"Flamme and Agusheed have been upstairs forever… when are they coming down?"
Frieren, waiting at home, complained, her stomach growling.
She'd already snoozed on the couch for three hours since Agusheed brought her down—and Flamme and him were still nowhere in sight.
Huddled on the living room sofa, her silver hair a mess, Frieren rubbed her empty belly and glanced at the magical clock. 8:00 PM.
A gentle breeze of the season blew through the window, but it did nothing to soothe her hunger.
"Another runaway day," she murmured, burying her face in a pillow, lost in a daydream—packing a little bag, stomping away from the imperial capital, while Flamme and Agusheed chased after her, begging her not to go.
Just then, the "sunny" smile of the Blood‑Stained God of War flashed in her mind—petrifying her as it had when she saw it close up.
Her runaway thoughts evaporated in an instant.
Her pointed ears perked up, and she sprang up—running barefoot, tappa‑tappa‑tappa, to the door.
Creak… Agusheed pushed it open gently, and Frieren almost launched into asking him to hurry and cook dinner. But Flamme, stepping out behind him, grabbed Frieren by the collar.
"F‑ri‑e‑ren—" Flamme hoisted the little silver-haired elf off the ground, glaring fiercely at her clueless disciple.
Though Frieren's tangled red hair and embarrassed cheeks made her look harmless, Flamme was definitely mad.
So Frieren panicked, kicking her tiny legs frantically, putting on an innocent face: "Yame‑dieo… Flamme…".
But Flamme, unsympathetic, repeated her name deliberately:
Twice uttered with crystal-clear intent.
Frieren sensed her fury—and froze.
"Flamme, don't go overboard," Agusheed called out at that moment, offering her a way out.
But then he added—grimly—"You can break one of her legs, but have to keep the other for school tomorrow."
With that, he wisely retreated to the kitchen, leaving the battlefield to his mentor and disciple.
Flamme snorted and marched Frieren back to her bedroom.
Frieren, dangling like a limp kitten, thought about how to escape the impending punishment, eyes darting around fretfully.
Bang! Flamme kicked the door shut behind them.
Locking eyes with Frieren, she placed her hands on the little elf's head and asked bluntly:
"Where's the potion bottle from my room?"
"What potion?" responded Frieren, still playing innocent.
"Huh—" With a single sneer, Flamme's eyebrows shot up.
She counted out loud:
"I really don't know—" Frieren pleaded.
"Flamme, you must have misunderstood!"
Before she could react further:
A sharp sting spread across Frieren's butt.
"Ow—" she yelped, eyes wide in shock.
"Where's the potion?" Flamme demanded, then struck again:
"I don't know what potion—ow—"
Another strike followed, harder.
"Purple? The one that 'only dissolves clothes'?"
Flamme ground her teeth. On the next blow, Frieren broke and shakily pulled the bottle from her pocket.
"Dummy disciple…" Flamme sighed with relief, checked the bottle—still intact—then pocketed it.
Hands on her hips, she glared at Frieren sobbing on the bed.
"Why'd you steal my stuff?"
Frieren nursed her sore behind and sniffled:
"I was just curious…"
"That doesn't make stealing okay."
"I didn't steal, I—just borrowed it…" she argued.
"And it's suspicious you'd hide such a strange item in your wardrobe, isn't it?"
Frieren tilted her head—"Why would Flamme buy it?" she countered sharply.
Flamme cleared her throat to cover her embarrassment:
"It… is part of my latest magical research."
Frieren pressed: "If it's for research, why hide it deep in the wardrobe?"
Her words caught Flamme off guard.
"Okay, it's actually… a gift for Agusheed."
"A gift?" Frieren arched an eyebrow, still hunched.
"Would Agusheed be into a potion that dissolves clothes?" she pressed.
"Men… are easy to please with things like that," Flamme fibbed smoothly—dodging any adult details.
"Really?" Frieren narrowed her eyes skeptically.
She then observed Flamme's flushed face and messy hair, curiosity rekindled:
"So… what were you two doing up on the dragon so long? And why are you both glowing and wild-haired?"
"She's not old enough," Flamme responded, covering Frieren's nose teasingly.
Watching Frieren teetering for words, Flamme moved to shut the topic down.
"Seems you didn't learn your lesson yet."
"Wait! Flamme, haven't you hit her enough already?!"
After round after round of "educational" spanking, Flamme finally led weepy Frieren out.
In the kitchen, dinner aromas—golden bread, buttery mushroom soup, vegetable salad—were arranged neatly.
Agusheed glanced at Frieren (teary-eyed) and Flamme (smiling), silently patted both their heads.
Frieren, still rubbing her sore backside, plopped into her seat—but jumped right up again:
"Agusheed, do you have a 'magic that instantly cures pain in my butt'?"
Of course not—so Frieren ended up half-standing at dinner.
Flamme feigned ignorance, but her upward smile gave her away.
This brief domestic scene drew to a close in its familiar, warm way—if only it weren't just a memory…