Jean let out a quiet breath.
The tension in her shoulders eased almost imperceptibly, and the oppressive pressure that had nearly solidified moments ago dispersed like morning mist pierced by sunlight.
"So… that's how it was."
She repeated it softly, as if finally removing a small pebble lodged in her heart.
So Eula had truly only acted out of kindness—bringing him, dead drunk, to an inn to rest. It hadn't been that kind of situation after all.
It was all that useless bard's fault!
Using such deliberately vague wording and exaggerated descriptions—no wonder she had almost convinced herself she'd become an incompetent superior.
A faint trace of relief—so subtle even Jean herself didn't notice it—flickered across her lips before she pressed it away.
She lifted her gaze again, looking at Yichen sitting stiffly across from her, barely daring to breathe.
That "awaiting judgment" posture… now that she looked at it more closely, it almost seemed a little pitiful.
The last remnants of her inexplicable discomfort quietly faded.
She even felt the slightest hint of guilt.
Was I overreacting…?
Her voice returned to its usual gentleness—perhaps even softer than before.
"You rushed over here," she said calmly.
"You haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"
Before Yichen could answer, she stood up naturally.
"Coincidentally, I haven't eaten either."
Sunlight streamed through the window, dancing across her golden hair and wrapping her in a soft glow.
She looked at him and extended an invitation—one perfectly in line with Jean Gunnhildr's composed courtesy.
"Why don't we go have breakfast together?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if this were the most natural suggestion in the world.
"My treat."
The sun was bright, the breeze gentle, and the aroma from the Good Hunter grill drifted through the streets.
It should have been a relaxing morning.
Yet Yichen followed behind Jean step by step, feeling an overwhelming pressure.
The Grand Master… was treating him to breakfast?
After that interrogation?
Was this… the legendary last meal before execution?
His mind spun wildly, analyzing whether this breakfast was a goodwill gesture—or the calm before another storm.
He sneaked a glance at Jean's back.
Her steps were steady, her golden ponytail swaying gently in the sunlight.
She seemed… genuinely in a better mood?
Jean sat down at an outdoor table.
"Yes, ma'am!"
Yichen snapped to attention instinctively—then awkwardly pulled out his chair and sat down with textbook-perfect posture.
Sara greeted them warmly.
"Good morning, Grand Master Jean! Yichen! What would you like today?"
"One Fisherman's Toast and a hot milk, please," Jean said with a smile.
Then she turned to Yichen.
"I—I'll have the same! No—double! Wait, no—"
He panicked, then gave up entirely.
"One extra-large deluxe grilled steak! Big portion! Thank you!"
Sara laughed and went to prepare the food.
An oddly delicate silence settled over the table.
Yichen sat bolt upright, unsure where to look.
Jean watched him for a moment… then found it oddly amusing.
She gently stirred her hot milk and broke the silence.
"You don't need to be so tense. This isn't work time."
"Yes, Grand Master—! …I mean, okay…"
He tried to relax. Somehow, he became even stiffer.
Jean sighed softly and decided to be direct.
"Earlier in the office… my question may have been a bit too… blunt. I hope I didn't frighten you."
She paused, her tone gentler.
"I was simply… concerned about a subordinate's personal life. As a superior."
The explanation was flawless.
Yichen nodded vigorously.
"Not at all! Your concern was completely justified! I was the one at fault—drinking irresponsibly, being late, tarnishing the Knights' reputation! I'll reflect deeply!"
Jean watched him condemn himself like a criminal awaiting execution, and her last bit of awkwardness dissolved.
She couldn't help but chuckle.
"There's no need to take it that far. Occasional relaxation is understandable—just don't let it affect work again."
"I promise!"
He quickly added in a small voice,
"…At least not because of alcohol."
Breakfast arrived.
Yichen stared at the sizzling, fragrant slab of grilled steak, then at Jean's simple, healthy Fisherman's Toast.
The contrast was striking.
Jean ate gracefully.
Only then did Yichen begin attacking the steak.
With food in front of him, his nerves finally loosened a little.
The sunlight was warm, the city was waking up, and the smell of food was comforting.
The atmosphere truly softened.
Jean dabbed her lips with a napkin and looked at Yichen, cheeks puffed as he chewed.
A mischievous thought crossed her mind.
She knew his confessions weren't heartfelt—more like a ritual she couldn't understand.
But precisely because they weren't sincere, she felt an urge to tease him.
Curious what kind of "professional insight" that always-surprising mouth might offer.
Casually, she asked,
"By the way… during those hundred confessions to Eula, you always used different flowers, didn't you? Was there a reason?"
The moment his "expertise" was mentioned, Yichen lit up.
He launched into a detailed lecture on his Flower Confession Strategy—from Cecilia flowers to Windwheel Asters—analyzing meanings with absolute confidence.
Jean listened patiently, occasionally nodding or asking small questions.
Watching his face brighten when his "professional knowledge" was acknowledged, her fingers traced circles along the rim of her cup.
When Yichen finally realized he'd talked too much and stopped abruptly, she leaned forward slightly.
Dragging out her tone as if thinking seriously, she said,
"Hmm… listening to you, I suddenly feel…"
She looked at him with innocent sincerity.
"The roses and lilies you gave me before are lovely—but perhaps a little… conventional? They don't quite live up to the title of 'Mondstadt's Number One Devoted Man,' do they?"
Yichen froze.
A chunk of steak fell back onto the plate with a clatter.
Jean continued gently, as if oblivious to his internal collapse.
"So…"
"For your ninety-ninth confession…"
"Should you try something more… special?"
She listed them one by one, unhurried and devastating:
"—The Sumeru Rose, symbolizing 'ineffable joy,' but growing only on sheer cliffs…"
"—The Liyue Silk Flower, representing 'true heart,' yet so expensive it could bankrupt a family…"
"—Or perhaps the Padisarah—'fiery hope.'"
Watching his expression shift from shock to despair, Jean felt inexplicably pleased.
She lifted her milk and took a sip, preparing to conclude breakfast—
Then paused.
Her eyes caught Yichen's gaze—bewildered, troubled.
Something soft stirred in her chest.
The teasing urge faded.
She knew those confessions were procedural.
She knew he might turn away without hesitation after the hundredth—just as he had with Eula.
A faint, undefined sense of loss spread quietly.
Her voice softened unconsciously.
"After all…"
"…You aren't serious about it, right?"
The words were barely more than a murmur—yet they reached him clearly.
She turned back to him, her smile gentle, slightly veiled.
Casually—but carefully—she added:
"So…"
"When the hundred confessions are over…"
"Please…"
"Don't leave immediately."
The sunlight remained bright. The steak still smelled wonderful.
But Yichen stared into Jean's blue eyes—eyes filled with light… and something quietly lonely—
And felt his heart give a sudden, unmistakable jolt.
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