Trena and the others had already left Albion.

Without so much as a goodbye—they’d clearly fled in haste.

Boka sighed, wandering the bustling main city streets. A pang of loneliness struck him. They’d been his travel companions after he met Aisha. Now, who knew how many years until they’d meet again? Or if they ever would. A bittersweet ache settled in Boka’s chest.

He’d heard traveling merchants’ routes spanned years. Trena herself had left the capital a decade ago, only returning now.

Boka bit his upper lip. *Too long.* By the time they reunited, she might be married, with children of her own… He dared not dwell on it.

It was late. Cynthia must be worried. He hadn’t told her he’d be out—he’d surely earn her scolding. Around Cynthia, Boka felt like a child.

Since the capital sat atop a hill with the palace at its peak, the steep slopes shortened his descent. Reaching the gentler incline near the harbor, he quickly entered Mire Street.

But as Boka neared Shop No. 27, shouting erupted.

“How dare you think I’m easy prey just because I’m a woman!”

“When did I ever touch you? Don’t frame me!”

Cynthia was arguing with a man. Dorin hid behind Aisha, tears welling in her frightened eyes. Aisha stood expressionless, icy glare fixed on the troublemaker.

“I never said you touched me! You just admitted it yourself!”

Stung by the truth, the man’s face twisted. To save face, he shifted tactics.

“Your candles won’t even light! Can’t I complain?” He snapped the entire bundle and slammed it to the ground.

“Do you expect candles to burn underwater?! Is *that* why you groped me?!”

Cynthia held her ground, but Boka knew she was bluffing. Her raised voice masked her fear—she couldn’t falter in front of Dorin and Aisha. A trace of tears glistened in her eyes.

Crowds gathered along Mire Street, murmuring disapproval at the middle-aged man. Yet no one stepped forward to stand with Cynthia. Only then did Boka grasp how vital it was to have a man in the house—to shield and support the women when the world turned harsh.

Enraged, the man swung his palm toward Cynthia’s face.

Mid-swing, a powerful hand clamped his wrist. Boka’s cold eyes locked onto his, grip tightening until the man grimaced in pain. Since losing his memories, Boka had avoided fights. But years as a mountain hunter had forged his limbs—overpowering ordinary men was easier than butchering wolves.

“L-let go…”

“What were you doing to my family?”

“It hurts!”

“You think your filthy hands can touch her?” Boka jabbed a finger at Cynthia. “Over my dead body.”

“Aaahh!!” The man howled.

Boka wrenched his arm, joints cracking audibly.

“Boka, stop. Let him go.” Tears still streaked Cynthia’s cheeks. “I’m unharmed. Don’t cause trouble. Just… let him go.”

She’d never seen Boka like this—icy, eyes glinting with killing intent, veins bulging on his powerful arms.

Boka didn’t answer. Fury still burned. *This was his home.* No one hurt his family here.

“Release him. Boka. Albion forbids private duels.” Cynthia’s voice turned pleading. “So many are watching… please, don’t invite trouble!”

After a tense silence, Boka slowly unclenched his fist. “Don’t let me see you again.”

The man spat curses, stumbling back a few steps with hollow threats.

Just as he tried to flee, a fully armed patrol blocked his path.

The lead knight—Eric—grabbed the man’s collar. Two soldiers pinned his arms.

“By Albion’s law, you’re under arrest,” Eric declared. “No one bullies civilians on my watch.”

“And you.” Eric seized Boka’s arm. “Vigilantism breaks the law too. You’re also under arrest.”

“What—”

“W-wait!” Cynthia stepped between them. “Eric, Boka only protected me! Don’t take him!”

Eric’s stern face softened. He released Boka and chuckled. “Just joking, senior sister. Don’t panic.”

“Phew…” She exhaled shakily. “You scared me half to death.”

“Is this the brother you mentioned?” Eric studied Boka. “Looks nothing like clever Cynthia.”

*What?* Boka hesitated—was he calling him slow?

“He’s incredibly capable,” Cynthia puffed her chest proudly.

Aisha, seeing the commotion end, yawned and pulled Dorin inside. Dorin gazed up at her uncle Boka with starry-eyed awe—his sudden heroism had carved a towering image in her heart.

“Ahh…” Eric rubbed his forehead. “I envy you, living with senior sister.”

“Nonsense.” Cynthia planted her hands on her hips. “Boka’s a Blumer Clan man.”

“Right, right.” Eric’s tone shifted. “Where’s Master Baird? I don’t see him.”

“He’s teaching outside the city. Won’t return until next month.”

“Tch…” Disappointment flashed across Eric’s face. “Rarely visit, and the master’s absent.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Eric’s eyes lit up again. “Master Baird’s my idol! During the plague seven years ago, he led the Academy’s apothecaries to cure it. More a hero than the royal court or Duke Clar—a silent genius!”

“Yes, yes. I’ve heard that till my ears ache.”

“If you weren’t his wife, I’d never have given up.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll throw *you* in jail first.”

Cynthia began packing up, signaling the conversation’s end. Boka helped move goods indoors.

He knew Baird was respected—even elders nodded to him—but never realized he’d pioneered the plague cure seven years ago.

Eric kept rambling as Boka and Cynthia finished closing shop.

“Eric.” Cynthia called.

“Hmm?”

“I won’t keep you for tea.” She shut the door mid-sentence.

Eric stood frozen outside, utterly bewildered.

Dorin slept curled in a rattan chair. Though the day was hot, sea breezes from the harbor drifted through the open back window, cooling the connected shops. Aisha had already slipped upstairs through the rear door. Cynthia had borrowed magic tomes from Baird’s National Library pass to keep her occupied.

“Boka.” Cynthia’s voice was soft.

“Yeah?”

…

Warmth pressed against his chest. Cynthia suddenly hugged him.

“Th-that…” Boka stammered.

“Thank you… Boka. You came just in time.” Her voice trembled. “I was so scared. Baird wasn’t here… Thank you…”

“It’s nothing.” His rough hand stroked her hair. “We’re family.”

That night, Boka comforted her for hours. Cynthia rarely voiced her pain—but that made him want to listen more. During the plague, a third of the capital perished. Of the Blumer Clan, only Cynthia survived—everyone else, exiled or dead. That loneliness was unimaginable. She’d told him how Baird’s kindness pulled her from despair; he was her savior as much as the city’s. They’d married soon after.

Boka overslept the next day, exhausted from the late night.

Luckily, his boss, old Master Gnae, didn’t scold him. Seeing Boka’s weary face, Gnae assumed he’d had a rough time and even asked gently. But Boka stayed silent—Trena’s departure, Cynthia’s tears—he locked it all away.

That afternoon, as Boka prepared to leave, Gnae clapped his shoulder.

“Come with me.” His words were brief.

Boka recalled his mention yesterday—probably night fishing again. His mentor had invited him many times.

“Okay,” he nodded.

Gnae was a master gardener. He’d once tended the palace courtyards but retired to Duke Agnes’s estate due to age. Though his legs were weak, his high salary afforded him a carriage—old but elegant, adorned with hand-carved floral patterns.

But when they reached Gnae’s “fun” destination…

Boka was completely dumbfounded.

Two scantily clad women stood at the entrance, chests bared. Inside, cloying feminine perfume hung thick in the air. Young girls lined the hallways, beckoning clients.

This was unmistakably—a brothel.