Evelia stepped into the fitting room, holding the lingerie set and the dress. While changing, the shop assistant even asked about Arman’s height. A soft knock came, and a pair of white high heels—perfectly matching the outfit—were placed outside her door.
She slipped out of her pantsuit and into the carefully coordinated dress. Though spring mornings and evenings still carried a chill, noon sun blazed fiercely. The knee-length skirt shielded her legs from the breeze. The fabric, lightweight yet warm, kept the silhouette elegant—never bulky, never stiff.
A pink ribbon, echoing her long hair, was tied just below her bust. It accentuated her graceful curves and subtly elongated her frame.
Click-clack.
Evelia stepped out in the heels. She usually wore flat leather shoes, but heels weren’t unfamiliar—just momentarily awkward. The distinct click-clack of her steps echoed unusually beneath her feet.
“Miss…! You’re a living mannequin!”
Truly, the simpler the outfit, the more it revealed true beauty.
Mimicking ladylike poise, Evelia folded her hands gently over her abdomen and turned sideways to the mirror. The pristine white was undeniably lovely. Yet, perhaps due to her own bias, she felt this hue suited the girl named “Evelia”—not the one who was “Crimson Crow.”
What a stark contrast to her former self, once cloaked entirely in black…
“Pardon me, Miss. Let me quickly style your hair. This ribbon is a complimentary gift.”
Thrilled with Evelia’s look, the assistant led her to a personal vanity. With a wooden comb and white satin ribbon, deft fingers braided two small plaits along her temples, swept them back, and secured them. In mere minutes, her entire aura transformed.
…
Evelia instinctively touched the ribbon at her nape. From the front, a hint of the white bow peeked out. Her fingers traced the neat bun at the side; the rest of her hair cascaded softly down her back. A faint peach blossom scent—likely from the assistant’s perfume—lingered as she lightly tossed her locks.
“Next, you’ll need a breezy spot.”
“Wind?”
Puzzled, Evelia turned. The assistant grinned mischievously, clearly scheming.
“Exactly. Wind.”
She dramatically tossed her short hair—but it just bounced softly, cotton-candy fluff. *Looks… oddly edible.*
“Oops… Should’ve brought hair extensions…” Blushing, she giggled, stuck out her tongue, and tapped her fluffy head with a tiny fist.
“I think… I understand.”
Recalling a novel scene, Evelia pieced it together:
*When the knight reached the flower field, the maiden had waited long. Dressed meticulously to avoid lateness, he rushed over breathless. He called to her gazing at the sky. Then—a breeze stirred. Golden petals, glowing in sunlight, danced on the warm air. His voice rode the blossoms to her ears. She turned; her long hair swayed with the falling flowers. Brushing a strand from her cheek, her sweet face emerged—half-hidden, yet her gentle smile unmistakable.*
—Ah.
“So you mean… letting the wind play with my hair?”
“Exactly, Miss! You’re brilliant!” The assistant nodded eagerly. “No man can resist a girl tucking her hair behind her ear in a gentle breeze… Ah—*gentle* breeze.”
“Mm. Understood.”
Evelia stood, packed her changed clothes with help, and bought two more lingerie sets the assistant recommended. After checkout, as Evelia walked away in her new dress, the assistant murmured thoughtfully:
“Honestly? Strong wind’s fine too… That’s when the lingerie really proves its worth…”
“Hm?”
But Evelia had already closed the boutique door behind her. No need to turn back.
Morning had bled into noon. The spring sun hit her face squarely; she squinted slightly. Shopping bag in hand, she chose a shaded alley. Her white dress and pink hair drew stares instantly. Within steps, eyes followed her—men, women, young, old. Her flawless beauty and figure made her the street’s undeniable focal point.
Tap-tap.
Of course, it wasn’t just eyes.
Tap-tap.
Deliberately muffled footsteps, syncing precisely with hers. Amid the bustling street, Evelia instantly knew: she was being followed.
…
She spun 180 degrees. Locked eyes with the man walking straight behind her. Silent. Unmoving. He froze.
He stayed silent too, awkward under her gaze. Normally, a caught stalker would flee—but he, thinking himself tough, took her stillness as challenge. He stepped closer toward the woman he deemed “too full of herself.”
Had she worn her pantsuit, he might’ve hesitated. But in this gentle dress, without a hardened glare, her presence felt softer.
…
She stepped back two paces.
His eyes lit up. He advanced eagerly; she retreated evenly.
…
Still silent, she turned and walked on as if nothing happened.
Everyone admires beauty—and Evelia embodied it. Yet as the assistant warned, some crave to tarnish that purity. The more pristine and aloof a woman appears, the sharper certain desires burn.
Evelia treated him as an observation. *The assistant was right.*
But proof achieved, observation ended.
She quickened her pace to lose him—no scene in public. He misread her speed as fear, following stubbornly.
“…Hah.”
A soft sigh. She slipped sideways into the nearest deserted garbage alley.
Moments later, he hurried after her with a “hehe” chuckle—vanishing into the darkness.
Crack.
From the shadows: a faint, clean snap of a neck.
Only Evelia emerged. Calm. Bag in hand. Not a strand displaced. Not a speck of dirt.
“Didn’t the Knights Order already send people there? No need for me to file paperwork… You know I hate reports.”
“It’s protocol. When will you stop being lazy? This isn’t optional.”
“Ugh… so annoying.”
“You’ve said that six times.”
“But it *is* annoying…”
Evelia turned. She hadn’t misheard. Across the street stood Arman in knight uniform—and arguing beside him, Deputy Commander Kale, also in uniform.
“Enough, kid. Wrap this up, then head to East Street.”
“Fine, fine. Not sure who’s boss here…”
“Hm?”
“You’re the boss! My esteemed senior—let’s go already.”
Arman, fed up, gave Kale a light shove. Then he scanned the street—and froze. His eyes locked onto Evelia.
“Eve—"
He blinked, gaze darting away, hand rising awkwardly to his neck. Then back to her. Scanning the white dress. His fingers curled into a fist against his lips. Eyebrows lifted. An unreadable, flustered expression.
He hesitated. Lips parting tentatively:
“Evelia…?”
