Behind the closed door, Long smiled faintly.
A quiet sense of victory washed over him as he realized he had finally managed to outwit his mischievous older sister. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, light as air, dissolving before it could reach Lia's ears through the thin wall.
How long had it been since his face had relaxed like this? Since his grandfather passed away, his smiles had been hollow masks—forced and brittle. But this one was different. It was gentle, sincere, blooming from deep within his chest.
For a year, Long had been drowning in a fog of aimlessness, but now, a small light flickered in the dark. He finally had a reason to keep moving forward.
The harsh bathroom light reflected a slender teenager in the mirror. Long stared at his black T-shirt—the fabric was tough enough that even the goblin's teeth couldn't tear it, yet it was now ruined by dark blotches of slime and blood.
He pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it into the laundry basket along with the makeshift bandage from his arm. His gaze lingered on his reflection. Strangely, the scratches and deep bruises from the earlier battle had vanished. His skin was unblemished, as if the violence of the dungeon had been nothing more than a bad dream.
He paused for only a second, then turned on the shower. The water roared down, washing away the filth and the lingering stench of the abyss.
When Long stepped out, his hair damp and mind cleared, he walked toward the window. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the garden wrapped in a velvet, silent darkness.
Entering the living room, his eyes immediately found the petite girl perched on the sofa, her legs swinging back and forth. Lia was still struggling with the hair dryer. Even after all this time, she had made little progress, squinting as the hot air blew directly into her face. The sight was clumsy and oddly endearing.
She scowled at the device and pouted. "Hmph. That annoying brat just left me to suffer all by myself."
"Talking bad about me again?"
The voice vibrated right beside her ear. Lia jumped, nearly dropping the dryer. Long was already standing over her. She spun around, and for a heartbeat, their eyes locked.
From this angle, with Long's damp bangs brushed back, his features were strikingly clear. The sharp jawline, the straight bridge of his nose, and thick eyebrows gave him an unexpectedly masculine edge. But it was his long, naturally curved eyelashes that drew her in, making his gaze seem deeper, more mysterious than usual.
Lia's heart skipped a beat.
She hurriedly looked away, her cheeks flushing a vivid pink as her hand tightened on the hem of her oversized shirt.
Before she could regain her composure, Long gently grasped her wrist. The contact was light, yet the warmth from his fingertips traveled through her skin like a low-voltage current. He slowly guided her hand toward him, his voice dropping to a soothing hum.
"Let me help."
That decisive gesture stripped Lia of her usual playful armor. Her knees pressed together, her legs turning stiff with a sudden, shy tension. She didn't resist. She quietly handed him the dryer and lowered her head, trying to hide the crimson spreading across her face.
As the warmth of the dryer and Long's careful fingers worked through her hair, Lia finally relaxed. Her gaze drifted around the room, eventually settling on the framed portrait atop the altar.
"Hey, Long. Is that Alex in the picture?"
"Yes," he replied softly. "That's my grandfather."
"Oh. He looks so old. Where is he now? I want to see him."
Long's hands froze. He looked down at the top of her head, his expression clouding with a grief he couldn't suppress.
"My grandfather passed away," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I suppose your world doesn't have ancestor worship. That picture is a memorial."
Lia's entire frame stiffened. Her breathing hitched, and her body seemed to shrink into the sofa cushions. A burning sensation rose in her nose, and her eyes squeezed shut.
She couldn't bring herself to look at him, staring instead at her feet to hide the tears welling up. Before he could react, she stood up abruptly and bolted toward the bathroom.
"I… I need to use the restroom," she stammered, her voice trembling.
Long reached out instinctively but stopped halfway. He withdrew his hand, staring at the closed door for a long moment before quietly heading to the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, Lia emerged. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen. The sight made Long's chest tighten with a dull ache. He clenched his fists but forced a gentle smile.
"Dinner is ready. Let's eat."
Suddenly, Lia rushed forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him with a desperate strength. The impact forced Long to stumble back a step.
"Lia… what's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his chest. "I didn't know he was gone. I must have brought back such painful memories for you."
Long froze, then felt a wave of profound tenderness. He gently placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair as if comforting a wounded bird.
"You silly girl. It happened a long time ago. I've learned to live with it. You're the one who just found out… you're the one who needs comfort. If there's anything I can do to help you feel better, just tell me."
To be honest, holding her like this made Long reluctant to let go. Her warmth, her softness, and that lingering herbal scent were intoxicating. At this distance, he could feel her heart pounding wildly against his own. Then, a loud, unceremonious growl erupted from her stomach.
Not wanting her to stay hungry a second longer, Long suddenly swept her up into his arms. Lia yelped, instinctively hooking her arms around his neck.
"W-What are you doing?!"
Long simply smiled and carried her to the dining table, setting her gently into the chair before patting her head.
"Let's eat."