Right now, Alte was itching to give his subordinates a thorough grilling.

What if his reputation ended up as tarnished as this white-haired-girl-obsessed prince standing before him?

How would people even view the Dragon Knights Order then?

“Could it be those loose-lipped Dragon Knights who told you?”

Alte asked bluntly, but Abel simply shook his head.

“Of course not. My wife told me. Oh—” Abel seemed to recall something and handed a photo to Alte. “When you're on duty and spot this white-haired girl, please don’t harm her. If you can bring her to me, that’d be perfect.”

Alte took the photo. It showed a white-haired catgirl—petite, underdeveloped, looking no older than fourteen.

“Prince Abel, you’ve got some nerve,” Alte smirked, half-joking. “Is this a wanted poster? Or are you asking me to drag this little white cat straight to your bed?”

Abel waved dismissively. “Pfft. She *is* my wife. Do I need you to deliver her?”

“But isn’t your wife a black cat?” Alte countered. He’d seen Abel’s wedding photo—a poised black cat, not this mischievous-looking white one with a shady grin.

“It’s… complicated. Just consider it a married couple’s little quirk. Please look after her. And don’t tell my wife.”

Abel patted Alte’s shoulder and stood to leave.

Outside the office, a gentle black cat—reminiscent of a devoted young wife—waited patiently.

Abel blinked. “Shia? What are you doing here?”

“Came to pick you up. Let’s go.”

Shia looped her arm through his, and they walked off together—leaving every single noble inside the office drowning in secondhand romance.

Alte glanced at the photo, then at Shia’s retreating figure. “No way. Not even close. How could they possibly be the same person?”

Combined with Abel’s last remark, Alte could only sigh: *This prince’s white-haired obsession seriously needs therapy. He’s married—why’s he still eyeing other white-haired girls?*

Meanwhile, Favna entered the Dragon Knights Barracks gates, hugging a newly bought quilt. As usual, the Dragon Knights ignored her completely—as if she were invisible. Strange.

Inside the camp, a black-haired human man and a black catgirl strolled toward her, arms linked, chatting and laughing. An unlikely pair. Even in the Fallen Empire, beastkin rarely received such warm treatment.

Wrapped in her black robe, Favna quickly stepped aside.

As they passed, the catgirl murmured innocently, “I know I messed up… but I really did lose the emblem by accident.”

“I’m not blaming you,” the man sighed wearily, “but the royal emblem is critical. If it falls into the wrong hands…”

*Could this gentle black cat be the royal whose emblem Liko stole?*

Favna reached out, about to speak—

Their eyes met. The catgirl offered a warm smile laced with quiet amusement. *Does she… know me?*

But Favna had never seen her before.

By the time she gathered courage, they were gone. She sighed, clutching the emblem. *I’ll ask Captain Alte to return it later.*

After a ten-minute walk across the massive barracks, Favna finally reached Alte’s office. She removed her hood with a relieved breath. The evening air had turned chilly.

“Favna?”

Alte pulled out Abel’s photo again, comparing. Then shook his head. *No match.*

Physique, race—nothing aligned. The white cat was a loli-type, squarely in Prince Abel’s questionable preferences. Favna? At least sixteen. Past the loli age.

…Though their figures were equally tragic.

“Captain,” Favna muttered, shrinking back, “your stare feels a little inappropriate.”

She slipped into the storage room without looking back and tidied her small bedroom. It was mostly ready—but still missing a bed.

*Where am I supposed to get one this late?*

“Guess I’ll sleep on a mat with the quilt tonight,” she sighed.

Just as she unrolled the mat, Alte appeared behind her. “Sorry—I forgot to prepare a bed. Take my small one tonight.”

Favna blinked. He’d already moved his office cot inside. No room to refuse.

“Sleeping on the floor might make you catch cold.”

“But what about you?”

Alte shook his head, holding up a document. “I won’t sleep tonight anyway.”

“You’re always so busy…”

“The bathroom’s over there. Wash up and rest.”

He turned to leave. “Oh—the lock’s faulty. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

*Did she even hear me?*