Boka descended from the Aber Mountains. Before encountering any traveling merchants, he’d run out of food and coin. Stranded on a small town’s street, a kind family took him in for a few days.

The generous couple gave him money and dried rations. Thanks to that, Boka and Aisha could continue their journey.

The daughter of that household was Helen—the very girl standing before Boka now. A kind-hearted farm girl, as sweet as a little sister. During Boka’s stay, she and her parents warmly welcomed the two strangers. Even when Aisha stayed icy, Helen treated her gently—tidying her messy hair, taking her to the market to play, and buying her candies.

Helen saw Boka purely as an older brother. She’d drag him into the forest to pick mushrooms or to the river to catch fish. Her cooking skills were terrible, though. Once, she tossed uncleaned raw fish straight into a pot. Boka nearly vomited.

They stayed about four days. When leaving, Helen cried until her face was streaked with tears, begging them to return someday.

Boka never imagined meeting Helen again in Albion’s capital. And under such circumstances.

Having Helen as a blind date? Absurd. At seventeen, she wasn’t mature like Trena. Her petite frame and youthful face made her seem barely older than Aisha. Boka saw her only as a sister.

“Brother Boka!” She shot up. “Is it really you?”

Aisha was slightly surprised too. A faint smile touched her lips—she seemed glad to see Helen.

“Helen.”

Boka grinned, ruffling her hair like he did with Aisha.

“Stop that! You’re treating me like a kid again.” She blushed, lowering her head.

“Huh?” Cynthia said. “You know each other?”

“We owed her family a debt,” Boka explained. “How are your parents?”

“They’ve been asking about you!” Helen beamed, excitement bubbling over. “They told me to say hello if I ever met you in the capital.”

“So… you already knew each other?” Cynthia coughed, her tone sour.

“Yep!” Helen nodded vigorously.

“Perfect. No need for formalities,” Mr. Winston declared. “Let’s set a wedding date.”

“W-wedding? With Brother Boka…?” Helen bit her lip, flustered.

“Hold on,” Boka cut in. “Impossible. She’s just a kid. I see Helen as a sister.”

“A k-kid?!” Helen choked, words failing her. “Mom forced me into this…”

“Exactly, Boka,” Mr. Winston added smoothly. “You’re older—you can take care of her. My sister and I would rest easy.”

Cornered by their words, the tongue-tied Boka nearly crumbled. He glanced at Aisha for help, but she deliberately looked away, feigning indifference.

“Helen,” Cynthia leaned close. “Our family’s well-off. We own two shops on the street. After marrying Boka, you won’t need to work. Just… just have lots of babies.”

“B-babies?!”

Cynthia’s bluntness made Boka dizzy. He couldn’t picture Helen holding an infant. It felt criminal. Even if Helen wasn’t a bad choice—better than a stranger—he knew she must hate this. Her pained expression screamed reluctance.

“But even if I agreed,” Boka said, watching the flustered girl, “Helen wouldn’t marry me. She said so herself once.”

He remembered her mother mentioning marriage prospects at dinner. When Boka’s gaze landed on Helen, she’d slammed the table and shouted, “I’d never marry Brother Boka!” The memory stung. He was boring, ordinary—no wonder no woman would want him.

“I-I…” Helen stammered. “Brother Boka… maybe not…”

“Oh dear.” Winston rubbed his forehead. “After all that trouble finding you, Boka…”

“Helen,” Cynthia pressed, “think again? My brother’s simple, kinda dumb, a bit smelly—but no bad habits. As a husband, he’s low-maintenance. But… if you truly hate him, fine. I-I can support him a few more years.”

Cynthia’s words tumbled out incoherently.

“Yes, child,” Winston urged. “What if you marry someone who stays out all night?”

“I…”

“Cynthia, Uncle Winston—stop pressuring her,” Boka interrupted. “Can’t you see Helen’s struggling?”

Helen’s face flushed crimson. Her eyes burned with frustration and hurt, as if she wanted to bite him.

*Did I say something wrong?* he wondered.

But as Boka stood confused, Winston seemed to grasp something. Cynthia’s intuition as a woman was sharp, and Winston knew his niece well. He fell silent.

Cynthia’s stern expression cracked into disbelief. Unlike her weary look, Winston shifted tactics.

“Alright, alright. No more pressure, Helen.” Winston sighed. “Let’s shelve marriage talk. A blind date doesn’t mean a wedding.”

“Yeah…” Cynthia muttered, suddenly sullen.

“Boka, Helen’s new to the capital. After lunch, show her around.” Winston patted his back. “Just bring her back by evening.”

“Sure.” He nodded.

Helen had cared for him once. Now, he owed her a tour of this ancient, vibrant city.

Cynthia’s lavish order arrived soon—rich dishes, exquisite flavors. But Aisha devoured everything shamelessly, wolfing down food like she’d survived a famine. Cynthia gave up scolding her, only hoping she wouldn’t get sick. Helen, amused, kept cutting meat for Aisha, fascinated by her savage eating.

After the meal, Winston excused himself quickly. Cynthia stormed off early to visit an old friend on Lisen Street, fuming for no clear reason. She took Dorin but left Aisha—the giant deadweight—behind.

Stepping onto the bustling street, Boka felt a lightness in his chest.

Meeting Helen again in the capital… If gods existed, perhaps a kind one had woven this reunion.

Helen walked beside him, hesitant—wanting to get closer but holding back.

“You look more mature, Brother Boka.”

“Do I?” He touched his cheek. “Older?”

“Mature isn’t about age.”

“Same thing,” Boka scratched his head. “I’m six years older.”

“Six years? Dad’s seven years older than Mom!” Helen waved her fingers dramatically.

“But Uncle looks young.”

Helen resembled her father—short, with a face younger than his years. She’d inherited his genes.

“Wow! That building’s so tall!” She gaped at a distant castle.

“That’s the royal palace,” Boka explained.

Lisen Street neighbored the palace, high in the capital. It was visible from everywhere.

“Oh! That’s it!” She bounced excitedly. “I start working there in a few days—Uncle arranged it.”

“Mr. Winston’s impressive.”

Securing a palace job for family took serious influence. Ordinary citizens never set foot there. Winston truly planned for Helen’s future here.

“Wow! So pretty!”

Spotting a jewelry shop, Helen yanked Boka’s hand, dragging him inside.

*That must be expensive…* he thought. This wasn’t Mel’s Shop Street with its cheap trinkets. Sure enough, when Helen heard the price, she nearly collapsed.

“Is this normal in the capital? This costs half my family’s yearly food!” she gasped.

It was pricey, but Cynthia’s allowance left Boka’s pockets full. He could afford it.

But before he could speak, Helen pulled him away.

“So scary… so scary…” She panted, stopping to catch her breath.

No one would scold her for not buying, yet she looked utterly terrified.

“It’s actually cheap for Lisen Street,” Boka said. “Right, Aisha?”

He turned to ask—but the spot behind him was empty.