The banquet had already lost all practical meaning moments ago. The guests stood awkwardly—continuing as if nothing happened was pure fantasy. Yet no one dared leave. Acting rashly might be seen as disrespect toward Fanlin House or House Valentin.

The atmosphere turned deathly silent. No one spoke loudly, yet it wasn’t truly quiet. Arnold played the part of a minor noble “flirting” with a maid on duty, holding a petite maid close while murmuring. To observers, it looked like a proper noble seducing an innocent girl, coaxing her into his bed that very night.

Reality? The *maid* was doing all the talking.

“You know,” Caro whispered with shameless boldness, “what if, after solving everything, you just… go for the sister duo? Both are stunning—one bold and heroic, the other gentle and cute. Imagine them together, gazing up at you with pleading eyes~ Hehe~”

The little maid, lost in the fantasy, nearly drooled.

Arnold wanted to flick her forehead but had no grounds to. Caro pressed on: “If I were you, Arnold? Who cares what they think? Seriously—besides the Sword Saint, who here can touch you? Snatch the sisters, lock them in the basement, try all sorts of… *activities*… Then use them to lure the Sword Saint. That silver-haired, emotionless type—seeing her blush in shame? Absolutely captivating, right?”

Caro flushed slightly. “And, uh… *buddy* doesn’t ask for much later—” She froze. *Right. I’m a girl.* “I mean… *this* buddy lacks the… *proper equipment*, y’know? So… let me have *just a little* fun with that tempting girl? Nothing extreme—I promise~ Okay?”

*What is she even saying?*

Arnold’s mind flashed: *If I agreed and said, “You join them too—would you?”…*

Worse—he sensed Caro might actually say yes. But voicing it would shatter their bond.

Unacceptable.

“Absolutely not,” Arnold stated firmly.

Caro pouted. “So stingy.”

She’d expected refusal. Who shares their girl? Even with another girl.

Truth was, Arnold would never abuse his strength to claim girls. Still, Caro wished him happiness. Being kicked from the team… only a gentle “I love you” from a sweet girl could heal that.

And the Fanlin sisters *were* gorgeous. Purely as eye candy? A sharp tongue wouldn’t ruin it. Not like he’d marry them…

*Ugh. Scummy thought.*

Caro shook off her rich-kid baggage. “So… what happens next? How *do* nobles handle this?”

Her past life held no nobility—just wealth and solitude. Old rich-kid circles faded during her travels. She never cared.

“The banquet will proceed,” Arnold said. “Fanlin House must project calm—to show the world this incident changes nothing.”

Just as he predicted, the event slowly… *slowly*… regained its rhythm.

Caro eyed the champagne Arnold had taken. “Hey! I was gonna sneak a sip! When’s mine?”

“This is for guests. Not very maid-like of you.”

“? I was never a *real* maid.” She lunged. Arnold lifted the bottle high. Jumping proved useless.

Insulted, she stomped his toes—hard. But against a Dragon Slayer bathed in dragon’s blood? A spirit-summoning novice dealt precisely *zero* damage.

She almost saw “HP-0” float above his head. *Annoying.*

“Hmph! Forget it!” No point pushing further—*she’d* be the one red-hot and wrecked. “No fun left here. I’m out.”

She’d hit her limit with the maid act. Entertainment concluded.

“Back to the cake shop?”

“It doesn’t lodge staff. I’ll grab an inn. Today’s noble tips earned me a bonus. Yesterday? Park bench.”

Arnold stiffened. “You slept in the *park*? Are you hurt?”

“Took you long enough to ask. Just sore back, mosquito bites… but the lake’s whisper helped me sleep.”

As she spoke, Arnold’s eyes lit up.

“How about staying *here*? Fanlin House’s plush bed. Incense-scented air. Magically cooled room…”

Caro’s steps halted. She studied his face. “But you said you wouldn’t interfere with Fanlin House. Isn’t this… awkward?”

“I’d rather not,” Arnold sighed. “But they’re acquaintances. Doing nothing feels cold. Mistie’s innocent—and I took her. I owe her that.”

Caro scratched her head. *Classic Arnold.* Unexpected, yet perfectly him.

“Well… since you *so sincerely* invited me,” she declared (definitely *not* swayed by velvet beds), “refusing would be rude. I accept.”

…

“So… *why* are we sharing a room?!”

Arnold masked his fluster with a helpless look. “My role’s ‘captain of the guard.’ Sneaking a maid into *my* room was already stretching it. Anything more needs Hua’s approval.”

“They refused?”

“No. I won’t ask.” A shrewd glint—un-Dragon-Slayer-like—flashed in his eyes. “I’ve been reflecting.”

“On what?” Caro leaned in.

“I helped with pure intent. Did so much. So why this outcome?”

(*Because the world sucks*—too bleak. She stayed silent.)

“I concluded: I helped *on my own terms*,” Arnold raised a finger. “As you said—imposing expectations is presumptuous. So is ‘helping’ based solely on my assumptions. Good intentions ≠ good results. It breeds resentment.”

“I’m giving *them* the chance to ask *me*. Only then will I act. No more ‘Need help?’ They won’t value unsolicited aid. Hua Fanlin will still see me as the enemy.”

*This world broke a good man.* But… smart. Everyone wants saints—nobody wants one next door.

Arnold was her brother. His pain was hers.

“So… will they come?”

“They will. That’s why I keep this ‘captain’ role—to leave the door open. Bear with the bed. Not velvet, but better than an inn’s, right?”

Caro sat. Sank. Then launched herself backward, burying into the mattress with a blissful sigh.

“Ahhh~ *So* good~"