“Where does Miss Glenwyr live?” Morris asked, steadying the girl by her shoulders. “But honestly, we should head to the hospital first.”

The street buzzed with life. Nestled near the Royal Academy, it swarmed with vendors lining both sides. Hawkers’ cries tangled with laughter and murmured chats. The trio’s disheveled state drew curious glances—then vanished into the flowing crowd.

“No… no hospital. It’s not that serious,” Glenwyr shook her head quickly. The motion tugged her wound. She pressed her lips tight, forcing words through gritted teeth. “Hospitals… cost too much…”

“Then I’ll have to trouble you,” Morris sighed.

“Hehe,” Glenwyr let out a helpless chuckle. “What can I do? Sending me to school already strains my family…”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “Shouldn’t we get compensation from Dirk?”

She didn’t want the money—half a month’s wages wouldn’t cover one of the princess’s meals. She just believed wrongdoers deserved consequences.

“No, please don’t!” Glenwyr said with a bitter smile. “Mr. Dirk can’t do much. The other party is *that* Kaiser. If he refuses, the restaurant might suffer too.”

“Who *is* this Kaiser?” Sherlock jogged forward. “I’ve never heard of a young lady like her in Helsing City.”

“An outsider, huh?” Glenwyr mused. “Kaiser is the second daughter of the Angus Clan—one of Helsing City’s most powerful families.”

“The Angus Clan?” Morris chuckled. “The one that smuggled tobacco decades ago, betrayed every partner, whitewashed their past, and rebranded as respectable merchants?”

“No wonder the young lady’s shameless,” he added dryly. “Just like her great-grandfather.”

“Please, Mr. Morris—never say that near Kaiser… or any Angus!” Glenwyr’s voice trembled. “She’s only an apprentice-level witch, but her elder brother is a true Arcanum prodigy. Speak ill before them? He’ll retaliate ruthlessly. If he can’t? The whole Angus Clan will mark you an enemy.”

“Noted,” Sherlock snorted coldly. Family status? She doubted anyone topped hers. “Still… I’m not happy.”

“Then turn around,” Morris grinned. “You might feel better.”

Just then—footsteps. Sherlock turned. Dirk came sprinting, breathless. Morris slowed slightly. Dirk halted before them, wiping sweat with a handkerchief, then bowed deeply. “I’M SORRY!!!”

As manager of a popular local eatery, Dirk was recognizable. People froze—*Dirk*, apologizing? He’d always been aloof. All eyes shifted to the three youths.

“Apologize to *her*,” Morris said, tone suddenly cool, stripped of earlier warmth. “You know who.”

“I’m truly sorry, Glenwyr,” Dirk gasped. “Words won’t fix it, so…” He pulled out a pocket watch engraved “D.K.” Morris nearly laughed. *Back in my past life, I’d have joked, “Oh? Dota fan? Dragon Knight main?”*

“Take this,” Dirk said earnestly. “You can’t stay at Simeng Restaurant. I don’t expect forgiveness—but this watch grants you direct hiring at any Academy-adjacent shop. And this…” He offered a pouch of gold coins. “Your wages. Please accept it.”

Glenwyr hesitated. Accepting felt like forgiveness. Yet she *deserved* it. A faint headache bloomed. She glanced at Morris. He gave a gentle nod.

She reached out, took the items, and murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Dirk.”

“No—*thank you*,” Dirk exhaled deeply. “Your mercy saved Simeng… and me. Visit anytime; meals are on me. I hope this helps.” Without waiting for reply, he melted back into the crowd. Forgiveness wasn’t his to claim.

Sherlock subtly stuck her tongue out at Morris: *Only you.*

Morris grinned back with a playful *Naturally, it’s me* gesture.

“Thank you… both,” Glenwyr’s voice wavered, tears glistening. She turned, arms open. Morris braced for a hug—*maybe a soft surprise*—but she wrapped Sherlock instead. Sherlock froze. A distinctly gentle pressure registered. Her cheeks flushed. Flustered, she looked to Morris, who shot her a mock-disgusted *so jealous* gesture.

*What an enviable princess.*

After walking Glenwyr home—a thatched-roof cottage on the outskirts, window patched with newspaper—she thanked them again, earnestly. Morris shrugged: “Just a small favor.” Sherlock remained dazed, hands drifting slightly near her chest, as if questioning the lingering softness.

Glenwyr double-checked her injuries weren’t visible. Morris reassured her twice. Relief softened her face.

A pink-haired little girl peeked from the doorway, hiding behind Glenwyr. She eyed the two strangers, then pointed at Morris. “Sis… did you snag a guy?”

“NO!” all three chorused. Morris blinked at Sherlock. Her expression hitched—then she huffed, looking away.

“These are my friends,” Glenwyr said softly, sunlight warming her smile like a gentle breeze. “Friends I’d protect with my life.”