Boka sat on his bed at home, his expression blank. Bloodstains still clung to his sleeves.

Earlier, in the palace courtyard, Mia had suddenly collapsed. Bright red liquid streamed from her nostrils. Panicked, Boka tried to staunch the flow, but the blood gushed like a relentless stream, impossible to stop.

Fortunately, the palace apothecary and Alva were present. Using his own methods, Alva repeatedly pinched the bridge of Mia’s nose, forcing the bleeding to cease. After carrying Mia to an inner chamber to rest, he immediately brewed a potion for her to swallow.

King Gill paced restlessly inside the chamber, his heart burning with anxiety. Though ruler of the entire kingdom, he stood helpless as any common man before his daughter’s sudden illness.

Yet at this moment, Alva and the Dragonfolk began to hesitate.

Seeing Alva pause, King Gill pressed him urgently—even with sharp words. It was clear the Dragonfolk hadn’t yet agreed to treat Mia. Only when the king resorted to threats did Alva finally speak.

He asked that they not be blamed, no matter what happened.

With Mia’s life hanging in the balance, King Gill cared little for such conditions. He nearly swore an oath as monarch to Amir. Only after receiving a firm answer did the Dragonfolk exchange uneasy glances and nod one by one.

Alva stepped forward, sliced his finger, and drew three connected symbols on Princess Mia’s forehead with his blood. Closing his eyes, he began chanting in an ancient tongue.

*Magic...* Boka watched, slightly amazed.

But Aisha shook her head in denial.

As Alva chanted, Boka felt his own strength draining away. Flowers in the room withered before their eyes. Even the lawn outside began to rot.

Everyone in the chamber—including King Gill—grew pale.

The Dragonfolk were using forbidden arts.

A branch of magic, yet fundamentally different. True magic harnessed unseen forces through precise calculation. Forbidden arts, however, consumed life force. Centuries ago, the Church had banned this practice as heresy, executing countless sorcerers who studied it.

Princess Mia’s complexion quickly flushed with color. The stolen vitality flowed into the frail girl.

Though this act alone could send them to the gallows, King Gill stayed silent for his beloved daughter’s sake. With her condition critical, Alva had no choice but to use this forbidden technique to prolong her life.

Soon, Princess Mia opened her eyes.

King Gill rushed to her side, gripping his daughter’s hand with trembling excitement.

Witnessing the Dragonfolk’s power, the king was utterly convinced. Before everyone’s gaze, he bowed deeply to Alva, begging him to cure Mia’s illness.

Aria stayed by Mia’s bedside, the only one who truly conversed with her.

Unable to bear it any longer, Boka also pleaded.

But Alva remained hesitant.

Only when Lola joined Boka’s side and uttered the name *Lupin* did Alva finally nod. The Dragonfolk agreed.

Mia’s next words struck Boka deepest:

*"Father... when I recover, I want to see the world."*

Since their first meeting, she’d mentioned how her frail health kept her confined indoors. Born into a gilded palace, she’d been locked within its walls her entire life. Who could understand that loneliness? Perhaps only she did. But Boka thought—*it must be so very lonely.*

"Boka."

Cynthia’s voice came from outside the door.

"Are you dressed yet?"

"Almost."

"Hurry. Don’t keep them waiting."

"I know, don’t rush me."

Winston the fruit merchant’s niece had arrived far earlier than expected. She’d set out for the capital even before Winston’s letter reached them.

Last night, Winston had rushed over with the news. Since Boka wasn’t home, Cynthia had been startled. When she told Boka, he’d stood frozen in shock for a long while.

He had no concept of blind dates, though he’d heard they didn’t necessarily lead to marriage.

*"Is it just... two people meeting?"* he’d asked Cynthia.

She’d sighed, her tone heavy with care.

"Boka... I still see you as my little brother. But sometimes you surprise me—you’re half a head taller than me now. You’re twenty-three. Others your age are married. You’re alone. I care for you now, but that won’t last forever. You’re the last man of the Blumer Clan. Our parents’ legacy... the family’s future rests on your shoulders."

Boka fell silent. He hadn’t realized how far ahead Cynthia had planned for him.

"And she traveled all the way from the countryside to the capital. We can’t be rude. I’ve met her—she’s truly lovely. Simple and kind."

Cynthia added that Winston’s friend worked in the palace. He’d already arranged for the girl to serve as a maid there. "It’s not a grand position," she admitted, "but if she wishes, she could help us at the shop instead."

Boka tried to protest. *"But I don’t want to marry yet—"*

Cynthia went quiet. She stared at him for a long moment, words trapped behind her rising chest. Gently stroking his cheek, she whispered:

"Boka, you’ll always be my brother. So... please listen to me this once. If you truly refuse later, I’ll find another way."

Her pleading tone broke him. *For the Blumer Clan*, he thought. *Its rise or fall now lies on my shoulders.*

He’d already decided his script for the meeting: First, he’d state his non-negotiable condition—he must bring Aisha. He’d promised her. She was family. Even when she grew up, if she chose to stay by his side, he’d never turn her away. After all, Aisha was the first person he’d met in this strange world after losing his memories in the Aber Mountains.

Today, Aisha seemed unusually cheerful. She practically vibrated with anticipation at the thought of Boka’s date.

"Well?" she asked, peering up at him.

"What?"

"Cynthia’s waiting outside. Ready?"

"Just... let me breathe for a moment..."

"Maybe marriage is good."

"Why?"

"Then there’ll be children."

"And?"

"I’ll have a playmate."

"... ..."

"Boka, I’m coming in."

Cynthia pushed the door open, unable to wait longer.

"What are you doing? Keeping someone waiting is rude."

She’d bought him new clothes—a costly set from the tailor. But the stiff fabric made Boka squirm, feeling tightly bound.

Cynthia’s own appearance, however, left him momentarily speechless.

Soft makeup adorned her face. A snow-white fitted blouse complemented her loose, flowing hair. She looked more elegant than any noble lady—unimaginable for a mother of a six-year-old. Her effortless grace would put other women to shame.

*She’s not here as a guardian—she’ll completely overshadow the girl!*

"Pretty?" She twirled. "My old student gown."

Grabbing Boka’s hand, she pulled him toward the door.

"Come on. Today, I’m the responsible elder."

Downstairs, the shop was closed. They’d agreed to meet at a restaurant on Lisen Street. As the groom’s side, they were expected to host—but Boka had little coin. Cynthia would likely pay.

She scooped up Dorin, who was playing by the door, and led them toward Lisen Street in the upper city.

Along the way, they drew countless stares—all fixed on Cynthia. Such beauty turned every head. Yet seeing her with two girls and a disheveled Boka sparked both envy and confusion among onlookers.

*If anyone finds our shop,* Boka thought wryly, *business will boom with curious men for days.*

Having worked at the Duke’s manor, Boka knew Lisen Street well. A short climb up two side alleys would take them there. The restaurant sat atop a small hill.

Gerner had mentioned this place before—delicious food, exorbitant prices. Only nobles and merchants dined here; commoners avoided it.

Boka’s stomach tightened. *Will they throw us out?*

But at the entrance, the waiter bowed respectfully to Cynthia.

"Miss Cynthia, your guests are waiting."

Inside, an elderly man in formal wear rose from a corner table and bowed.

"Who’s that?" Boka whispered.

"The owner."

"You know him?"

"I worked here during my apothecary studies," Cynthia explained. "He’s Baird’s friend."

*So Cynthia’s connections run this deep...* Boka realized anew.

"Ah, there they are."

The restaurant was quiet. Cynthia quickly spotted Winston.

Boka’s feet itched to flee. If Cynthia loosened her grip, he’d vanish. Sensing his intent, she pinched his arm hard behind her back.

"Go on. Greet them."

Beside Winston sat a young woman, head bowed shyly, silent.

"Y-you there," Boka stammered.

"Hello..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

*Wait... have I seen her before?*

*Is it my imagination?*

"Don’t hide your face, child," Winston urged gently. "He’s here. Be polite."

"Yes..."

Slowly, she lifted her flushed face. Recognizing her features, Boka couldn’t help but blurt out:

"Helen."