What was the Ancient Spirit Tree truly thinking? To presume understanding a millennia-old being with her mere twenty-something years felt foolish. How could she grasp such a mindset? Yet she still wanted to guess, to feel it—even if it was just self-indulgence. Caro played on, heart wrapped in subtle emotion.

She’d composed this melody while drunk. Barely finished crafting it before tipsiness set in. Come to think of it, she *did* have the "Heavy Drinking Lv.1" skill—truly, noblehouse wine lived up to its name. Stronger than expected. Did this world already have distillation tech?

Lost in thought, Caro slowly began the tune. Unlike the piece for Lucy, "A Century-Long Call," this one she’d named "A Thousand Years of Solitude"—yet played in cheerful, lively rhythm. Nimble, vibrant, like the constant flow of people before the Ancient Spirit Tree.

Centuries of bustling crowds reflecting profound loneliness—that was her intent. But her skill fell short; the feeling didn’t quite land.

“What a cheerful tune!” Lasi remarked, surprised. “Listening makes my mood lift instantly.”

Misunderstanding was natural. Only a true kindred spirit could hear the loneliness woven in—not hers, but the Ancient Spirit Tree’s…

Then Caro saw it: a golden leaf drifting down behind Lasi. It shattered instantly, dissolving into dust carried by the wind.

“…?”

She ducked into a corner, pulled up her skill panel. Bold text glowed: *Thought Resistance Lv.1.*

Ah—Bards inherently held this power. Just as she summoned Caro, Bards gathered thoughts, preserved them, summoned them, resisted their force. This *was* the Bard’s true calling. Unearthing hidden histories, weaving tales—it was all manipulation of "thoughts." Similar to "faith power" from her original world, yet subtly different.

Two Bard paths: summoning and buffing. Summoning *was* thought manipulation.

Her confidence swelled. Could *she* shine too? Save Demaerburg?

A thrill surged through her. *The key was her, not others.* Was this… being the protagonist? With just Lv.1, saving a city?

*Sigh.* She’d only wanted to be a simple Bard. Yet the world shoved her toward heroism. Since meeting Arnold, she’d admired such figures. Now, she couldn’t resist destiny’s pull. How… regrettable.

Excitedly, she planned a grand concert. First step: ask Boss Lasi for leave—but after two steps, dizziness hit. Like standing too fast after crouching. She gripped the counter, barely staying upright.

Ice-cold realization doused her. “Am I… just too weak?”

Having the power didn’t mean wielding it. A concert against such thoughts? She’d be obliterated in seconds.

Her inflated pride deflated. Harsh reality returned. Once steady, she resumed baking. “I’m just a Bard. Heroes aren’t for me. Only fools chase that title.”

Self-comfort restored her spirit. *When the sky falls, the tall hold it up.* With her current loli appearance, she’d just stand before real kids. Leave the rest to heroes—the Sword Saint? The legendary Chosen Hero? None of it was her burden.

Power bred arrogance. Arnold held immense strength yet never flaunted it. *Still waters run deep.* True power needs no show. Existence alone was proof.

Just then—an unexpected guest.

“Mistie!” Caro blinked. “Here for cake?”

The younger Fanlin sister, ever in pure white stockings—a delicate noble-lady image, yet brimming with lively energy.

Undeniably cute. But her presence meant… Arnold chose Hua Fanlin? Not unreasonable. Hua had the figure. If *she* chose? Mistie was sweet, but… underdeveloped. Needed years to rival her sister.

“Ah… Miss Caro.” Mistie flushed, surprised. They’d met days ago before the Ancient Spirit Tree—a fleeting encounter. Following its guidance to this shop, she never expected to find *her*. *Was this lady the key?* Blushing at her own thought, noble upbringing prompted her to draw a gold coin from her purse. “Um… I’d like to buy a cake.”

“Uh—Mistie, nothing here costs a gold coin. That’s too much.”

*Every shopkeeper’s wealth radar pings.* At “gold coin,” Lasi zipped from oven to counter. “Ahem! How may I assist you, Miss?”

Mistie shyly offered the coin. “Might I… borrow your employee awhile? If you agree…”

“Of course!”

Caro shot her boss a disdainful look. *Typical merchant—gold-corrupted soul.* She inwardly quoted: “Yellow River’s waters flow from heaven… Spent gold returns.” *They’d never grasp such wisdom.*

“Caro! Slighting a noble lady? Unprofessional!”

*Didn’t you take Arnold’s gold coin days ago? Income’s suspiciously high, Boss!*

Thinking of her pitiful wages, she nearly punched him. But… *under another’s roof, bow your head.* At least meals were covered—and Boss Lasi’s bread *was* excellent.

She untied her apron, smoothed her clothes, stepped outside. “Miss Mistie, what do you need?”

Mistie shook her head gently. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

*Fair point.*

They entered a lavishly ornate restaurant—no adventurer would dare step inside. Like a high-end spot from her original world.

“Please, order freely. My treat.” Every gesture breathed nobility. Fanlin House might be troubled… but finances held firm.

Caro had no clue why Mistie sought her. But that “I have a story” aura? Probably gossip. She followed.

“Miss Caro… do you know who I am?”

Caro nodded. “Second daughter of Fanlin House, right? We delivered your cake days ago.”

A soft “Mm.” Mistie’s voice dropped. “Here… can I hear the truth?”

“The truth?”

“Yes. My status means questions get lies. So I thought of you. Our meeting before the Ancient Spirit Tree… fate’s guidance? You’re a Bard, yes? I need your wisdom.”

Flattering from a beautiful girl? Exhilarating.

Caro nodded. “Speak freely. I care nothing for your power. Just don’t arrest me for blunt words.”

Mistie covered her mouth, giggling. “You’re wonderfully candid. I believe I’ll find my answer here.”

“So… what is it?”

Mistie blushed, eyes shyly downcast. “My sister and I… we might… have fallen for the same person…”

*Ah… Arnold, that harem-seeking jerk.*

*Damn, how envious I am! If only my… “tools” hadn’t been confiscated…*

Caro lowered her voice. “No eavesdroppers?”

“Rest assured. I cleared the area beforehand.”

“…Alright.” She’d underestimated wealthy-influential types. In her old world, she’d only been rich.

“Liking the same person is normal. Exceptional people draw hearts. The question is—how will *you* handle it?”

Mistie’s eyes lit up, earnest. “Yes! That’s my struggle. Others called it childish infatuation… said it ‘shouldn’t be’… But how do I control my heart?”

Under that hopeful, sparkling gaze, Caro felt flustered.