Snowflakes drifted down. Sif shivered, slowly reaching into her pocket and pulling out the second match.

A dim yellow flame flickered to life. This time, she saw the mercenary crew—laughing with her around the campfire, sharing gentle jokes. A pot of bubbling meat soup hung above the flames. The warmth felt like a true family. They were the ones who’d healed little Sif after she lost her mother, mending her fragile heart. She instinctively reached toward them again—but the match sputtered out.

This was the third match. The last one.

Sif weakly scraped the match head against the wall. Her body grew heavy, consciousness fading. *Will I freeze to death here, alone on this street?* Suddenly, a cyan flame flared before her. For a heartbeat, a familiar face shimmered in the light—but before the glow could warm to gold, a rich aroma flooded the air. The floor trembled beneath her. A voice echoed:

“Early birds get the worms. Night owls get midnight snacks.”

Sif rubbed her eyes, sat up with a yawn, and glanced outside. Deep night had fallen. A boy sat beside her bed, holding a steaming bowl of beef curry—he’d been the one shaking her shoulder. Recognizing Morris, her pupils tightened. She huffed and turned away. “Pervert Mr. Morris sneaking into a lone girl’s room this late? No wonder you’re a pervert!”

“You,” Morris said softly, unfazed, “give me your hand.”

“W-what? That serious tone…” Sif muttered, cheeks tinged pink, yet she extended her left hand. Morris studied the faint traces of Arcanum flow within, then sighed in relief and smiled. “All clear now.”

“What do you mean?” Sif hesitated.

“You fainted in the Corridor’s Healing Spring. While you were out, I used magic to unblock meridians sealed for over ten years. Don’t you feel lighter?” He gently ruffled her hair, genuine joy in his eyes. “You’re a legitimate Arcane Source Wizard now.”

“W-wait… You mean… you already…”

“Yep. And since you were unconscious afterward, I didn’t dare use wind magic—afraid you’d catch cold and get quarantined fourteen days—so I carried you back.” He settled the wooden tray over her lap. The curry steamed fresh. “Your uncle mentioned you skipped meals for dieting. Bad idea. Your body’s just healed. No nutrients = damage. Also… you’ve avoided endurance training, right? Your blocked Arcanum couldn’t handle strain—that’s why only archery and assassination felt safe…”

He was cut off as Sif pulled him into a hug. Morris steadied the tray—*phew*, no spill.

“I’m sorry,” her tearful whisper reached his ear just as he opened his mouth. He froze. “I’m sorry… I’m such a selfish kid…”

Clutching his shirt, sobbing: “I’m sorry, really sorry. I knew nothing… Hit me if you want—I’ll hold a grudge, but I swear I won’t sneak into your room at midnight and smother you with a pillow…”

*Wait—did she just threaten murder?!*

“Okay, okay, no idea what you’re saying, but eat first,” Morris wiped his brow, patting her back. “This curry? Made by the Pope himself. Say it’s bad, and I’ll slap your face on a wanted poster—bounty: one hundred million gold coins.”

Sif wiped tears, giggled at his deadpan face, sat straight, and took a tiny spoonful with the silver spoon.

“How is it? How is it?” Morris asked eagerly. This was the only dish he’d mastered in his previous life—even his mom praised it.

“Not good,” Sif mumbled through fresh tears, tilting her head to hold them back. “Rice too hard. Curry watery. Flavor’s all over… like chewing cement-mixed sand.”

“I’M SORRY FOR SERVING TRASH! I’LL HANG MYSELF NOW!” Morris snatched a rope, stood on a stool, and looped it toward the beam.

“But…” Sif’s smile broke through tears. “I really like it.”

Morris hopped down, stowed the rope, and ruffled her hair again. “I’ll go. Leave the tray; someone’ll clear it tomorrow. Oh—and we head back to Macedon City tomorrow. I’ve heard your answer before… but I must ask seriously.”

He leaned close. Their breaths mingled. Sif blushed. Morris’s gaze held zero flirtation—only stern clarity. “Will you truly join the Church of Lunhai? A failing church. No one’s passed the Pope’s test in two centuries. Next door, the Xike Church preaches materialism, science, cold facts—not faith in some ‘virtual deity.’ Lunhai? Zero future.”

Most would call him an idiot—badmouthing his own church—and refuse.

Morris braced for the same.

But Sif smiled softly. “Anywhere Mr. Morris is… I’ll go.”

—*Crap!*

Morris clamped down on his racing heart. After enduring Lenna’s predatory teasing for so long, he couldn’t ignore Sif’s innocent, sincere words. Wait—was that a confession? *Was it?* Ugh, women’s hearts…

“Unless the clerical robes are all like the ones I tried on…”

“N-no! Wait! Misunderstanding! Total misunderstanding!”

Watching his flustered panic, Sif covered her mouth and let out a light, joyful laugh.

*Yes. With Morris beside me… any hardship, any future—I can face it all.*

She scooped a diced beef cube from the curry, chewed slowly.

In the third match’s flame, that familiar face finally clicked—perfectly overlapping with a certain boy.

A faint, maidenly blush bloomed across her lovely cheeks.

Mother… I think I’ve finally found the one I’d devote my life to.