"No, no, no! I absolutely will not get mixed up in this mess!"

Oren spun around sharply after shouting, ready to flee. But before he could take a single step, Irina tugged his sleeve again.

"Eh~ Didn’t you promise to take me inside, big brother?"

Though her loli voice dripped with sweetness, Oren gritted his teeth and lunged forward another step. "No way! Where are your parents? Do they even allow you near a place like this?"

"That’s exactly why I’m asking *you*~"

*That’s not the point at all!*

With a heavy sigh, Oren slowly turned back. He placed his hands on Irina’s shoulders, his tone grave. "Miss, think carefully. Your parents raised you with such care—why throw yourself away like this? Besides..."

Before he could finish, Irina’s gaze drifted past him to an old beggar rummaging through a trash bin. After a brief pause, she released Oren’s sleeve and said flatly, "Fine. I’ll ask that beggar instead."

"Huh? Why him?"

Before Oren could react, Irina yanked a gold coin from her purse and stared him down. "One gold coin to take me in."

"That’s not *that* easy money!"

*One gold coin’s a laborer’s week of meals!* Oren pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly worried for this clueless, wealthy loli. What if some shady guy snatched her the moment he left? What horrors might follow?

He patted her shoulder again, voice even more earnest. "Miss, consider this: that beggar scrapes by on pennies day after day. To me, he’s probably..."

Irina slapped a second gold coin onto his palm before he could finish. "One coin not enough? Then two."

"Why so reckless?!"

Oren’s mind conjured her father: a muscle-bound brute who hauled bricks all day, dumped sacks of coins at home, and called it "parenting."

He sighed deeply, pressing the coins back into her hand. "Fine. I’ll take you in."

"Really?" Irina’s face lit up with pure delight. Oren’s lips merely twitched. He glanced at the beggar still digging through trash. *If I let you roam free, who knows what chaos you’ll unleash?*

Rubbing his face, Oren reluctantly took Irina’s hand and trudged toward the casino entrance.

"Welcome," muttered the two burly doormen as Oren approached. Their eyes narrowed suspiciously at Irina, but Oren deliberately looked away.

Irina, utterly unfazed, gaped at the dazzling lights inside. Spotting the massive gambling tables, she waved her coin purse and dashed forward. "Oh-ho-ho! Bring it on! Bring it on!"

Dark lines covered Oren’s forehead as he shuffled to a small horse-racing booth with a few silver coins. He lazily handed them to the clerk after grabbing a betting slip. "Place this on the horse."

The clerk eyed the coins, then Oren, before flashing a polished smile. "Apologies, sir. We don’t accept bets this small."

...

That smile reeked of mockery. As Oren reached to take his coins back, a hand shot out from nowhere, dropping several gold coins into the clerk’s palm.

"No problem. Add these to his bet."

Oren turned. Irina stood on tiptoe behind him, having just paid. She stepped back smoothly as the clerk’s eyebrows lifted. "Understood. One moment." He bowed and retreated.

Oren whispered to the little loli beside him, "Why’d you come over here?"

"Hmm~ Just rescuing you." She tried climbing the railing but failed, her small frame slipping back to the floor. Dusting herself off, she added, "Besides, I like the same horse you do. We’re in this together now."

"I see..."

Before Oren could respond, Irina thrust out her arms. "Then lift me up. I want to see the race."

"Huh?"

Most men might thrill at a loli’s sudden request—but Irina yanked Oren’s head down before he could think. In a flash, she vaulted onto his shoulders and peered at the track.

"Hey, miss, listen—"

Oren straightened up with a grimace. Irina planted her hands on his head, squealing with excitement as the race began. To keep her steady, Oren gripped her thighs.

"What’s your family name? Don’t they watch over you?"

"Hmm~" Irina nuzzled closer to his neck. Her floral scent filled his senses; her small chest pressed against the back of his head. Just as Oren opened his mouth to protest, she murmured thoughtfully, "I can’t tell you my surname. But my family... I have a muscle-headed father, a sickly mother~~~"

*Muscle-headed? Just as I imagined.*

Oren was still musing when Irina’s voice turned honey-sweet:

"And... a brother who loves me."

*Brother?*

Oren frowned. "Loves" could describe her parents too—but she’d saved it solely for her brother. His brow furrowed slightly. "Listen, little sister, I think..."

***BANG!***

The starting gate crashed open. Horses thundered past their stand. Irina shrieked with joy, waving her arms wildly.

*Why’s she so thrilled?*

Oren sighed, turning toward the track. Several horses were already nearing their section. Among the riders, one slowly reached behind his back.

*What’s he doing?*

Riders should grip the reins—not fumble under their coats. Then Oren saw it: a compact shortbow in one hand, the shaft of a Feathered Arrow in the other.

*Huh?*

The steel tip glinted. In a lightning motion, the rider nocked the arrow and aimed straight at Oren.

"!"

Oren ducked. The Feathered Arrow whistled past his ear. He crouched behind the railing for cover—but the archer was already drawing again.

*How? I’m hidden!*

Then Oren remembered Irina still perched on his shoulders.

*He’s not after me—*

Too late.

The twang of the released bowstring cut through the thunder of hooves across the racetrack.