Arman’s recent string of misfortunes included—among other things—mysteriously upsetting Evelia, pulling an all-nighter, enduring an early meeting, weathering the Second Prince’s sarcastic jabs, getting kicked by Kale, returning to the manor only to hear Evelia might be on a date with someone else, and finally discovering his favorite roses were gone.

“Must be Mercury retrograde…”

Muttering under his breath, Arman crouched on the ground, using the small dagger pulled from his chest pocket to tidy the thoroughly wrecked rose bushes.

The thief had come prepared. Those clean, horizontal cuts spoke of blade skill—and a razor-sharp weapon—but zero artistic sense, stripping the elegant branches of all grace.

“Haa…”

Propping his chin on his palm, Arman stared at the roses. It felt like a child whose favorite toy had vanished—leaving behind a faint, childish sting of grievance.

“Ahh—Damn it—So annoying…!”

Alone, he dropped all composure. He sprang up, stomping and shouting in frustration. His boots gouged the brick path; he even swung twice at empty air. The dagger hummed, slicing the cold breeze.

Normally, he’d rage and order the butler to investigate. But thoughts of Evelia left him too drained. After a few hollow swings, he sheathed the blade and sank onto the stone bench nearby.

Placed long ago to admire the blue roses, the bench now held only tangled green stems. Arman crossed his legs, chin in hand, lost in the emptiness.

At least the roots remained. They might bloom again.

But Evelia?

Were only her “flowers” taken… or her very “roots”?

No. Maybe her “roots” were never here to begin with…

His fingers tap-tap-tapped against his jaw until it ached. He stood, casting one dejected glance at the roses. Even his footsteps felt heavier leaving.

“Ahh… So annoying—Hm?”

Listless, turning the corner toward his room, something soft collided with his chest. His hand flew toward the hidden dagger—then froze. A faint, familiar scent hung in the air.

“…Eve?”

He looked down. A cascade of pink hair.

“Master Arman, you’re back.”

Normally, he’d never bump into someone. But today, drained and distracted—and Evelia’s footsteps utterly silent—they met at the turn.

Arman truly hadn’t seen her. Evelia? She’d waited there deliberately, hearing his approach. She’d returned long ago, stationed precisely on his path. Corner surprises? She was an expert.

“Eve… you…”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. He choked out her name, words failing. Maybe it was her unexpected softness. Instinctively, his arms tightened—and her body pressed flush against his. Through his thin shirt, he felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his abdomen.

Hers was calm. His hammered wildly, utterly lost.

Her warm breath ghosted his chest. Her scent wrapped around him. The whisper of her breathing lingered by his ear.

As she lifted her gaze, Arman felt one slight lean would brush his lips to her forehead.

Overwhelmed, the battlefield veteran stood frozen. Had she come to kill him, a blade would’ve pierced his heart before he blinked.

But she held no kill order. The Second Prince hadn’t commanded it. She wouldn’t strike—and even worried the hidden blade in her skirt might scratch his hand.

While Arman’s mind short-circuited, Evelia’s raced. She read his silence as timid hesitation. *Anna’s words echoed:*

—“If she’s the gentle type, you be the strong one.”

*Yes. Strong.*

Evelia was never fragile. She knew exactly what “strong” meant.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Had she glanced up, she’d have seen the rare blush flooding his cheeks, eyes wide with disbelief.

But she had no intention of playing out his fantasies.

She tightened her grip. Before Arman grasped her intent—lightness.

The pink-haired girl, seemingly delicate, hoisted the man twenty centimeters taller and built of solid muscle clean off the ground, cradling him securely by the waist.

“?”

*This… is “strong” enough, right?*

Holding him firmly, she looked up. His expression? Utterly dumbfounded.

No reaction meant not strong *enough*. Time for Plan B.

Like the shoujo manga scenes meant to make hearts flutter: one arm locked around his waist, the other swept under his thighs, lifted his rear, shifted to support shoulders—fluid, seamless.

Arman settled perfectly across her arms.

Yes. The legendary “princess carry.”

“Are you alright, Master Arman?” she asked sweetly, gazing down at the bewildered man in her arms.

*He feels my strength now. He sees I’m someone he can trust.*

A quiet pride warmed her—her movements had been flawless.

And Arman? Confusion painted his face.

But in that moment, Evelia’s image in his eyes soared—tall, capable, undeniably formidable.