Neither answered. Instead, both of them crossed their arms, pushed back their chairs, and stood. Without a word, they turned their backs on him and started walking toward their rooms.
"Wait—hey, are you two not going to eat?" Nolan called after them, his voice filled with unease. They didn’t even slow down. The sound of their doors closing echoed in the hall.
Nolan dropped his spoon and buried his face in his hand. "Ah... I shouldn’t have said that. Now they’re upset. They need to eat to be ready for tomorrow." He turned desperately to Lyra. "Lyra, please—do something about this."
Lyra set her fork down with a small sigh. "Well then, I’m done eating. I’ll take their food to them, so don’t worry. You just finish your meal. Once you’re done, you can head to your room."
Relieved but still guilty, Nolan nodded slowly. "Alright... thank you." He forced himself to keep eating, though the silence in the dining room now felt heavy and strange without Linda and Celia there.
Celia stormed into her room and threw herself onto the bed. She hugged her pillow tightly, frowning as her thoughts swirled.
"Did Master really say Cynthia’s cooking is better than mine... and Linda’s too?" she muttered, her cheeks puffing out in frustration. "I know it’s true, but still...! You don’t say something like that out loud. He just doesn’t understand the heart of a maiden." She buried her face in the pillow and squeezed it tighter.
Meanwhile, in her own room, Linda sat in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. Her brows were knit in confusion.
"He’s right... Cynthia is a better cook than us," she whispered. "So why does it make me so angry? I don’t understand. But still... I wanted to be number one for him, at least in that." She sighed, brushing her hair back, but her heart still felt heavy.
The next morning, the air buzzed with anticipation. It was the day of the tournament. Nolan stretched, yawning.
"Finally," he said with a grin. "I can break some bones today."
But then, something shifted under his blanket. He froze. "...What the—?" Pulling the sheet back, he found Lyra curled up beneath it.
"Hey! What are you doing in my room?" Nolan exclaimed, tapping her shoulder.
Lyra groggily opened her eyes, looking up at him with a sleepy smile. "Master... I’m so tired. Carry me," she murmured before plopping herself onto his lap and promptly dozing off again.
"Wha—hey! Get off! Don’t sleep on my leg!" Nolan whispered urgently, trying to push her away.
And then—creak. The door opened.
Linda and Celia stood in the doorway. Their eyes widened at the sight before them: Nolan on the bed, Lyra nestled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They didn’t say a word. Their faces blank, they simply turned and closed the door behind them.
Nolan’s face went pale. "W-wait! It’s not what it looks like!" he stammered after them, but it was too late.
His heart pounded in panic. No, no, no, they’re going to misunderstand this. I’m doomed.
He shoved Lyra off the bed and stood up quickly. "You—out! Out of my room!" he groaned, running a hand down his face. With that, he hurried outside, hoping to find Linda and Celia before things spiraled even further out of control.
enough to catch their attention.
"Celia, Linda! It’s not what you think. And... about yesterday, I’m sorry."
They both turned around. Celia tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile.
"Oh, you’re worried about that?" she said softly.
Linda nodded. "Yeah. We know nothing actually happened in your room. We just... got a little shy, that’s all. And about yesterday—you were right. Cynthia’s cooking really is better than ours."
Nolan blinked, relieved but still uneasy. "So... we’re good now?"
"Not so fast, Master," Celia said, folding her arms. "If you want us to truly forgive you, you’ll have to make it up to us."
Nolan frowned. "Make it up... how?"
"Maybe get us something precious," Linda suggested with a teasing grin. "Like a gift."
"Yeah," Celia chimed in, her eyes gleaming. "Something that shows you mean it."
Nolan sighed in defeat. "Fine. Consider it done. I’ll get you both something special."
"Good answer, Master," Linda said, her smile softening.
"Now, are you two already dressed?" Nolan asked, glancing at their outfits. "I just woke up. I’ll take a bath, then we’ll all head to the arena for the tournament."
He gave them a small wave before heading back upstairs.
When Nolan entered his room, his jaw nearly dropped.
Lyra was still there. Still asleep. Still sprawled across his bed.
He rubbed his temples. "What the hell is this girl’s problem? Why is she still here—on my bed—like she owns it?" he muttered. "Ugh... forget it. I’ll just ignore her."
With a deep breath, he turned and stepped into the restroom. The sound of running water soon filled the air as Nolan began his bath, clearing his mind for the battles ahead. Fresh chapters posted on novel·fire·net
Nolan stepped out of the steam-filled restroom, a towel in hand as he wiped the last droplets of water from his body. His battle suit clung to him, fresh and sharp, ready for the day ahead. He adjusted the straps, then opened the door—only to find Lyra already awake, sitting casually on his bed.
"Why did you sleep in my room?" Nolan asked flatly.
Lyra stretched lazily, her eyes half-lidded. "No reason. Your bed is just more comfortable than mine."
Nolan’s eyebrow twitched. "You’re a behemoth—a divine beast. You should know better than that."
She tilted her head innocently. "Well, I don’t get what you’re saying." Then, without another word, she slid down from the bed and walked out, her steps light as though nothing unusual had happened.
Nolan exhaled, shaking his head. That behemoth never learns.
He reached for his sword, the blade gleaming as the morning light caught it. Slinging it across his back, he muttered to himself, "Well... just who am I going to fight today? Hopefully something fun."
With that, he headed downstair.