon Kings are Demonfolk with the purest blood, gold in their veins, hardly degraded. Their power is so heavy it’s hard for two currents to blend; that’s why children come so rarely.

You can make a blood-mixed being with magic, sure. But without that inherited soul, its power is mottled, like paint in dirty water. At best you keep it as a pet. It can’t become a new Demon King.

My father, Saster, a hard man who’s lived from the Golden Era to now, has only two children—me and Yakfarro. That’s how low the odds are.

So when Anna said, “Give me a child,” it was, in a sense, a proposal.

If she’d said it colder, by Demonfolk custom, it could pass as a vow to snatch and take by force.

I was sincerely grateful to Stini. Without her jumping in like a stray comet, I’d have been forced into a snap yes or no. For a Demonfolk like me, who plans before he strikes, that’s not the best move.

Time is short now, but enough to think to the root.

“Got it sorted?” came her voice from the booth.

“Sorted. I’ve decided.”

“Good. Very good.”

She whipped back the curtain. She stepped out in a black suit, red tie, golden flecks like star-dust on night. Give her a white horse and a longsword, and some heiress would dream of her.

“Looks great,” I said, like a breeze over strings.

Not cheap, though.

“Right? I’ve loved this one forever, just never had the money.”

She turned, proud as a banner, preening in the mirror.

I glanced at the tag and sighed. Another of her skills: always find the outrageously expensive.

“But what’s with your outfit? Haha. Why are you dressed like a bard—one of the gloomy ones.”

Because Anna likes it. Not a thing I’ll say aloud.

Both of us chose black, but with different stars to steer by. Anna picked what she loves. I picked what makes Anna happiest.

That’s my choice.

“Let’s go. There’s a piece I really want. Will you buy it for me?”

“…”

“Then let’s go.”

She dropped the beachwear without a look and dragged me through alleys like a wind-string. She clearly had a target.

Our last stop was a pitch-dark shop with only two characters above the door: formalwear.

Stini must have the skill “always finds hidden shops.”

She strode inside, found the piece she wanted, and darted into a fitting room. One breath, clean and quick, leaving me at the threshold, blinking.

The owner was a shadowy old woman. She looked at me with a dusky gaze.

“Stini’s wanted that dress for a long time. Every time she comes, she tries it on, then leaves, reluctant. She’s found her dress. What about you, young man—what kind of formalwear do you seek?”

I didn’t feel heavy magic from her, but Stini had surprised me enough times today. Courtesy and caution both told me to stand still as a stone.

“There’s plenty here. My closet’s not bare either. But there’s a type I can’t find on the market.”

“What?” Her eyes narrowed; her wrinkles bunched like a mountain map.

“One that witnesses the end of an epic. One you wear to a funeral for friends and foes alike. Do you have that?”

She stared at me like I was an old enemy, then lowered her voice.

“We do.”

——————

Stini burst from the fitting room and struck a pose in her “cool” black suit.

She was a prince from a fairytale sketch—red tie, night-black fabric, dusted with gold, a sword away from stealing a ballroom.

“Looks really good,” I breathed.

“Right? I’ve had my eye on it forever, just didn’t have the coin.”

She spun, proud as a hawk on the wind.

“But your outfit—haha—why go as a bard, and a moody one at that?”

Because Anna likes it. My tongue stayed shut.

We stepped out of the formalwear shop. At the corner, she jogged ahead and waved.

“I won’t go back with you. I’m booking the next airship.”

“Go on your own. I’m heading back to find Anna.” I tossed her my wallet, like tossing a key into a trusted hand.

“No problem. I’ll handle it. Relax.”

“I’ll handle mine too. You can relax.”

She leaned in like she meant to kiss me, then her eyes skittered away, embarrassed.

We settled for a press of foreheads, quiet and warm as two pebbles touching in a stream.

“I’ll make up that kiss when I’m back!”

She gritted her teeth, said it, then ran toward the distance and drowned in the crowd like a raindrop in the sea.