‘As long as Mr. Fate hasn’t forgotten he’s a guard of Dawnbreak Cathedral,’ Miss Loraine replied with a faint, ambiguous smile.

‘So? How did it go, Mr. Fate?’

‘Mm… smooth enough,’ Fate murmured, glancing around as if searching for someone.

‘Good.’ Loraine saw right through him. ‘The bishop’s been away on business. Don’t worry—your recent… slacking hasn’t been noticed.’

The armored man scratched his iron helmet, cradled his sword, and resumed post by the door. Soon, lunchtime arrived.

Loraine quickly sensed something off.

Normally, that tin-can knight would bolt straight to the clergy dining hall the moment the bell rang. Though stationed outside, Fate always managed to sit neatly at his spot by the time she arrived, eyes fixed on her with hopeful anticipation.

Maybe it was her imagination—but Loraine always felt this fully armored youth gave off the vibe of an adorable little fox waiting to be fed.

She couldn’t explain why someone so tall and clanking reminded her of a fluffy cub.

Today’s table felt deeply wrong. So wrong even Loraine struggled to lift her fork.

Only she and Fate occupied the hall. The armored figure who usually devoured his meal after a quick nod now sat arms crossed, staring blankly at his untouched plate.

Loraine wondered if he’d caught some strange illness.

‘Mr. Fate?’

‘Hm? … Yes?’ Fate lifted his gaze from the food.

‘Did you… eat already?’

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Then… feeling unwell?’

‘…Mm.’ He nodded silently. Truth was, he had no idea. He’d eaten nothing since morning—his stomach growled—but the bread and thick soup before him felt utterly unappealing.

*How?* He lived by never wasting food. Always ate everything. Why not today?

He lifted a slice to his nose. Sniffed. His expression darkened.

The bread smelled fine. Dawnbreak Cathedral wasn’t so poor as to serve sawdust or mold. Same scent. Yet to him, it might as well be wood.

His instincts refused. But he hated waste.

So he just stared at the meal, bread trembling slightly in his palm.

‘If you’re unwell, it’s okay not to eat,’ Loraine sighed, seeing his pained stillness.

Fate set the bread down and apologized quietly.

‘Is my cooking not to your taste, Mr. Fate?’ Loraine pouted, clearly displeased.

‘Of course not.’

Afterward, Fate returned to post on an empty stomach. Hungry—yet utterly disinterested in ordinary food.

*Could last night’s fancy dinner with Nia have spoiled his palate?* Unlikely. He’d eaten feasts and humble meals alike for years without fuss.

The day passed uneventfully. Bati City, after all, was mostly a peaceful, sleepy border town.

Evening came. Fate yawned wearily. He wandered the night market again—steaming skewers, sizzling buns—but felt zero appetite.

*What’s wrong with me?*

He’d never felt this before. He *was* hungry. Just… not for anything here.

He returned to the cathedral untouched.

*Sleep. Maybe tomorrow’s better.*

He took down the clothesline pole from the Dawnbreaker Knight statue, spread a blanket over a prayer bench, washed up, and lay down fully clothed.

Midnight deepened.

A faint rustling stirred his drowsy mind.

……What was that?

Hazy, he heard sharp, goosebump-raising sounds. He blinked awake—a silver strand of hair fell across his vision.

The sound… wasn’t outside. It was *him*.

Fate realized she was grinding her teeth. She jolted up from the armor pile, sat cross-legged. Moonlight gleamed on her flawless silken silver hair.

Heterochromatic fox eyes ignited. Feitao stared at her delicate hands, the flowing sleeves. She reached up—fingertips brushed soft, fluffy ears.

*Is the fox spirit blood boiling again?*

Before she could think, ravenous hunger surged. Tiny sharp teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Hungry… so hungry… starving………

Feitao sprang from the armor. Clarity dawned: the fox spirit blood was acting up.

Driven by primal hunger, the snow-white little fox’s gaze locked on the main gate. An impulse seized her—she burst through the locked door.

‘Sniff… sniff sniff sniff………’

Bare feet in milky-white over-knee socks tapped wooden geta across the courtyard. Feitao closed her eyes, hunting that faint, elusive scent.

Her eyes snapped open.

This scent—unmistakable. *That thing*.

So hungry… so hungry… so hungry………

Reason whispered this was strange. But instinct had seized the high ground. Only hunger remained.

And then—a seductive, honeyed voice curled through her mind:

‘Just follow your instincts. Why deny yourself~?’