Alte looked at Favna’s innocent, utterly trusting expression and couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt.

Thank goodness she was a homebody dragon with zero street smarts—if she ever stepped into society, she’d be swindled down to her last thread in no time.

So Alte offered a gentle warning.

“Look… Favna, at least hear the request before deciding whether to accept it, okay?”

“But it’s *your* request, Alte. I’m sure the Guild Master wouldn’t harm me, right?”

Her trust warmed his heart, yet Alte pressed on.

“But I’m just a normal guy. What if I asked you to do something… weird?”

“If you were going to do something unspeakable to me, Alte, you’d have done it days ago…”

Alte covered his face and let out a silent sigh.

Yeah, no use explaining further.

“What if I… lose control one day? Then what?”

“Uh…” Favna fell silent, shooting him a timid glance. Then, as if remembering something, she murmured, “Then you’d have to jump off that mountain over there.”

She pointed out the window—at the peak near the Dragon Knights Barracks.

Clearly, this homebody dragon hadn’t forgotten Alte’s oath.

Seeing persuasion was futile, Alte sighed in resignation. “Fine… but never accept requests from strangers so readily.”

“Don’t worry! I never see outsiders anyway.”

Whether from social anxiety or homebody pride, Favna suddenly wore an oddly proud little smile—almost endearing.

Even Alte’s lips twitched upward slightly. But he had to deliver the hard truth.

“Don’t count on that. You’re coming with me to a gathering later.”

“Of course…” Favna patted her slightly racing chest, then blinked in confusion. “Wait—what gathering?”

“A party. That’s my request. Thinking of backing out now?”

Watching her expression shift from shock to panic to reluctant surrender, Alte nearly laughed.

Good. A lesson in caution.

Seeing his barely hidden amusement, Favna steeled herself and muttered,

“Fine… like it’s a big deal anyway.”

Backing out now would be more embarrassing. She gritted her teeth and agreed.

“Then tonight—we sneak into Veranica Bar together.”

Alte placed a mask in her hands, voice softening.

“This’ll help. You won’t feel so nervous. And hey—it’s not a waste. Time to see the world a little.”

Favna stared at the mask, momentarily lost. She’d braced herself to enter in a black robe.

Yet warmth flickered in her chest. With this mask… maybe she wouldn’t tremble quite so much.

“Miss Favna, come change with me!” Shia chirped.

“Huh? Wait—!”

Before Favna could react, Shia—smiling mischievously—whisked her into the bedroom, giving the flustered dragon girl zero chance to refuse.

Peeking out, Shia called to the two men in the office:

“No peeking, you two~”

Ten minutes later.

Shia beamed at her handiwork. “Ah, dressing up a cute girl is *so* delightful~”

Favna sat dazed, eyes vacant—until Shia held up a mirror.

“How about it? Gorgeous, right?” Shia pointed at the reflection. “I used accessories to hide your horns. No one’ll guess you’re Dragonkin at first glance.”

“Really…”

Favna gazed at herself, captivated. The style felt oddly familiar… or was it just her imagination?

“Now add the mask… Perfect!”

With the half-face mask in place, Favna’s Dragonkin identity vanished completely.

“Shall we show Alte?” Shia grinned at her shy expression. “He’ll *love* it.”

Shia—the picture of docile wifely grace to outsiders—seemed to enjoy teasing her endlessly.

“Let’s go! Oh—and *this* stays.” She snatched the black robe from Favna’s hands.

“Come on~”

Amid half-hearted protests, Shia half-dragged her out.

“Ta-da!” Shia covered Abel’s eyes and announced to Alte, “Guild Master—doesn’t Favna look stunning?”

Alte, now changed, studied Favna’s flustered attempt to cover herself. He blinked, then nodded.

“Indeed.”

Yet he gently draped his coat over her shoulders. “The dress is thin. Don’t catch a chill.”

Shia mentally facepalmed—her masterpiece, buried under black fabric.

But seeing their quiet smiles, she simply shrugged. Tugging the still-blindfolded Abel, she called back:

“Guild Master, we’re off first!”

“Alright.”

After Shia left, Alte turned to Favna. “Then let’s go.”

“O-Okay.”

Favna let him take her wrist. As they walked toward Veranica Bar, she noticed his clenched fist trembling slightly—not from cold.

“Um… Alte, are you cold? I can give the coat back.”

“No need.”

He declined softly. At her words, his hand stilled.

Favna wondered silently—could someone Alte disliked be waiting at Veranica Bar?