"Fiona the doctor, Master wants to make his move on you."

Silver blurted this out halfway through the meal.

*Cough cough cough…*

Wenwu choked on his food, rendered speechless.

"Wenwu, are you alright?" Fiona asked with concern. Wenwu waved his hand, signaling he was fine.

"By the way… what does ‘make his move’ mean?"

Relief washed over Wenwu when he saw Fiona didn’t understand. He clamped a hand over Silver’s mouth before she could say anything more embarrassing.

"Eh… never mind the details. Just eat, eat."

"Oh…"

The matter was swept under the rug—for now.

After the meal, Wenwu offered to help clean up, but Fiona refused, citing his patient status. Helpless, he watched Silver and Fiona carry the dishes into the kitchen.

Suddenly, Wenwu realized something. He shot to his feet—but it was already too late.

When Fiona emerged from the kitchen with Silver, her gaze had changed completely. She eyed him warily, keeping her distance.

"Silver. Come here." Wenwu dragged her into his room. "What did you tell Doctor Fiona?"

"Nothing much. Just explained what ‘making a move’ means."

"And how did you explain it?"

"Making a move on someone means turning a maiden into a matron."

Wenwu stared at her, stunned. *Who explains it like that?!* He’d never met a servant so determined to sabotage her master.

"Master, wasn’t I brilliant? Don’t I deserve a reward? Hehehe…" Silver grinned foolishly.

"Hah? A reward? I should’ve strangled you already," Wenwu snapped.

"Eh? You forgot *that* too?"

"What?"

"When a girl’s hard to approach, I create misunderstandings. Then you clear things up, I give you alone time… and the rest is up to you. We had this plan! I thought you’d remember—you love flirting so much." Silver pouted, looking wounded.

Wenwu’s scolding died on his lips. So it was all part of some scheme he’d apparently agreed to.

"…Just don’t use that ‘plan’ again unless I say so."

"Okay."

Wenwu sighed. The damage was done. Might as well play along—maybe it’d lead somewhere.

He stepped out of his room just as Fiona exited the kitchen. He moved to "explain," but for every step he took forward, she retreated one step back. She kept exactly three meters between them.

For the rest of Wenwu’s recovery, Fiona didn’t speak a single word to him. She handed all bandage changes to Silver, limiting herself to preparing medicine and meals.

"Hey, Silver… this ‘plan’ doesn’t seem to work so well," Wenwu muttered that night, lying in bed.

"Hmm… it used to work fine. Maybe Doctor Fiona’s just… different? Hehe…"

*Easy for you to say. Fix this mess you made.* Wenwu bit back the words. It wasn’t entirely Silver’s fault.

"Silver, my wounds are nearly healed. We’ll leave tomorrow."

"Understood."

---

The next day.

"Eh? You’re leaving already?"

It was the first words Fiona had spoken to Wenwu since the misunderstanding—and she said them from three meters away.

Awkward, but Wenwu had no choice.

"Mm. My injuries are healed. And I have things to do."

"I see. Wait here." Fiona disappeared into her room, returning moments later with several bottles and rolls of bandages. She pressed them into Silver’s hands. "This is for cuts. This is for burns. This is… *don’t* mix them up." She drilled the instructions into Silver, who nodded vigorously.

"Wenwu," Fiona added, "Old Man Owen at the corner sells horses. Mention my name—he’ll lend you one. Walking would waste too much time."

"Thank you." Despite the tension, Wenwu sensed she didn’t truly dislike him. That was enough. "Oh, Doctor Fiona… next time we meet, I’ll bring you dragon’s blood." He finally made the promise.

"You mean it?" Fiona’s eyes lit up. She took three eager steps forward—then stopped abruptly, still two meters away.

"Of course."

Wenwu opened the door and left. As he walked toward Owen’s, a voice echoed in his mind:

*"Hey, fugitive. Haven’t seen you in days. How’s the injury? The Empire’s hunting you now—even Black Street factions want your head. And watch out for Amia. She hasn’t given up on killing you. Three nights running, you know."*

*Carida?* Wenwu thought back. *Why are Black Street after me? Hey—Carida?*

"Master," Silver whispered, "the Gray Church’s magic only sends messages. Carida-sama can’t hear you."

*Right. Another lesson learned.*

---

"Yo, wanted man!" Old Man Owen greeted him warmly. *Wanted man.* Wenwu couldn’t even sigh at the nickname.

"Why protect me? You all know I’m a fugitive." He’d always wondered: Fiona owed him a life debt, but these villagers? Strangers.

"Everyone here owes Fiona a debt. If she protects you, she has her reasons. We won’t betray her trust."

Just as Wenwu had begun doubting this world’s kindness, the villagers’ sincerity reminded him: good people still existed.

"…Thank you, Uncle Owen." Wenwu bowed deeply.

"Fiona sent you, I take it?" Owen led a sturdy horse from the stable. "Not a fancy breed, but it’ll get you where you need to go."

"Thank you."

"Remember—it’s a *loan*. You’ll repay me."

*Business is business, even with kindness.*

"Absolutely."

Wenwu and Silver mounted the horse.

"Where to now, Master?" Silver asked.

"The nearest road out of the Bansfaser Empire."