The fifth day after returning to Eiseberg, and a week since Flamme had turned into a child—
Only three days remained until the Emperor's birthday.
Since all court mages were required to attend the ceremony—
They were granted a full four-day leave by Flamme herself.
Accordingly, Agusheed and his shrunken wife, who had accompanied her daily to lectures, also received a rare break.
The mighty mage, now a child, Flamme, unsurprisingly…
As the morning sun filtered through the stained-glass window into their bedroom,
Placed breakfast in the kitchen and pushed open the wooden door to the bedroom as usual.
He looked toward the rumpled bed.
His gray eyes reflected the sight of "Little Flamme" curled up within the sheets.
Her light red hair spilled over the pillow, and her tiny nose fluttered gently with her breath.
Unlike her usual intellectual and mature demeanor,
Her current form was undeniably adorable.
Agusheed's low voice echoed softly through the room.
"Little Flamme" scrunched her nose and buried her face deeper into the pillow.
She responded vaguely, her voice full of childish drowsiness.
Agusheed spoke calmly, gently shaking her tiny shoulder.
"Five more minutes..."
Flamme grumbled and tugged the blanket over her head.
Agusheed sighed, yet tenderly pulled the blanket down.
"Your breakfast will get cold."
"Can I skip breakfast…?"
Of course, Agusheed denied her request.
After much coaxing, Flamme finally opened her eyes reluctantly.
She stretched with a tearful yawn, oversized sleeves sliding down her small arms.
"It's not my fault I overslept—kids' bodies just need more rest."
She tried to explain herself with serious tone,
But her childish voice only made it sound like she was whining.
Agusheed replied shortly, picking up a comb from the dresser.
Flamme obediently turned so her husband could help brush her long red hair.
"Trying more new disenchantment spells today?"
Agusheed asked while brushing, his tone as flat as ever.
Flamme swung her short legs, her feet not touching the ground.
She looked at her tiny hands and sighed.
"All the disenchantment spells we've tried so far have failed—"
"It means this can't be solved with existing magical theory."
"In the end, we'll still need my master's help..."
Agusheed didn't reply immediately. He finished brushing her hair and neatly tied it with a silk ribbon.
Then he bent down and lifted Flamme into his arms—expertly, like it was second nature.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, nestling close to him.
At the kitchen, Agusheed set her in a specially raised chair and started breakfast prep.
Slicing bread, frying ham, simmering oatmeal.
As always, he moved with practiced precision.
Flamme watched his back, legs swinging.
"Staying still is helping."
"Ouch. I do have some cooking skills, you know."
"You mean the kind that blows up the kitchen?"
"That explosion was totally an accident…"
They bickered like always.
The scent of frying ham soon filled the kitchen.
Agusheed placed smaller slices of bread on a wooden plate in front of Flamme—
Perfectly sized for her little hands.
Flamme protested at being treated like a child.
Yet her small hands reached for the bread anyway.
"Are your hands half the size they used to be?"
"Or would you prefer I tear the bread and feed you piece by piece?"
Agusheed stated plainly and sat across from her to eat his share.
"When will you write to Serie and ask her to come to Eiseberg?"
He asked, pushing a warm glass of milk toward her.
"I already sent it last night."
Flamme took the cup in both hands and sipped.
"When do you think she'll arrive?"
"Last I saw her, she was at the ancient ruins in the Etwas Mountains..."
"Judging by her usual pace, it'd take her at least a week..."
A white milk ring formed around Flamme's lips, which she licked away unconsciously.
"But I did mention my condition in the letter, so… she'll probably rush."
Agusheed nodded and wiped the milk from her lips with his thumb.
But before he could pull back, Flamme grabbed his finger.
He looked puzzled at her.
Flamme gazed up at him quietly.
Agusheed leaned closer, and his gray eyes reflected her delicate, upturned face.
He felt something in her stare, and his tense fingers relaxed.
A lock of his hair mingled with the soft red beside her temple.
She clutched his collar. Her warm breath brushed his neck like a feather in the morning light.
Outside, the distant buzz of the marketplace drifted in.
And the oatmeal on the plate gave off its final wisp of steam.
A soft noise from the stairs broke the moment.
Frieren, who had just woken and tumbled down twenty steps,
Now sat groaning, clutching her head, and giving her two teachers a "ugh, so lovey-dovey" look.