“Huff…!”

No sooner had Sylvia activated the Blink Rune in her palm than a gentle breeze brushed past her. In the next heartbeat, Kroso stood right before her eyes.

“Archangel! I’m here.”

Given the private nature of the invitation, Kroso’s tone was less formal—but he still knelt on one knee in the knightly salute.

“Hero, no need for ceremony. Please, rise.”

Seemingly swayed by his deliberately hushed voice, Sylvia softly raised a hand in a faint gesture of support.

But watching the Hero rise and casually settle into the guest chair, the lines she’d prepared stuck in her throat.

His demeanor was strikingly different this time.

As if he’d shed an invisible burden, he no longer seemed reserved—instead, a quiet boldness radiated from him.

*Hero… what’s come over you?*

*Did something joyful happen?*

Curious, Sylvia glanced his way—only to meet Kroso’s unwavering gaze, burning with unmistakable affection.

*Such a direct look…*

His love felt etched right into his eyes.

Paired with his handsome features and the crisp uniform of an Imperial high officer, the effect was strangely reassuring.

*This guy…*

Flustered, a faint blush warmed her cheeks. She discreetly looked away.

She really couldn’t handle such blunt eye contact.

Kroso watched her turn away, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.

*So even the Archangel has such a cute, girl-like side…*

After his decision earlier that day, seeing her now, he no longer placed her on a distant pedestal.

Not out of disrespect—but because he truly saw her as his fiancée.

And a fiancée deserved not worship, but a gaze full of care and tenderness.

Which was exactly how he looked at her now.

“Hero, um…”

Noticing the heavy silence, Sylvia wanted to break it—but his gaze sent her heart fluttering.

This wasn’t intentional. It was a strange, involuntary ripple deep inside.

*You… Hero!*

*How dare you stare so blatantly?*

*Just wait—I’ll give you a proper “lesson” later.*

The devious, almost yandere-esque thought startled even herself.

Yet beneath the shock bloomed thrilling anticipation. Something dormant within her stirred awake.

*This… doesn’t feel quite right…*

“Archangel, regarding the Church’s review this time—”

Seeing her hesitate, Kroso moved to speak first.

“Hero, the night has only just begun. No need to rush. This matter is difficult—we’ll take it slowly.”

Ignoring the futile discussion, Sylvia smiled and slowly slid the wineglass—laced with “Sleeping Draught”—toward him.

Her pulse raced, but her expression stayed perfectly calm.

Kroso’s eyebrows twitched slightly at the offered glass.

*Something feels off about the Archangel today…*

He couldn’t pinpoint it—just a gut feeling. But everything seemed normal, so he let it go.

After a symbolic clink across the table, he tilted his head back and drained the glass.

Truth was, the discussion wasn’t why he came tonight.

He meant to confess again.

Given the trials ahead, mutual understanding felt vital—and her earlier reaction had bolstered his courage.

After this glass, he would…

“Ugh…!”

Setting the empty glass down, dizziness slammed into him. His expression stiffened.

*What’s happening?*

Watching the Hero’s face shift—savoring, confused, then utterly lost—a cold dread gripped Sylvia’s chest.

Her eyes never left him. The moment the last drop vanished down his throat, her heart hammered at its peak.

She didn’t know if the high-grade potion would work, or how long it’d last. It felt like opening a mystery box.

But Kroso’s flickering expressions made her stomach twist.

*What’s going on?*

*Could the “Sleeping Draught” be failing?*

Just then—Kroso’s body slumped backward without warning.

“Hero! What’s wrong?”

Seeing the man who’d been composed seconds ago now utterly unconscious, Sylvia’s heart soared inwardly.

But she masked it instantly with feigned panic, rushing over.

She had to confirm he was truly out.

“Hero? Hero?”

She called softly, shaking his shoulder firmly.

No response. Only the steady, peaceful rhythm of his breathing.

*It worked!*

She let out a long, shaky breath.

She’d feared he’d resist—or worse, uncover her scheme.

*Thank goodness…*

With a swift spell, she sealed the incriminating glass. Then she turned back to Kroso, slumped in the armchair.

But…

*Why does the Hero’s sleeping form feel… increasingly alluring?*

Strange heat surged in her chest. Flustered, she scrambled back to her own chair.

*Deep breaths. Deep breaths.*

Because now—certain he was helpless before her—a fierce, primal urge rose uncontrollably within.

It crashed over her so violently that without distance and closed eyes, she’d surely pounce.

*What… is this?*