It was already past ten at night.
Elma couldn't help feeling even more puzzled as she watched Fiora's calm, unreadable expression.
As the carriage slowed to a stop, Elma lifted the curtain and glanced outside—this place felt familiar.
She had a vague impression of it, though not a strong one.
After they got out, the courtyard gate was already open. Fiora stepped in first.
Elma exchanged a look with Sébastien, then followed.
The yard was quiet. Moonlight poured down from above—there were no lamps lit, yet everything was still bright.
A light breeze passed through. It carried a faint chill, and the flowers and shrubs swayed with it, filling the air with a clean, subtle fragrance.
As the two of them walked deeper into the courtyard, their eyes were drawn to a young man reclining in a rocking chair, resting with his eyes closed.
The moonlight lay gently across his face.
His fair features were sharply defined—handsome in a way that stood out immediately. His sword-like brows, though, gave him an oddly warm, approachable air, and the slight curve at the corner of his lips—eyes closed—made him look like spring sunlight.
The breeze ruffled his hair, and in that drifting motion, the whole scene felt like a painting.
Just one glance was enough to leave them stunned.
Among the capital's younger generation, it was hard to imagine anyone matching him in both presence and appearance.
Then Elma took a second look and felt a sudden jolt of familiarity.
She hadn't met him many times, but a face like this was hard to forget.
Wasn't this… Demacia's second prince?
At that moment, Luke—sensing the visitors—slowly opened his eyes.
He first saw Fiora in a formal gown, her noble, icy elegance shining under the moonlight like a gemstone.
Then he saw the two behind her, also dressed formally—and their faces weren't unfamiliar to him either.
"Uncle, Aunt, please come in."
Luke stood at once, offering a respectful greeting befitting a junior, then called toward the house, "Yurna, pour the tea."
Elma hurriedly smiled back. "Your Highness, you don't need to be so polite."
As she spoke, she also glanced at Fiora, who had already walked ahead, and Elma couldn't understand why her daughter had brought them to see the prince.
Sébastien, on the other hand, didn't seem nearly as reserved. He walked up with a smile. "I didn't expect Your Highness moved right next door to my home. If I'd known earlier, I would've come to visit sooner."
Luke replied, "I should be the one apologizing. I've failed to visit your home for so long—it's my discourtesy."
As he spoke, Luke also noticed the way Sébastien's body rose and fell oddly with each step—his legs looked stiff, like he limped slightly.
The head of House Laurent had been close friends with Luke's father, King Jarvan III.
Back in the capital, Sébastien had once been the talk of the city—praised as the finest swordsman of his generation.
Unfortunately, later on the battlefield, an enemy ambush ruined his right leg.
House Laurent's swordsmanship drew inspiration from "waltz-like" footwork—so their legs were crucial to their style.
It was easy to imagine what kind of blow it was for Sébastien.
The rising star known as the capital's greatest duelist became "crippled" overnight. After that, he sank into himself and vanished from the eyes of Demacia's many swordmasters.
And House Laurent… never again produced a genius who could stand beside him.
In later years, the family pivoted toward commerce. They were still a house of swordsmanship in name, but far fewer notable duelists emerged.
It was hard not to feel a twinge of regret at that.
"It's alright," Sébastien said gently, looking at Luke with a warm smile. "Your Highness has been in the capital for over a month now, and I—an 'uncle'—haven't come to see you even once. That's the true discourtesy."
"Then let's not dwell on it," Luke said with a small smile. He tidied the table and added, "Uncle, Aunt—please sit."
The two of them sat down.
That was when they noticed something else: Fiora walked into the main room with total ease, like she wasn't unfamiliar at all. A moment later, she came back out carrying a tea tray.
Several cups of hot tea sat on it. She set them down one by one, then—without the slightest hesitation—sat off to the side.
From start to finish, she didn't say a single word to Luke.
But her practiced movements made it feel like this was her house.
Elma stared at her daughter, confusion all over her eyes. She had questions, but it wasn't the kind of thing she could ask on the spot, so she simply smiled at Luke. "I thought you looked like you were asleep earlier. We came so late—did we disturb you?"
"Not at all," Luke said with a smile, shaking his head. "I actually like lying out here around this time, just feeling the night breeze."
"That's good," Elma said, finding herself more and more impressed. The prince's manners were open and graceful, his conversation refined—he was simply comfortable to be around.
The couple also took a look around the distinctive courtyard. At this hour, lying back and letting the cool night air roll over you really did sound wonderful.
Then Elma noticed something: there were three rocking chairs here.
One was Luke's—so who did the other two belong to?
As Elma was thinking that and glancing toward Fiora, Luke's voice came over.
"Uncle, Aunt… did you come to see me for something?"
Elma snapped back to herself, pulling her gaze away from Fiora. She offered a polite smile. "Fiora mentioned that Your Highness seems to know how to brew alcohol. Our family happens to run a winery business, so we came despite the late hour—hoping to see whether we might cooperate."
Fiora hadn't explained much, but Elma understood her meaning easily enough.
Earlier, Fiora had asked why they didn't make something new. Then she'd brought them straight here.
It didn't take much thinking to see what she was implying.
Still… staring at Luke's handsome face and youthful features, Elma couldn't quite believe someone this young truly knew how to brew.
Brewing itself wasn't hard. Brewing good alcohol was.
Sébastien sat quietly beside her, watching Luke with mild curiosity.
"I have brewed a few kinds," Luke said, suddenly understanding. After thinking a moment, he asked, "Which would you like to see?"
Now he also understood why Fiora had brought her parents.
He didn't know much about high commerce, but he knew enough.
After House Laurent shifted into business, things had gone smoothly for a few years.
But in recent years, their ventures had declined year after year. On top of that, they were still a duelist house with many family members to support—so they'd effectively been bleeding money.
This past year, things had gotten especially rough. They were looking less and less like a first-tier noble house.
They desperately needed something—someone or something—that could change their situation.
And clearly, Fiora wanted him to extend a hand.
Yet from the moment she stepped into the courtyard, she hadn't spoken at all—acting more like a go-between than anything else.
She didn't want to influence Luke's decision.
But Luke wasn't a machine with no feelings. Seeing this, of course he was willing to help.
Besides… he wasn't going to complain about having more money.
He'd brewed these drinks for himself. Since he wasn't short on money, he hadn't thought much about what to do with them.
But now? If he could help House Laurent, earn a favor, and make a profit at the same time—why wouldn't he?
"Which kind…?" Elma echoed, momentarily stunned.
The way Luke said it made it sound like he'd brewed several different categories.
It felt almost unreal.
Seeing the look on her face, Luke could tell exactly what she was thinking. He smiled. "In that case… why don't we look at every kind?"
With that, he stood up and headed into the main room.
Fiora rose and followed.
Left in the courtyard, Sébastien and Elma exchanged a glance—both of them looked vaguely at a loss.
Elma lowered her voice. "Do you think this is reliable?"
Sébastien caught the fragrance rising from the tea. He lifted the cup and said calmly, "That girl doesn't mess around with things like this."
"…True," Elma agreed, lifting her own cup.
Her daughter had been rebellious since childhood, but also more mature than most people her age. She wouldn't joke about something like this.
The two of them raised their cups in unison and took a sip at the same time—then both of their eyes lit up.
The tea was intensely fragrant, lingering on the tongue. This clearly wasn't ordinary tea.
Elma was already praising the flavor, but Sébastien felt something else.
He closed his eyes. A thin, gentle warmth seemed to circle through his entire body, and he sank into the mood the tea carried with it. Something in his chest loosened—like a sudden clarity.
Insights rose in his mind, one after another.
This kind of state was rare. If he could draw his blade right now, his swordsmanship would surely advance again.
But for him… it was useless.
He opened his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, a flicker of loneliness passing through them.
"This tea is incredible," Elma said, giving it high praise. "I feel more energized. Even my body doesn't feel as tired."
A single cup, and she felt refreshed.
Tea like this had to be extremely precious. Royalty truly lived differently—when even the tea was extraordinary.
Just then, Luke and Fiora came back out from the main room.
Before long, five small wine jugs and several different cups were arranged on the table in front of Sébastien and Elma.
There were also two very conspicuous large round bowls filled with thick, dark liquid. One whiff was enough to catch the sharp medicinal bitterness.
"From left to right," Luke introduced, "these are: Malt Beer, Grape Fruit Wine, Peach Blossom Brew, Immortal's Drunk, and One-Cup Knockout."
The couple looked at the five drinks, curiosity surfacing in their eyes.
At the very least, the names sounded appealing.
Elma eyed the two bowls and asked curiously, "And what are those?"
Luke smiled. "Hangover cure soup. Prepared for you both."
Elma blinked, then laughed. "That won't be necessary. I may be a woman, but my tolerance is high—I rarely get drunk."
Sébastien nodded in agreement. "If it's only this much, it shouldn't be enough to knock us down."
After he returned from the battlefield, he'd spent many days drowning his sorrows in alcohol. His tolerance wasn't normal anymore.
A few small jugs like this—did Luke think he could get drunk from that?
Seeing their confidence, Fiora finally spoke. "Drink first. Then talk."
"…Alright," Elma said, suddenly intrigued. She wanted to see what kind of drink could justify that level of caution.
"Then we'll start with the beer," Luke said with a smile. He took the first jug and poured.
An orange-gold liquid flowed into the cups, immediately drawing their attention. A warm malt aroma filled the air, and both of their expressions shifted slightly.
Some good alcohol announces itself the moment it's poured.
This malt beer was like that.
They watched the foam rise in the cups, and the earlier skepticism quietly vanished.
"Please," Luke said.
He emptied the jug into two cups exactly—foam crested over the rim but didn't spill.
Sébastien and Elma picked up their cups without hesitation and drank.
The cool beer and foam hit their tongues, and both of their eyes flickered with surprise.
The sensation was no weaker than the tea they'd just had.
It was fresh, rich, and addictive—the kind of flavor that made you want more the instant you swallowed.
Elma downed her entire cup in one go and looked at Luke differently now. "This beer… you brewed this, Your Highness?"
Luke nodded, smiling. "Does it suit your taste?"
"It's more than that…" Elma stared at her now-empty cup, slightly dazed.
She could easily picture it: if this beer were sold on the market, the demand would be explosive.
Her heart heated instantly at the thought, and she looked at Luke again.
Luke chuckled. "Don't rush—there are four more."
He poured two cups of grape fruit wine.
"I've tried a few grape wines," Elma said, not unfamiliar with the reddish-purple liquid. There were already various fruit wines on the market, and grape wine was one of the most popular.
She assumed this would be similar.
But the first sip immediately overturned that expectation.
The first taste carried a faint smokiness—yet it wasn't bitter at all. It fit perfectly.
The second sip brought the fermented grape flavor—sweet and tart together, neither missing.
The third sip finally delivered the clean, honest bite of the alcohol itself.
The proof wasn't very high, but the flavor was the best grape wine she'd ever had.
Luke added, "It has another advantage: the longer it's stored, the more mellow it becomes."
With Demacia's current brewing methods, many grape wines had a problem—spoilage.
Typical grape wines might go bad within three years.
But Luke's? It could last thirty—and the longer it aged, the better it would taste.
After hearing that, Elma stared at her cup again, stunned.
The aroma still lingered in her mouth—good alcohol always left that kind of aftertaste.
When she looked back up at Luke, her eyes were full of disbelief.
Either of these two drinks, released on the market, would crush the competition with ease.
And the most unbelievable part was that they came from the hands of a young man.
Now, as she stared at the remaining three jugs, Elma felt her breathing quicken.
"The third," Luke said, "Peach Blossom Brew."
He switched to smaller cups and poured slowly.
A pale pink liquid filled the cups with a soft, alluring sound, and its unique floral fragrance spread outward almost immediately.
Just smelling it was enough to make both Sébastien and Elma restless in their seats.
When the cups were filled, they lifted them and—without thinking—sent the whole drink down in a single swallow.
The peach blossom scent and the mellow bite of clear liquor expanded through the mouth, leaving an aftertaste that seemed to linger endlessly.
They could also tell: the proof was higher than the first two, and the alcohol aroma was much more distinct.
Elma's cheeks grew rosier, her eyes bright. She loved this one—its fragrance even overpowered the grape wine's lingering taste.
The beer and grape wine were excellent, but if she had to choose between them combined and the peach blossom brew alone…
She would choose the peach blossom brew.
Without noticing it herself, she was already lightly buzzed. Smiling, she said, "These drinks are delicious, but they still can't knock us down."
Luke smiled as well. "There are two jugs left."
Elma glanced at the final two, confidence returning.
There wasn't much volume overall—barely enough to warm her teeth.
Luke poured out two cups of Immortal's Drunk and set them in front of them.
Again, they lifted the cups and drank them down in one go.
Immediately, a strong, crisp burn surged up—this one carried less fruitiness, but a far richer alcohol aroma. Spicy, yet faintly sweet, incredibly satisfying to drink.
One cup and warmth spread through the body.
The proof was obviously higher, and after just one cup, both of them realized something was off.
A wave of drunkenness rose. The world in their eyes shifted—shadows doubled, as if a filter had been laid over everything.
Just one cup did that?
Even so, their minds were still clear at this stage.
Their bodies still moved fine.
Now it was obvious the drinks were ordered by increasing strength.
Which meant the final one—One-Cup Knockout—had the highest proof of all.
The name was bluntly simple.
As Luke poured it, he warned them, "You two should be careful with this one. Even I don't dare try it lightly."
Elma, cheeks flushed, took the cup from Luke with a confident smile. "This is nothing. This little amount won't even register for me."
Sébastien gave a faint smile as well. The buzz from Immortal's Drunk had already faded, which only made him more sure of himself. "Seems you wasted effort preparing that hangover cure."
As they spoke, they raised the cup to their lips—completely ignoring Luke's warning—and drank it down without a second thought.
In an instant—
Boom.
It was like something detonated inside their skulls. Their heads spun violently.
One-Cup Knockout blended an extreme burn with an extreme fragrance, and those two sensations crashed through the mouth like tidal waves.
They wanted to spit it out—but the aroma was too precious to waste—so they forced themselves to swallow.
It went down like swallowing fire: one flame rushed into the gut, another shot straight up to the forehead.
It hit hard.
This was possibly the hardest-hitting alcohol they'd ever consumed.
When they finally swallowed, the couple set their cups down on the table, faces still composed, and gave a dry chuckle.
"Nothing special."
"Yeah… not much."
The moment the words left her mouth, Elma's vision blurred and she toppled backward—caught by Fiora, who had been ready.
Sébastien, meanwhile, was still sitting straight, eyes open and staring forward, wearing an easy, confident expression.
Luke merely lifted a hand and waved it in front of Sébastien's face.
With a loud clack, that stubborn man face-planted straight into the table.
Luke burst out laughing. "That stubborn act… you two are exactly alike."
He still remembered: when the Swordmistress had tried One-Cup Knockout, she'd been just as stubborn.
"Enough," Fiora said, shooting Luke a look and extending her hand. "Get the soup. Now."
Luke handed her one bowl of hangover cure.
Fiora immediately began feeding it carefully into Elma's mouth.
Luke took the other bowl and helped Sébastien up. Compared to Fiora's gentleness, Luke handled his "uncle" with considerably less finesse.
He pinched Sébastien's mouth into a funnel shape and poured straight in.
"Cough—cough…"
Sébastien choked hard.
Half the bowl spilled, and the other half went down.
A short while later, Sébastien slowly woke up. His eyes were unfocused, and the first thing he noticed was the brutal bitterness coating his mouth.
The next second, his temples pulsed with sharp pain.
He knew that feeling all too well—the aftereffects of drinking too much.
Looking at Luke, and then at Fiora still feeding Elma, he finally remembered what had happened.
And immediately felt his dignity taking a hit.
Wasn't that… a little too casual of a collapse?
He'd woken up fast enough that he could still remember what he'd said right before going down.
Over on the other side, Elma also stirred awake—but kept her eyes shut for a long moment.
"Stop pretending, Mother," Fiora said flatly, halting her hand.
Elma had no choice but to open her eyes. Her face was full of embarrassment, so she changed the subject. "This hangover cure… it's impressive."
The effect was ridiculous. They'd been that drunk, and one bowl brought them back?
Remembering her earlier bravado—and how fast she'd toppled—Elma almost wanted to just pass out again.
She'd been putting on a show in front of two juniors, and in the end she'd made a fool of herself.
Unlike thick-skinned Sébastien, she actually cared about losing face.
"Exclusive recipe," Luke said with a smile. "Have some cola to wash down the bitterness."
As he finished speaking, Yurna handed them two cups.
They took them and drank without hesitation—the hangover cure truly was bitter enough to make your scalp tingle.
But the moment the cola hit their tongues, both of them froze again.
After swallowing, Elma stared at the amber-colored liquid in the cup. "This cola… you made this too, Your Highness?"
"Mhm." Luke nodded.
Elma was already shaken to the core.
The lingering fragrance of peach blossom brew, the absurd One-Cup Knockout, the instant hangover cure, and now this cola—plus the first three drinks.
Any one of those could be called precious.
And yet they all came from the hands of the young prince sitting before them.
If House Laurent could obtain even one of these, they wouldn't be in their current state.
Thinking of the purpose of their visit, Elma looked at Luke, hesitating—yet she felt too awkward to speak again.
Because no matter how she looked at it, Demacia had plenty of wine merchants far more suitable than House Laurent.
And with Luke's royal background, he could easily run everything himself.
In short: House Laurent didn't really "qualify" to be in this deal.
Luke glanced at Elma and said, "If I set up my own distillery and sell these myself, that would be a great option."
"But I'm lazy. I like taking the easy route. Since you already have a distillery, Uncle and Aunt, how about we cooperate? I provide the recipes, and everything else is a fifty-fifty split."
Elma hadn't expected him to offer first.
She looked startled. "But then we'd be taking an enormous advantage."
If these were ordinary drinks, it would be one thing.
But any one of these five was top-tier. For House Laurent, this was like having a winning lottery ticket fall out of the sky.
"Not necessarily," Luke said with a smile. "I only collect my share. All the costs—labor, materials, production—your family takes on all of it. If we're splitting fifty-fifty, then in my view, you'll mostly be earning 'hard-work money.'"
In Demacia, the distillery industry had already been carved up among the nobles. If Luke wanted to do it himself, he'd have to build everything from scratch.
It would take time. It would take effort. And he genuinely couldn't be bothered.
Maybe if he were desperate for money, he'd do it.
But now? His newspaper was booming, and bicycle sales were climbing daily. He wasn't short on money at all.
And he likely wouldn't be for a long time.
So just like he said—take the easy route, dump the headaches on House Laurent.
And for a noble house, even "hard-work money" was still money on a completely different scale.
Elma knit her brows, thinking. She didn't know whether she should accept.
Fiora stayed silent at the side.
Sébastien also fell quiet.
Luke didn't rush them.
If it were a greed-driven noble, they'd never refuse such a thing.
But House Laurent really was different.
After Sébastien fell into despair back then, House Laurent had started sliding downhill too.
As a friend, King Jarvan III had tried to help more than once, but each time, the couple refused politely.
Later, the two of them worked together through the worst years, and the family slowly regained some momentum.
There was still a swordsman's pride in this house.
But a sword house turning away from the sword… that wasn't right to begin with.
And in the world of commerce, they simply couldn't compete with true merchant dynasties. With the times changing, their predicament had become difficult to overcome through willpower alone.
So whether they refused or accepted Luke's goodwill, he wasn't going to condemn them for either choice.
He also wasn't going to chase after them to force kindness on them.
After a moment of struggling, Elma lifted her head and glanced at her daughter. In that instant, she made her decision.
"Then we'll do as Your Highness says—fifty-fifty."
She looked at Luke and gave a bitter smile, sighing. "To be honest, House Laurent truly does need a new product to break through our current difficulties."
She chose to accept the goodwill—and silently recorded the debt in her heart.
Sébastien, seeing his wife decide, didn't plan to object.
Back then, he'd been the head of the family, yet he'd abandoned responsibility and drank his days away.
During the years the family shook on the edge, Elma had carried everything on her shoulders.
So now, he supported whatever decision she made.
Luke smiled. "Then it's settled. Do you want all of these recipes, Aunt?"
Elma quickly shook her head. "Just two."
Taking all five at once would be too much for House Laurent to handle—and she didn't have the face to take that much.
Getting two was already an enormous advantage.
After discussing and weighing the options, Elma chose the beer and the peach blossom brew. She liked the peach blossom brew most, and beer second.
And by her experience, those two would also fit the market best.
When everything was agreed on in detail, the couple rose to leave. Fiora went with them.
Watching the three figures depart, Luke's gaze fell on Sébastien's right leg, his eyes thoughtful.
Then he shook it off and returned to the main house.
Back in the carriage, Sébastien and Elma sat down again.
Even as the carriage started moving, Elma still felt a little lightheaded.
The whole evening felt dreamlike.
Yet the two top-tier brewing recipes in her hands told her it was real.
She turned to look at Fiora, who still wore that calm expression, and finally asked what she hadn't been able to ask earlier.
"You and His Highness… what exactly is your relationship?"
Sébastien looked over too, and there was a hint of tension in his eyes.
Fiora answered flatly, "Ordinary friends."
Sébastien immediately let out a breath of relief.
"Ordinary friends?" Elma repeated. She didn't say more, but she didn't believe it for a second.
Ordinary friends—and you act more at home in his house than in your own?
Ordinary friends—and he hands you two top-tier brewing recipes without blinking?
Ordinary friends—and you spend all day running over there?
The more Elma thought about it, the more wrong it felt. She stared at Fiora as if to say, Do you think I'm an idiot?
Now it made sense why none of the men at the banquet could even get a glance from Fiora.
It wasn't that she was picky.
It was that there was no room left.
Fiora met her mother's gaze, then looked away, silently adding in her heart: For now.
Elma started grilling her. "How did you even meet His Highness?"
Fiora replied, "Ran into him on the street. Then ran into him at the Royal Academy. Then ran into him on the way home. One thing led to another, and we got familiar."
Elma blinked at the sheer number of "coincidences," then asked, "So these past days… you've basically been at his place every day?"
Fiora nodded lightly.
"Then why didn't you tell me earlier?" Elma's eyes widened as she stared at her daughter.
If you'd told me you were spending every day only ten minutes from home—
If you'd told me you were always with the prince—
Why was I, as your mother, worrying myself sick every day?
The moment she asked, she saw the look Fiora gave her—that rebellious, unbothered little stare Elma knew far too well.
For all these years, whenever this girl was being defiant, she looked exactly like that.
Elma understood instantly.
This brat had kept it secret on purpose—just to irritate her.
The anger surged up, and Elma was about to explode… but then she looked at her daughter's face, and the words died in her throat.
If not for Fiora, House Laurent's crisis might not have ended anytime soon.
If not for Fiora, House Laurent wouldn't have gotten this opportunity at all.
With that thought, the anger dissolved. Elma started praising Luke instead.
"Still… that prince really is outstanding."
"He's humble, courteous, proper in everything, talented, handsome, smart, and he knows exactly how to speak."
They'd spent less than an hour together, and Elma had already rattled off a whole list of Luke's virtues.
Fiora snorted.
"Humble"?
Just hearing that word made her want to laugh.
Elma shot her a glare, then scolded her irritably, "I don't even know how you managed to meet him. From now on, when you're with His Highness, learn from his strengths—did you hear me?"
The way she said it was practically dripping with: How are you even worthy?
Fiora's smile faded, and she sighed helplessly.
Truly her mother.
Not one of her daughter's strengths ever seems to register, but after forty minutes with that guy, she's ready to adopt him.
"What are you sighing for?" Elma kept going. "If you were even half as outstanding as His Highness, I'd have so much less to worry about."
Listening to her mother's endless nagging, Fiora sighed again inside.
At this rate, that guy's "halo" in her mother's heart wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Good thing he wasn't here. If he heard all this, he'd probably preen in front of her for days.
When the carriage stopped and they returned to the living room, Elma said to Fiora, "Since you don't like those matchmaking banquets, you don't have to go anymore. I won't keep nagging you either."
Fiora nodded lightly.
Elma sat on the living room sofa. "It's late. Go to sleep."
Fiora turned and walked toward her room.
Sitting there quietly, Elma's eyes flickered. In that moment, she thought about many things.
After a long pause, she sighed softly.
"I can't shield you for much longer, Nana. Time is running out."
Calling her daughter by the nickname from childhood, Elma lifted her head. There was more helplessness than anything else in her eyes.
Back in her room, Fiora flopped onto the bed.
In that instant, she felt an enormous sense of relief.
She hugged the blanket close, draped her long right leg over it, and the corner of her lips curved into a faint smile.
At least from now on, she wouldn't have to live under that kind of pressure.
Looks like dragging that guy in front of her parents for a little "show-and-tell" really did work.
If that was the case… then fine. She could admit—begrudgingly—that he was impressive.
For some reason, her mind was full of him. From the moment they met until now, scene after scene replayed—until, before she knew it, she drifted into sleep.
She slept incredibly well.
The next day—July 13th. Weather: clear.
It was a rare weekend, so Luke slept in a bit—until the loud stomping of footsteps outside his room woke him.
Thump thump thump—like someone was sprinting up and down the stairs and racing through the hallway.
Luke cracked his eyes open, exhausted, and yawned. He grabbed the cup by his bed and took a couple of drinks.
Once his thirst was quenched, the sleepiness faded a little.
The thumping continued. Luke buried his head in the pillow, but his mind only grew clearer.
Finally, unwilling, he sat up, scratched his head, and got out of bed.
He walked a few steps and opened the door.
Outside stood Lux, bright-eyed and bursting with energy.
She jogged up from down the hall, stopped at his doorway, and greeted him with a pure, sunny grin. "Yo. You're up."
Luke was still in sleepwear, face half-dead from waking up too early, radiating pure misery.
Unfortunately, it still somehow looked good on him.
Staring at the little blond menace, Luke took a deep breath. "Care to explain what you're doing right now?"
Lux blinked innocently. "Exercising, obviously."
That answer told Luke everything. No need to ask further—she was doing it on purpose.
He reached out with a merciless hand, trying to pinch that obnoxious face in revenge, but she dodged with practiced ease.
Then Lux darted away in a flash.
Luke had no strength to chase her right after waking up. He yawned again, went back into his room, and got ready to change.
He glanced at the calendar and thought, Check-in.
[Congratulations, Host, you have obtained: Beginner Skill Upgrade Card x1]
[Congratulations, Host, you have obtained: Common Skill — Tiger Body Shudder]
[Detecting learnable skill: Tiger Body Shudder. Learn?]
"Hm?"
Seeing another skill pop up, Luke's interest rose a bit. He thought, Learn it.
In an instant, information about Tiger Body Shudder flooded his mind.
After he finished absorbing it, Luke stared blankly in disbelief.
Tiger Body Shudder… really was exactly that.
You "shudder" your body, boosting your presence—an intimidation-type mental skill that could pressure enemies psychologically.
Luke thought, So it's basically Conqueror's Haki?
And it might not even be as useful as that.
This had to be from the same absurd "skill tree" as that "flash of white light" nonsense.
Luke was almost sure of it. After thinking a moment, he walked to the mirror and used Tiger Body Shudder immediately.
The guy in the mirror still looked exactly the same—handsome as ever.
"…"
So Luke stopped wasting time on it. He used the skill upgrade card he'd gotten from check-in on his Godspeed Tracking Arrow.
A surge of energy rose from his heart, gathered into both arms. At the same time, a warm, comfortable heat spread through his eyes, and his mind filled with deeper understanding of Godspeed Tracking Arrow.
This upgrade was extremely comprehensive—Luke stood there for several minutes without moving.
[Beginner Skill Upgrade Card used successfully]
[Godspeed Tracking Arrow level increased to LV5 (Mastery)]
After a while, Luke opened his eyes and felt the world sharpen.
Standing by the window, he could even see details dozens of meters away clearly.
Like he'd installed a small camera in his vision.
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