“...?”
Though Arman was a genuine virgin, he still caught the implication. He looked up at Evelia—her face remained perfectly composed after saying something so bold.
“Shall I assist you?” Evelia asked again, as if confirming his reaction.
“Eve… do you even know what that phrase means?” Arman’s expression tightened with awkwardness. As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly, her subtle bow directing his gaze straight to that eye-catching expanse of pale skin. He tried not to look, but his traitorous eyes kept darting there anyway.
Congratulations to Arman for scoring a perfect zero-second record in the “Don’t Look There” Challenge.
“If you’re feeling overheated, wouldn’t you just need to cool down?”
“Ah—well, technically true,” Arman muttered, pressing his lips together. “But… that phrase is… ambiguous.”
“Then would you explain it to me?” Evelia gazed at him with an utterly innocent expression, her golden eyes brimming with pure curiosity.
Arman had always thought Evelia was an extraordinary woman—seemingly capable of anything, yet somehow not quite *there*.
“Uh… it’s… hard to put into words.”
“If it’s inconvenient, I could ask someone else—”
“Wait!”
*She’d definitely twist it into “Arman wants me to help him cool down, so I’m asking how”—and if that rumor spreads? Nightmare.*
“Hm? What is it, Mr. Arman?” Evelia had already taken half a step toward the door, looking genuinely ready to seek clarification outside.
“Well, ‘cooling down’… it’s… I mean…” Flustered, he rubbed his ear. He only meant to explain the term, yet his mind flashed vivid, inappropriate images: Evelia’s soft, agile tongue; her warm, tight mouth; her slender, fair fingers… *what if she used them…*
“Shall I help relax your ear too?” Evelia, catching the small gesture, asked sweetly.
“—No!” Arman dropped his hand instantly, cutting off the fantasy. “Just… don’t ask random things. Don’t repeat them. Understood?”
“Mm. As you say. I understand.”
She obeyed without hesitation—yet each time, Arman felt that familiar unease beneath his relief. *She’s the Second Prince’s dog. This obedience? Just another order.* How ironic. A loyal hound wagging its tail at him today… might bite tomorrow. *If only her obedience were real… then fantasies wouldn’t stay fantasies.* He chuckled inwardly. He hated rigid rules—how could he demand “perfect obedience” from others? Becoming the very person he despised. Still, careless as he was, he wasn’t reckless enough to let rumors spread. Only after stressing *multiple times* that Evelia must never mention “cooling down” again did he finally leave the manor for work.
Unbeknownst to him, Evelia filed his words away as: *“Only you can help me cool down.”* She didn’t grasp the hidden meaning—but she remembered it.
Arman disliked carriages. When not rushed, he strolled alone to the Knights Order. Walking the capital’s main avenue, he passed patrolling knights every few steps. Recognizing him, they nodded; he smiled back. Nod every few paces, smile every few meters—more exhausting than battle.
“You’re here.” Vice-Captain Kale sat, as usual, at Arman’s desk, sorting through paperwork Arman avoided.
“How’s the festival prep?” Arman tossed his coat onto the sofa, massaging his stiff-smiling face. He poured a glass of cool boiled water from the desk kettle.
“Shaped into an entertainment-focused event. Cut tedious rituals. Less utilitarian.”
“No speeches?”
“Canceled yours.”
“Thank goodness. You’re a lifesaver. Finally spared that shitty speech.” *Standing up there thanking the Second Prince for his “keen eye for talent”? I’d rather gouge his eyes out and feed them to fish.* This morning’s fantasy flickered again—presenting those eyes to Evelia. *Her reaction would be priceless.* Maybe even a fun personal goal.
“…Chop his head off and toss it at her feet? Might be more interesting.” He muttered it without thinking.
“Scheming again?” Kale wasn’t fazed. Old comrades knew Arman’s quirks—he took quiet pleasure in messing with enemies or teasing green recruits. (With allies? Just harmless jokes.)
“Nothing.” Arman shook his head with a grin, perching on the edge of Kale’s desk. “Any moves from the Second Prince lately?”
“Knew it. You were thinking about *him*.”
“We both know it.” Arman’s disdain was no secret. Happy or not, he’d curse the prince. Sometimes a muttered phrase with no subject—Kale knew it meant the Second Prince. He never asked why. He only knew the prince had tried hard to eliminate Arman. Hatred made sense.
“Nothing major. Speaking of which—was that previous matter resolved?” Kale set down the half-finished file, stretched lazily, and met Arman’s eyes.
“That previous matter?”
“Yeah. The woman you argued with. Did you apologize?”
