"Mr. Arman—what a coincidence. What are you doing here?"

Unlike Arman’s slightly startled expression, Evelia remained perfectly composed. She stepped toward him, a gentle breeze trailing her movement, carrying a faint floral scent.

"Ah, just conducting some investigations," Arman said, rubbing his nose as if the fragrance had already filled his senses. "This part of the royal city is rather rough. I’m considering assigning knights to patrol here."

"..."

Evelia stayed silent, her eyes darkening just a trace.

Compared to the bustling main street, this shaded alley truly felt eerie.

The man whose neck she’d snapped moments ago was still hidden in a dumpster down the lane. She hadn’t checked thoroughly for other "residents," but the unmistakable stench of decay wafting from within was all too familiar.

Thankfully, the shop assistant had lightly sprayed her dress with perfume—otherwise, the hem might have carried the odor.

"Ivy, avoid alleys like this from now on. Not safe. Did you run into any trouble on your way?"

Her silence stirred quiet concern in Arman. As a knight, he instinctively worried for her safety. Perhaps it was her striking outfit today—so elegantly put together—that made him wonder if she’d drawn unwanted attention.

*But… she’s clearly not someone thugs would dare approach.*

*Probably.* To Arman, Evelia had always seemed… untouchable.

"No."

Her flat reply eased his worry slightly. He didn’t even notice himself letting out a subtle sigh of relief.

"Ah… glad you’re alright."

"Mm."

What should’ve been a simple exchange turned awkward beneath their shared silence.

Neither spoke.

Arman studied her unfamiliar attire, searching for clues.

Evelia waited—hadn’t countless men turned to look at her today? Surely *he’d* notice too.

"..."

But Arman stayed quiet. He rubbed his ear, gaze drifting deliberately away—scanning the crowd, avoiding her.

"Don’t you like it?"

After a full minute of silence, Evelia shifted two steps into his line of sight. She watched his eyes lift instinctively, her figure in pure white reflected in his blue irises.

"...Hm?" He leaned back slightly, startled.

"My new outfit. Don’t you like it?"

She asked plainly—no hidden meaning. If he disliked it, she’d simply return to the boutique.

"...It’s fresh."

Arman chose the safest word.

Having only ever seen her in a maid uniform, this *was* different.

*Fresh? Edible? Novel? A pleasant surprise?*

*…Probably a compliment.*

"Thank you."

She tucked a stray strand behind her ear, fingers tracing lightly down her neck.

His gaze flickered away again, hidden by shadow.

"Don’t you dare look at me?" she pressed, catching the shift.

"Not that…"

Caught, he met her eyes again. A faint smile tugged his lips.

"Alright. You look lovely, Ivy."

Direct. Sincere. His ears flushed pink—a detail she likely blamed on his earlier ear-rubbing.

*(He’d been rubbing them to hide the blush.)*

"Mm… Good."

A quiet warmth bloomed in her chest. *Is the strategy working?*

"Headed somewhere?"

"No. Just bought clothes. Heading back to the manor."

Confirmed—he liked this style. No need to visit other shops. That assistant, odd as she was, knew her craft.

"Take the side exit to the main road. Avoid these alleys. Tell the old butler I’ll return later."

Relief flickered in him—*she hadn’t dressed up for someone else*—then he shoved it down. *Don’t look. Don’t feel.*

*…Ugh. Too obvious. Don’t fall for it.*

He turned abruptly, cutting the moment short.

"Understood, Mr. Arman."

She bowed slightly—but her eyes held unspoken words.

—*Is this all?*

*Just "lovely"?*

This wasn’t about a compliment.

—*I must make Arman fall for me.*

First impressions were everything. This moment—*now*—had to imprint itself on his mind.

She stepped forward. Saw the distant branches tremble. Felt the wind’s approach.

*Perfect. Ride the spring breeze.*

Let hair and hem dance—a living painting of spring.

"Mr. Arman—"

She called as the wind surged. He turned.

But fate had other plans.

*(Just as the shop assistant muttered: "A stronger breeze wouldn’t hurt—it shows the lingerie’s purpose.")*

Indeed.

What met his eyes wasn’t a blushing maiden’s delicate face.

"…?!"

—but her dress lifted high, revealing the carefully chosen low-rise white lace panties beneath.

—*The lingerie’s purpose was, undeniably, demonstrated.*

Evelia didn’t panic. No frantic grabbing. She simply noted the breeze felt chilly.

Her "message" had reached him.

Just… not quite as imagined.