The afternoon sun slipped through the clouds, spilling over the white mist below like a merciful blessing from the gods.
A single beam of light pierced the sky, glinting across the distant waves. Within Helsing City, towering walls stood firm beneath fluttering platinum griffin banners. From the distant bell tower, the bronze bell chimed softly. Melodious hymns drifted from the church’s heart, carried on the warm breeze across all of Hesin.
Gilded light bathed the lands restored by Lunhai. Steam whistles blared from the harbor; thick vapor swallowed the docks. Gentlemen removed their gold-rimmed monocles, feathers on their top hats swaying in the gust like drifting grass blades.
The marketplace bustled—boys and girls jostled shoulder to shoulder, carriages rumbling down wide streets. Morris walked with Sherlock through the crowd, letting out a small yawn. He actually felt a little drowsy.
Such warm, lively scenes were unseen in Macedon City. As a frontier town carved from wilderness, Macedon lay inland amid endless plains, its air thick with suffocating religious fervor. No wonder the Church of Lunhai always brought to Morris’s mind the sharp scent of melted wax.
Helsing City, bordering the Northern Sea, felt refreshingly new to him—the distant crash of waves, the curious trinkets lining the streets.
Pushing through the crowd toward the Royal Academy at central Hesin’s edge, Morris nearly lost Sherlock multiple times after pausing at little stalls. Finally, the princess sighed and took his hand. “This’ll be easier.”
Her hand was cool and smooth. Walking side by side like any ordinary couple, Morris caught a faint hint of her fragrance and smiled.
“What are you laughing at?” Sherlock asked, cheeks warming as she turned her face away.
“At first, I worried we might not get along well, Your Highness,” Morris said with a soft chuckle. “Turns out I overthought it.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“For someone our age, Miss Sherlock seems… a little naive. And kind.” He shrugged helplessly, glancing up at the Lunhai banner fluttering atop the distant steeple. “Though that’s part of your charm.”
“Naive? What about you—what did you go through to become like this?” Sherlock bristled, trying to pull her hand back. But Morris tightened his grip. Her eyes flickered. Her heartbeat quickened. She turned—and saw him lost in memory.
*In the Demon Realm, sky and earth were pitch black. Amid scattered corpses, Morris supported a girl. Stumbling, swaying, they trudged toward the road’s dead end. Death was near—just like everyone else who came here.*
He glanced down. Her face was ashen, like extinguished embers. Gritting his teeth, he forced a strained laugh. “Ever told you about my past?”
“What?” Her eyes shifted faintly. Lips trembling, she whispered a hurried phrase. Her strength was gone—like an empty bottle.
“Long ago… avian flu hit hard back home. Chicken stalls near school switched to pork. But if it’s not chicken, is it still a chicken stall? We asked the last stall using chicken: ‘Is it safe?’ The owner kept saying, ‘Absolutely! Guaranteed!’ But his eyes darted—so obvious.” Morris rambled, thoughts muddled. Each step sank like molten lava. Numbness crept up his limbs. Vision flickered black and white. Mind hazy, he clung to her, forcing words to prove he was still alive. “Later I thought… what could he guarantee? Avian flu felt like invisible bacteria. Even seeing a McDonald’s poster for a mushroom chicken burger made us nervous. He could only promise the meat was fried. Whether we’d get sick? He didn’t know. But to save money… he used chicken anyway…”
He stared at the dim light. A glimmer—just sweat dripping from his hair, refracting faint sparks.
“Don’t die… please…” Snot and tears mixed on his face. The girl had fallen silent. The ground crumbled. Corpses erupted into fiery pillars. The world plunged into hell. Collapsing beside her motionless form, he wept. “Weren’t you the one who said I was your destined man? Why…”
Then—her eyes opened. Eerie blue flame flickered within. Morris froze. She rose, released his hand, and walked alone toward the end.
“You…?” Utterly spent, he watched her go, lips trembling. “You deceived me?”
No reply.
He knew her way. She never explained clear truths.
Flames and black stone consumed the world. Morris screamed, face twisted. She vanished at the road’s end—leaving no trace.
She should have been the sole victor of the Demon Realm Trial. But at the final moment before annihilation—
The memory shattered. Morris clutched his throbbing forehead. Sherlock stood before him, withdrawing her flicking finger. She frowned. “Zoning out while with me? Bold move, Mr. Morris.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled weakly, ruffling her hair. “My bad.”
“So?” Her cheeks flushed. She stayed still under his touch. “What were you really thinking?”
Morris withdrew his hand and walked on. “Just remembered a girl who called me her destined one… only to realize I’d been lied to.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened. “So *that’s* why your head’s been so addled lately?”
*So that’s why he’s so clueless about romance? Is he resisting it without knowing?*
“Huh?” Morris didn’t catch “addled,” so he brushed it off. “It was three years ago. Don’t dwell on it.”
“Come on~ Tell me more, Mr. Morris~”
“Nope. One more word and I’ll activate my backup hidden power source!”
“What even *is* that?”
Behind them, at an outdoor café at Student Street’s end, a girl set down her cup and gazed at the familiar retreating figure.
“So, Miss Hathaway, would you accompany me next week—” The man across the table froze as her cup shattered into fragments.
“Say one more word,” Hathaway murmured, eyes locked on the boy flickering in the crowd. Her expression melted into rapturous delight. The man, seeing this unfamiliar fervor, nearly wet himself from terror.
She rose without hesitation and strode away.
“M-Miss Hathaway?!” he stammered. “I was arranged by your mother—”
“Tell her: next time, I’ll kill the person outright.” Hathaway licked her lips, eyes glazed, face flushed. “My destined one… he’s finally, *finally* come back to marry me!”
