Yihan stared at her in surprise, but Carola turned away just as his gaze was about to land on her, feigning nonchalance. Yet her slightly trembling hands betrayed her true feelings.

The petite girl sat rigidly upright, face solemn, as snowflakes layered softly on her head and shoulders. She looked like a doll carved from ice—beautiful, fragile. Holding her breath, she gazed into the distance, seemingly regretting her impulsive question.

But she couldn’t help it. Especially after hearing Yihan admit he still liked Lia—that Witch. Bitter jealousy swallowed her reason. She just wanted to know: in his heart, where did she stand? Could she ever compare to that Witch?

No matter how Yihan looked at her, Carola refused to acknowledge him. A flush spread across her fair, rosy cheeks. She bit her plump lip, forcing her expression to stay calm.

Yihan dropped the teasing. He considered her seemingly casual but deliberate question, weighing his reply carefully.

"To me, you—" He hesitated. "—are also irreplaceable."

The girl perked up like a rabbit.

"You were the first friend I met five years from now." *The first friend I ever had in this world.*

Carola swallowed her disappointment, forcing a casual grin. "Friends? So we’re not friends *now*?"

"I’d call us comrades-in-arms—"

"Whatever. I don’t care." Carola sighed, waving a hand. She rubbed her numb calves from sitting too long. "You said we’d meet again in five years?"

"Yeah. *You* came to find *me*."

Her eyes instantly lit up. "Then tell me—what am I like five years from now? Still pretty? Did I grow taller?"

"All of the above." Yihan chuckled. This lively, radiant girl was nothing like the cold, ruthless Witch Hunter he’d first met—the one who’d cut down anyone in her path. She was just a bright, innocent child now.

*Maybe this is her true self.* Buried under shadows of loss and hatred, she’d armored herself in silence. But now, that icy shell was cracking, revealing warmth beneath.

*If someone told me about my future self,* he thought, *I’d pester them too.*

"Really?" Carola blinked.

"Really. I promise."

"Then describe her. What’s Future Me like?"

Yihan faltered.

Not because he’d been caught lying. Not because Future Carola was too complex to describe. But because he struggled to find words beautiful enough for the woman who’d stolen his heart.

Their first meeting? He’d disliked her instantly. Like an ex who refused to let go, she’d shamelessly moved into his home, insisting it was "for the continent’s sake." Only her beauty and generous pay kept him from slamming the door.

Later, he found her exhausting—a chatterbox who’d stir up trouble just to fill silence. Like a noisy sparrow. Yet when she was gone, an aching loneliness lingered.

Then came the arguments. Her insisting he leave Windmill Town before the Witch attacks. Their clashes left him uneasy, even hurt. He realized he *cared* for her. Understood her concern. But abandoning his home? Unthinkable.

Only after Lia trapped him did he remember Carola’s warnings. Her sincerity. She’d never harmed him. Every action was for his sake—he’d just been too stubborn to see it.

Now, gazing at this younger, softer version of her face, Yihan heard the Witch Hunter’s quiet advice echo in his ears. Warmth swelled in his chest. He wanted to pull her close.

"Why are you staring? *Talk*—"

"Five years from now—" Yihan inhaled the cold air, smiling brightly. "—you’re beautiful. Charming. Full of life. And you smile *so* much."

Carola’s expression twisted. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Why stare like that?"

"I think you’re lying." She scowled. "*Me*? Smiling?"

"Yes." He remembered her constant, gentle smiles.

A cold scoff escaped her. She looked away. "I don’t smile. My comrades say they’ve never seen me smile. I don’t believe you."

*Because your family was destroyed?* Yihan guessed but stayed silent. He shuffled closer on the roof, his shoulder brushing hers.

Carola didn’t pull away. She kept staring into the distance, lost in thought.

"I’m not lying. Unless you see it yourself, no one knows who they’ll become." His voice softened. "But the Carola I met five years from now? She lives lighter. Happier."

"How do you know she wasn’t faking it?" Carola muttered. "Faking is easy for Witch Hunters."

Yihan shook his head. "Masks slip. But hear this: *When a lie is repeated a hundred times, it becomes truth.* So if you smile for a hundred days? It becomes your real smile."

"What nonsense is that? Who taught you?"

"My own conclusion." He puffed his chest proudly, earning an exasperated eye-roll.

"I used to be a sales rep. To sell anything, you need a good first impression. And smiles? They’re magnetic." Nostalgia tinged his voice. "Did I love that job? No. Running around all day, forcing greetings, repeating scripts, groveling like a lackey... exhausting. But you eat what you kill."

"Back then, I’d think: *Why force this ugly smile when I feel nothing?* But scowl at customers? They’d slam the door before you reached it. Fake smiles aren’t real—but they make you *look* real."

"Slowly, I realized: if I had to smile anyway, why not *choose* joy? The job wouldn’t change—but my heart could. I’d think of happy things while working. Sales got easier."

He glanced at the wide-eyed girl, suddenly shy. "Things fake themselves into truth. Good or bad? Depends on you. But I hope you smile more. Try it—look in a mirror."

"Why?"

"You’ll see." His voice dropped. "You’re *adorable* when you smile."

A blush flooded Carola’s cheeks, spreading down her neck until even her ears burned crimson. She fidgeted wildly, eyes darting everywhere. A strange, fluttering warmth filled her chest—terrifying yet thrilling. She feared what she might do next.

"Pfft! Are you *teasing* me?" she snapped, voice trembling.

"No." Yihan’s gaze held hers. "I just want you to shed that heavy past. Live freely. Lightly."

He added, slow and deliberate: "And I truly hope... five years from now, you become exactly who you want to be."