Dirk stared down at Glenwyr lying unconscious on the floor, his expression thick with disgust. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his inner pocket and wiped the tip of his shoe where the girl’s knee had brushed against it. “To slander me?” he continued coldly. “Hiring you was clearly a mistake.”

Kaiser chuckled lightly, shifting her gaze to the girl and snapping her folding fan shut. “After all, this base body of yours is only good for attracting men. No wonder you’ve achieved nothing else, Glen~wy~r~ class~mate~.”

The girl made no sound—only her breathing grew fainter. Dirk stepped forward slowly, pinching her neck through the handkerchief until she coughed, eyes fluttering open, gasping like she was drowning. She whimpered, struggling weakly. Dirk flung her back to the floor with a loud thud. Glenwyr collapsed, foaming at the mouth, blouse torn, several buttons popped. Through the gap, a hint of light blue lingerie showed. Only then did onlookers notice her surprisingly ample chest—she’d clearly chosen a deliberately smaller uniform to hide it.

Glenwyr coughed painfully. Feeling the cold draft, she hugged herself tightly—but the crowd’s stares had already turned scorching.

“What a vulgar body,” Kaiser said with disdain. “Base and filthy.”

Tears slowly streamed down the girl’s cheeks. Sobbing helplessly, she curled into a ball, lying alone at the aisle’s edge. Dirk glanced at Kaiser; she gave a subtle nod. Their exchange was discreet—only Morris noticed.

Dirk strode over, yanking Glenwyr up. “Crying again?” he sneered. “Don’t forget—you still owe this restaurant thirty gold coins, you lowly commoner. Get back to work!”

“How fortunate,” Kaiser smiled, “to casually stop for lunch and run into my dear classmate Glenwyr. I never expected you’d be this wretched outside school.”

Gentlemen and ladies watched with amused smiles.

Only Sherlock’s grip on her spoon tightened. She turned to Morris across the table. “Are you really just going to watch?”

Morris looked puzzled. “And what would you have me do?”

“Save her, obviously,” Sherlock said, bewildered. “Are you pretending not to know? You saved everyone at the church—now you’re just eating… and enjoying it?”

“So because I’m ‘good,’ I must meddle?” Morris sighed, pausing mid-bite of cream bread soaked in beef broth. He felt a flicker of shame. “Don’t put me on the spot. This isn’t a situation anyone should interfere with.”

Sif. Lenna. Even the church incident—every effort had mattered. Changed lives. But this was different.

Morris watched the girl held by Dirk—wanting to struggle, yet too afraid to touch his wrist. “Tell me,” he said to Sherlock, “even if we save her now, then what? Can she truly be saved? We all see she’s forced to work here. She endures instead of quitting—because she has nowhere else to go. People like this exist. Do you understand, Your Highness?”

A shadow of old sorrow flickered in his eyes. “Actions that don’t change reality are useless. Save her today—can you shield her tomorrow? If she loses this job, she might blame us for ruining her life.”

Sherlock fell silent. Then softly: “You seem very experienced.”

“Many times,” Morris murmured. He closed his eyes—but memories surged: three years ago, deep in the Demon Realm.

Silent forest. A wounded girl in tattered clothes lay still as Morris calmly applied cool ointment, wrapped bandages with healer’s precision. She never spoke. Even in pain, she only scratched the dirt with one finger.

Only after he finished did she blink her violet eyes and whisper:

*“You seem very experienced.”*

“Many times,” he’d replied, surprised she spoke at all. He studied her beautiful, expressionless face—as if the whole world owed her money. Aloof, yet fragile. Stubborn. “In this hellish trial,” he’d said, “even lambs must learn to bite.”

He knew kindness was forbidden. Knew dragging a half-crippled burden would cost him dearly. Still, he sighed, placed a clean water bottle before her. “Hang in there. We still need to survive.”

She drank it all. Around them, corpses littered the ground.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Sherlock said sharply, slamming the table. Morris jolted back to the present. He saw faint disappointment in her eyes. The princess shook her head. “No—the fault is mine. I shouldn’t have expected anything. You’re human too. People can never fully understand each other.”

*Even if you quote some pretentious ‘AT Field’ line from Evangelion,* Morris thought, *what then? You’re a princess. Will you command them to stop in your royal name? That shames not just her—but House Stuart. Even kindness has limits, my Princess.*

Sherlock stood, strode to Dirk, and pulled his hand from Glenwyr. Dirk froze. *Who is this meddler?* Kaiser stared, stunned—someone actually intervened?

Glenwyr slumped weakly, gazing up dazed at the pink-haired girl with messy short hair. She struggled to sit, confused.

“Stop,” Sherlock told Dirk. “Are you two colluding? Do you really want a death in your own restaurant?”

“Death? Absurd,” Dirk scoffed, freeing his hand and adjusting his tie. He sized her up cautiously—these guests were nobles. “Who are you?”

“Just a passerby,” Sherlock said earnestly. “But stop. I’ll cover her debt.”

*Passerby?* Morris thought dryly. *Why not claim you’re a passing Kamen Rider?* Still—he noted she hadn’t revealed her title. Smart.

“Passerby? Money?” Dirk laughed, noticing her lack of jewelry. “Is this commoner solidarity?”

Hearing herself mentioned, Kaiser rose slowly, sauntering cat-like to Sherlock. She stared at Sherlock’s lovely face, jealousy flashing in her eyes. “Not even a mage? No wonder—same worthless traits. Do you think I’d conspire to frame you?”

Sherlock frowned. “So what? Luna Duchy and Lunhai doctrine uphold equality. Mages cannot attack commoners—it’s law. An unwritten rule.”

“Good heavens—‘equality’?” Kaiser burst into laughter. The room roared; one young master clutched his stomach. Glenwyr shrank amid the noise, shoulders trembling. Kaiser laughed harder. “Then do you know… ‘if no one sees it, it’s not a crime’?”

Sherlock froze. Kaiser lowered her fan—Arcane Source Magic surged between her fingers. She watched Sherlock’s fear bloom. “Does anyone see?”

Silence. No reply. Sherlock’s heart turned to ice. *Even Morris is silent.*

*Anyone else could play dead… but not him. Never him.*

*If he’s abandoned me… then I’ll die right here for him to see.*

“Guest, please—it’s my fault,” Glenwyr begged Sherlock, voice trembling. “Just go… hurry…”

“See?” Kaiser sneered. “Power makes anything possible. And everyone loves a show.” She flicked her wrist—Arcanum coalesced into magic aimed at their faces. To Glenwyr, she looked like a demon. “I’ll ruin both your faces!”

“Excuse me—wait a moment.”

The magic in Kaiser’s hands shattered instantly. She stared, horrified, as Arcanum slipped through her fingers. An eerie force had seized her—her own blood felt alien, breath stolen, as if a great white shark circled beneath her skin.

Sherlock turned. Morris walked slowly from behind them. Touched yet pouting, she whispered: “Weren’t you the one who said you don’t do useless things?”

“You dragged yourself in,” Morris sighed. “How is that useless?” Only then did Kaiser gasp back air, drenched in cold sweat—like returning from hell. Morris glanced at the two girls. “Besides… I found something interesting. Had to join in.”

He opened his palm: a shattered plate fragment, soggy cream clinging to it. Dirk’s face paled.

“Tell me,” Morris smiled at the man. “Your name again? And you, miss—answer quickly.”

“Dirk…” All arrogance gone. His eyes pleaded.

“K-Kaiser,” the girl stammered, realization dawning. *This boy… an unimaginably powerful mage.* She swallowed hard, legs itching to flee.

“I quite liked your line,” Morris said softly. “‘With power, anything is possible.’ Like now—I ask Mr. Dirk a question. And you *will* answer.”

He gestured with the broken shard. The man’s expression screamed: *Please stop.*

Morris tossed the shard carelessly to the floor. A sharp *clack* echoed through the silent dining hall.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but this ‘Creamy Butter-Baked Lobster’ has no lobster meat, no white wine, no butter, no minced meat—only expired, low-grade cream and crushed shells. And the ‘Cherry Cheesecake’? Pure batter.”

He turned to Dirk, whose face had abruptly drained of color. “And your establishment dares to charge thirty gold coins for this?”

The restaurant froze for a beat. Glenwyr clutched her stomach, utterly bewildered.

Morris murmured quietly, “Frankly… not even worth thirty copper coins.”