"Supreme and eternal..."

"Blessings answered by faith..."

"Truth and law unchanging..."

"Holiness endures!"

One after another, soulless puppets gathered in an underground plaza—built when, no one knew—chanting strange incantations in hollow unison.

Like zombies stripped of reason, they drifted past each other without recognition, lips moving mechanically even when colliding with fellow chanters.

*So it’s this kind of incident after all?* She thought of her father—a cautious, ordinary man. If trouble found him, it could only be through forces beyond his control.

She glanced at Fiore crouched beside her. His knotted brows radiated fury.

Lilithia tugged his sleeve. When he turned, she shook her head slightly and gestured for retreat.

Fiore’s frown deepened. But Lilithia held his gaze, her crimson eyes blazing with quiet resolve.

Twenty seconds of silent standoff. Fiore finally looked away, leading her out of the shadows.

---

They slipped into a roadside eatery, ordering a few dishes.

"Meat. We burned calories like furnace fuel back there—vegetables won’t cut it." Despite her delicate frame, Lilithia was a carnivore. Blacksmithing drained stamina; her meager magic reserves demanded protein.

Coincidentally, Fiore—the swordmaster—was a bottomless pit too. Before "Qi" cultivation, bladesmen ran on sheer muscle.

"Girls who devour meat like you are rare."

Lilithia arched a brow. "Problem? I’m not asking *you* to pay!" She stabbed a chunk of beef, popping it into her mouth. "Ugh. This is trash. Needs my cooking."

She craved the flavors of home. After years of experimenting with substitute spices, she’d mastered her parents’ recipes—but only cooked them alone. A child creating "foreign" cuisine would raise eyebrows.

*Why did I just brag to him?* She’d blurted it out, itching to show off.

"Oh?"

"I’ll cook for you sometime." She reached for another piece. It vanished the instant her chopsticks neared it.

She blinked. The next piece disappeared the moment her eyes landed on it.

"???"

She looked up. Fiore chewed vigorously.

"Jerk! Order another plate if you’re hungry!"

"This isn’t nearly enough." He swallowed in three gulps. "Don’t worry—I ordered more. Just... borrowing yours first."

Lilithia realized: competing with Fiore meant starvation.

"Ahhh~" She tilted her head back, eyes closed, lips parted like ripe cherries. "Feed me~"

Something rough and leafy was shoved into her mouth.

"*Ptooey!* Fiore!" She spat out the bitter greens—undercooked, swimming in rancid oil.

Fiore smirked. *Don’t rise to it. Stay dignified.* She calmly pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, dabbing her lips.

She fixed him with a slow, deliberate stare. "Fiore. Do you know what this behavior guarantees? Ten thousand years of solitude. Maybe an old crone will confess to you on your deathbed."

"A confession?" Fiore blinked. "To *me*? Are you volunteering, Lilithia?"

Her chair scraped backward an inch. "So you *do* have a thing for little girls, you creep."

"Exactly! How delusional is that? Who’d ever like someone like me?"

"Proof?"

Fiore flushed. He stared at his bowl, voice low. "I... keep stumbling into situations with girls. Awkward ones."

"Like crashing into bathhouses? Or getting launched face-first into a stranger’s chest? Maybe decapitating someone’s dress during a duel?"

"... ..."

Silence thickened.

Lilithia bit her handkerchief, eyes gleaming. "You monster! Those are *everyone’s* favorite tropes—"

"Nobody enjoys that!"

"Huh?"

Fiore met her gaze squarely. "Yes, those things happened. But I *hate* them. It paints me as a lecher. Rumors spread... but I’d only want that with someone I truly care about."

*—Meaning none of those girls counted?*

Lilithia cleared her throat. "Listen, Fiore. Unless you’re into... *special* hobbies, who *doesn’t* enjoy beauty? Male or female."

"Huh?"

"Think: when those girls slap you, screaming ‘pervert!’—why? Everyone knows it was accidental. You were *helping* them! Why punish kindness with violence?"

"... ..."

"I see that look. Don’t flatter yourself. Bodies aren’t currency. Yours isn’t worth more than theirs. And let’s be honest—you’re not ugly." *Unlike my past life.*

"So why hit you? They got free contact *and* owe you a debt. Why retaliate?"

"... Why *do* they?"

Fiore had always accepted the beatings as penance. But now, a nine-year-old girl whispered:

"*Because their minds wandered to indecent places.*"

"!"

The restaurant hushed. Patrons strained to hear.

"*They imagined things. Thrilling things. With you.* But shame made them strike back—to hide how their hearts raced. Admitting desire? Unthinkable for a ‘proper’ girl."

Fiore’s jaw dropped. Around him, men mirrored his stunned expression.

"T-That’s just your theory!"

"I *am* a girl, Fiore."

A tragic truth. Lilithia sighed. "When you carried me earlier? My heart raced." She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper only he could catch: "*Maybe I have indecent thoughts about you too.*"

A wave of murderous intent washed over the room. The sympathetic men now glared like demons risen from hell.

Fiore groaned. "Stop. This atmosphere is terrifying."

Lilithia chuckled behind her handkerchief. "Fine. Consider this mercy. But shove bitter greens in my mouth again..." She let the threat hang.

"I surrender. Truly."

"Good. From now on, I taste the meat first. Understood?"

"Yes, Boss."

"But~" Her smile turned wicked. "Remember what I told you once?"

"What?"

"*I never lie to you.* Every word I speak is my deepest truth." Her lips nearly brushed his ear. A seductive whisper, vanishing before it reached the next table.

A siren’s promise, luring him toward the abyss.