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Allen closed the door behind him and walked to the desk, a faint smile on his lips.
He couldn't help but imagine Sylphie leaping up and throwing him onto the bed.
That would've been adorable.
But as he kept thinking, his smile slowly faded.
The comfort he'd offered earlier seemed to have worked—at least a little.
But what about after?
He turned his gaze to the window.
Snowflakes drifted down silently.
It's snowing… I wonder if the letters got delayed.
Letters…
Three months had passed since he last sent one. But based on past experience, even accounting for winter delivery times, it should've reached Roxy by now.
Once he confirmed her plans and got her reply, it'd likely arrive right after Eris's tenth birthday banquet.
That's when he could leave.
Take Sylphie with him.
Go find Roxy.
And say it to her face—make his request, lay everything out plainly.
But…
The memory of Sylphie pulling her hand away from his during the foxtrot's final pose in Hilda's room flashed through his mind.
After the birthday banquet, huh…
He blinked.
And if they went to Shirone, if he laid it all out, if Roxy agreed…
When would Sylphie's expectations be considered fulfilled?
Could he even control that?
Frowning, he looked down at the paper on his desk.
Fulfill Hilda's expectations — Sylphie (scratched out) Sauros
Fulfill Sylphie's expectations — Roxy
Fulfill Ghislaine's expectations — Light Reversal
Three expectations.
Three responses.
No time limits.
But once the first task began, the next had to be completed within 24 hours.
System…
Are you forcing me to rush through these?
[Don't blame the system. That's not what I meant.]
A wisp of smoke drifted into view.
Allen stared at the panel, silent. For a moment, it almost felt like they were locking eyes.
The smoke flickered, then drew closer.
[Why not take a look now?]
Allen raised an eyebrow.
Look?
[Yes. Who knows? With some luck, you might see the result early.]
After a brief pause, Allen nodded.
Fine. Let's see.
[Location search activated.]
[Target: Roxy.]
The familiar sensation of his vision tearing through space hit him. His head spun, and he instinctively closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the scene had stabilized. The smoke lapped at the edge of the desk like mist.
To his right, a rift in space yawned open.
On the other side—
A familiar desk.
Familiar deep-blue hair, left loose at night, spilling over the back of a chair.
Close enough to touch.
But the distinctly non-Asuran chair design was a stark reminder:
She's out of reach.
Even if she felt right there, an insurmountable gap lay between them.
Allen sighed inwardly and lifted his gaze to Roxy's face—only to freeze.
Where he expected to see her cool blue eyes and trademark indifferent expression…
All he saw were her hands.
Roxy's small palms were pressed tightly over her face. Her ears, neck, even the sliver of forehead visible beneath her bangs—all flushed a deep, unmistakable red.
Like a shrimp boiling alive.
Allen blinked, then glanced down at her desk.
She was reading a letter.
His letter.
What are the odds?
And she was still on the first page.
As for the contents—
"It's not that your clumsiness is charming—it's that it's yours."
"So please, stay 'clumsy.'"
"Next time we meet, scold me to my face."
"I'm begging you."
—
Allen skimmed the lines and smirked.
Ten seconds isn't enough to catch her reply. Pity.
But since he was here…
Might as well make it a silent video call.
His thoughts moved fast. In the span of a glance, he turned back to Roxy and propped his chin on his hand.
Through the rift, Roxy peeked through her fingers—just a tiny gap between her index and ring finger.
Her blue eyes shimmered.
Then, she lowered her hands.
Her lips moved.
No sound reached him.
The smoke dissipated.
Allen remained in the same pose, smiling softly.
He'd read her lips.
Even if he couldn't touch her, even if he couldn't see her reaction to the rest of the letter…
Luck was on his side.
Because what she'd said was—
"How could I…"
"ever be mad at you?"
—
Under the same night sky, beneath a different candle's glow…
Roxy covered her face, her voice barely a whisper.
"You're too sly, Allen…"
On the desk before her, the Shirone royal crest gleamed faintly beneath the letter.
Maybe it was because Allen's handwriting was so bold, so clear—
That was why she couldn't escape it.
Her gaze kept snagging on one line:
"Because it's you, your clumsiness is charming."
She hid her face, peeked, hid again, peeked again—
Stuck in that loop for who knows how long before finally, reluctantly, turning the page.
One minute.
Two.
Ten.
She read every word.
That was her habit with Allen's letters.
All the while, she fidgeted like a restless child—
Covering her face.
Scratching her cheek.
Tugging her hair.
Eyes darting everywhere.
By the time she reached the end, her face was practically purple.
She blinked in surprise, then smiled—a little exasperated, but her brows softened as she reread the final lines.
—
"I want to ask you something."
"If I made a shameless, absurd request…"
"Would you say yes?"
"I want to ask you in person."
"I want to see your face, hear your voice."
"I want to look into your eyes when you answer."
"When spring comes…"
"I'll come find you."
—
"Still so good with pretty words," she murmured.
"For a swordsman, for an Asuran noble from that kind of society… to fuss over things like this. Sometimes I wonder if you're a Millis believer."
Her tone was teasing, but her blue eyes shimmered in the candlelight.
If it wasn't sincerity—if it wasn't care—
Why go this far?
Why be so roundabout?
That manly, tall, yet boyishly expressive face.
Her adventuring partner—the one she wanted to spend her life with.
Was agonizing over the future he kept mentioning.
"Really…"
"So cautious."
Her usual indifferent smile warmed into something tender.
Her eyes softened like still water.
"If I let this slip away… I might die alone. Who'd want someone with my figure anyway?"
"Allen…"
"You're so lucky."
Her gaze shifted to another open letter beside her.
From Sylphie.
She used to read Allen's letters first. But once she realized how much time she spent on them, she switched—Rudeus and Sylphie's first, Allen's last.
Otherwise, she'd never get to theirs before bed.
That's how she'd instantly grasped what Allen hadn't spelled out.
The two letters had arrived together. Cross-referenced, the truth was obvious.
—
Things are like this.
Lady Hilda and Lord Philip had a huge fight. Even so…
She still hasn't told Allen the truth.
I'm so worried about her. She's so kind, always watching Allen.
I'm worried about Allen too. I know he cares about her deep down.
I tried my best. I really did.
But why…
Why does everything I do go wrong? (The ink here is smudged, as if by water.)
Teacher, if you get this…
Please…
Come back and help Allen.
I think…
He needs you.
— Sylphie.
—
Roxy stared at the letter for a long moment, then pulled out a fresh sheet.
"The situation won't change just because I'm there," she wrote.
"But I think… Sylphie, you might be misunderstanding something."
"You can afford to be firmer."
"And more confident."
"How do you know you're not already on the right path?"
"Sylphie."
"I'm not by Allen's side right now."
"Take good care of him for me."
"Also, you once said you envied the necklace I gave him."
"I recently bought—no, made—one for you too."
"Yes, I made Allen's as well. I hope you don't mind my amateur craftsmanship."
"I meant to send it with this letter."
"But after some thought…"
"I think I'll give it to Allen first."
"I want…
him to put it on you himself."
"Please don't refuse."
"After all…"
"You, Allen, and I—"
"We're an 'adventuring party,' aren't we?"
—
Roxy lifted her pen, checking for typos.
Then, she stared at the words "adventuring party" for a long while.
Finally, she smiled.
She grabbed another sheet and started anew.
This time, her strokes were deliberate, measured. Halfway through, she glanced at Allen's letter again—
And hesitated.
Her own words felt too long, too clumsy.
With a sigh, she crumpled the draft and tossed it aside.
New page.
This time, she wrote just a few lines—barely more than a breath's worth of words.
She leaned back, examining it.
A satisfied smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushing again.
"Allen's sweet nothings are always so short… yet they work."
"Guess he's onto something."
Soon after, a maid's voice echoed in the room.
"Magician-sama, you called for—"
"—an urgent letter delivery."
"We have a priority channel, but it's quite expensive… Are you sure? Understood. I'll arrange it immediately. No need for thanks—you're too kind."
Outside, snow continued to fall, the wind howling.
But inside the palace, it was warm.
Probably thanks to the excellent heating.
—
The next morning.
Boreas Manor.
Allen's internal clock woke him, but he didn't jump out of bed.
An old habit from his past life.
On workdays, even if he'd stayed up until 2:30 AM writing forum posts, he'd drag himself up to slave away.
But on rest days? He'd laze in bed, contemplating life or scrolling on his phone.
Problem was—
This world had no weekends.
A truly hellish, no-days-off reality.
So a few months ago, after Eris set the curtains on fire during a reading lesson and beat up Rudeus, the latter demanded a "day of rest" every six days.
A "Sunday."
What happened next was amusing.
Once Eris noticed Allen and Rudeus sleeping in, she copied them.
Now? She'd snooze until noon.
Completely unlike the original timeline.
Then again, her swordsmanship training was also far more intense now—she had morning drills added to her routine.
Of course she'd be exhausted.
Allen stared at the ceiling a while longer, then finally got up.
Dressed. Washed his face.
Stepped into the hallway.
Empty.
Eris was still asleep, Sylphie was already tending to Hilda (she'd grown up tough in Buena Village—never slept in), and Rudeus was likely in his room, sculpting figurines with earth magic.
This time around, after realizing Allen's feelings for Rudeus, he'd stopped making Roxy figurines.
That part was normal.
What wasn't—
After the Snow Valley incident…
He started making Allen figurines.
An entire desk full of them.
Even after getting punched, he kept at it.
And one particularly edgy limited edition—
Allen standing in a sea of monster corpses, looking back over his shoulder with a chipped sword.
After coming to the Boreas estate, it got worse.
He'd started painting them.
The results were… unsettlingly lifelike.
In every sense.
Allen's eye twitched as he passed Rudeus's door.
He stepped outside.
The snow had stopped, but the ground was thick with it.
He trudged through, heading straight for his destination.
Along the way, he passed Arifal, who was shoveling snow. She stiffened when she saw him, her legs wobbling as she greeted him.
Ten minutes later—
He stopped.
Looked up.
A towering spire pierced the overcast sky, its peak lost in the gloom.
He stood at its base.
The tallest structure in the Boreas estate.
Where Sauros often stood, gazing at the massive teleportation orb he called his "jewel."
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