Afternoon in Elfier City.
The stone streets were filled with people.
Fyar and Illya walked side by side. Illya enthusiastically pulled Fyar’s arm toward the Main Square. The place was packed. Couples and families filled the area, all seemingly looking for entertainment.
In the middle of the square, a large crowd had formed.
"There seems to be something there, Fyar," Illya pointed with one hand toward the crowd.
"Want to see?" Fyar asked.
Illya nodded gently. "Yes."
They passed a street performer strumming a lute. He was singing a dramatic love ballad about a knight and a princess.
A classic story, Fyar muttered internally.
He continued to watch and listen to the song. Some people in the crowd looked touched. Several others looked at their own partners, as if picturing themselves in the song.
Fyar turned towards Illya. The girl seemed to be enjoying the song. Her eyes were shining, and there was a slight tear in the corner.
Seeing that, Fyar smiled faintly.
She really is beautiful from any angle .
Throughout the performance, Fyar’s focus was fixed on Illya’s face. He ignored what was in front of him. To him, the view beside him was far more interesting than anything in front of him.
After the song finished, they gave the singer a few silver coins.
"Are you crying?" Fyar asked. He wiped the lingering tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"N–No!" Illya said hesitantly. "There was dust in my eye!"
Fyar laughed lightly and pretended to believe her excuse.
"Oh, I see. Dust, right. I get it," he said, his hand still brushing away the last bit of moisture from her cheek.
As they continued to circle the square, Illya called out.
"Fyar, over there!"
She pulled him again toward a larger crowd.
A group of street acrobats was performing. Three muscular, bare-chested men formed a human pyramid. Meanwhile, a young woman spat a large plume of fire into the air, making the audience cheer. Beside them, a man tossed five daggers into the air in a rapid rotation.
His wrist rotation is good. They’re dedicated. That training can’t be easy, Fyar thought, analyzing the dagger thrower’s movements.
Illya pointed again, this time across the square. "Look at that, Fyar."
Workers were busy in front of the town hall. Several of them were climbing wooden ladders, hanging large blue and gold banners. Below them, a large wooden stage was being built.
"Preparations for the King’s Birthday Festival. Three days away!" Illya exclaimed.
Fyar looked at the construction chaos and the growing crowds. "It looks like it will be crowded."
"Of course! You know what?. This is one of the events I look forward to every year," Illya said softly, gazing at the workers hanging the banners. "I enjoy it so much."
"Is that so. Want to go to the festival together again?" Fyar asked, his tone calm.
"I do. I want to," Illya answered softly. Her hand rubbed his. "I want to join the small competitions with you, enjoy the fireworks with you, and eat the food I’ve been craving with you."
Illya paused for a moment. She looked into Fyar’s eyes, a wide, gentle smile forming on her face.
"Most importantly, I want to enjoy the festival moments later fully with you, Fyar."
I want to kiss her...hold on, Fyar, hold on!
Fyar calmed himself. He nodded. "Me too."
Illya then pulled him forward again. "Come on, Fyar. I have tickets for a show."
"Since when?" Fyar asked, a little surprised.
"Yesterday. After you asked me on a date, I immediately looked for a show for today and bought the tickets," Illya answered, a little shyly.
She’s really dedicated. Wait, how much did those cost? No, it’s rude to ask that, Fyar muttered in his head.
"Thank you, Illya."
They continued their walk and arrived at an Odeon, a smaller, semi open-air theater in the noble district. The building was made of white marble, with circular stone seating facing the stage.
Illya handed over two tickets. They sat in the middle rows, among other nobles and wealthy merchants. Fyar felt a little uncomfortable. This was his first time in a place like this.
This architecture... is it like ancient Rome? Don’t tell me a transmigrator from that era was sent here and became an architect?
Fyar’s gaze then shifted to the performance about to begin.
It was a comedy play about a foolish nobleman husband and his clever wife who were trying to hide their wealth from the royal tax collector.
Fyar was slightly amused by the humor and the flowery dialogue. The topic of taxes felt somewhat relatable. He understood the fear one could have of a tax collector.
Whoever wrote this script is a genius. A genius!
The scene then changed. The actor playing the foolish husband tried to hide in a large wardrobe but instead tripped on his own robe and tumbled forward. He crashed into a table, sending fake cakes scattering everywhere.
The audience chuckled politely. Fyar, on the other hand, suddenly burst out laughing. His loud, honest laugh made several audience members nearby turn their heads.
Damn, why am I laughing? What’s wrong with me? Why am I laughing at such a cheap joke?
Damn it. Am I entering my ’dad joke’ phase? I’m only twenty-six! I’m not that old yet!
He tried to hold back his laughter until his eyes shut, but he failed every time.
Illya watched Fyar. The girl was no longer paying attention to the stage. She just sat quietly, watching Fyar laugh freely for the first time.
"So you can laugh like this," Illya murmured softly, almost inaudibly. A gentle smile touched her lips.
After the show ended, they walked to the city’s Public Garden. The place was a calm green oasis, full of colorful flowerbeds and wooden benches under shady trees.
Illya bought two cream pastries and two glasses of cold lemonade from a small café at the edge of the park. They sat on a slightly secluded park bench, far from the crowds.
Fyar bit into his pastry. The sweet, fresh taste of the cream spread across his tongue.
"I had fun today," Fyar said quietly, staring at the fountain in the center of the park. "Thanks for guiding your easily lost boyfriend."
Illya smiled. She rested her head on Fyar’s shoulder. "You’re welcome, Sir."
A comfortable silence settled over them for a few moments.
"So, about the Festival," Illya said.
Fyar turned to look at her. "Yes."
"Will you promise to go with me? For the whole day?"
"You don’t want to go with Zaefal or Rasie?" Fyar asked.
"I’ve gone with them often. I... I want to be with you, Fyar. They can come last," Illya answered, leaning comfortably against his shoulder.
Fyar looked into Illya’s eyes. After a brief pause, a sincere smile formed on his face. "Okay then. Anything for you."
"Fyar, can I ask you something?" Illya said, occasionally sipping her lemonade.
"Hm?"
"What... what made you fall for me?"
"Huh? That..." Fyar’s ears grew hot. His heart beat faster. "It’s difficult."
"Answer," Illya demanded. "You have to answer."
Fyar fell silent, thinking for a moment, trying to remember.
"There are many things I want to say about why I like you so much, but I’ll just summarize it, okay."
Fyar took a long breath.
"You are so gentle with me. You’re so attentive to me. You are my anchor. You are the first woman who hugged me without hesitation. And you’re like... a prize to me. What man wouldn’t fall in love with a woman as gentle and beautiful as you, Illya?"
He paused, remembering that night.
"Honestly, when I arrived at that inn, I was under intense stress."
Fyar then reached out and gently touched Illya’s cheek.
"Then you hugged me, and without hesitation, you returned my confession,"he whispered. "All that chaos, all the voices in my head, all my stress... it stopped right at that moment. I forgot my problems for a second. At that moment, I wasn’t James or Starfall the butcher. I was just... Fyar. I feel like I can be completely myself around you."
"Is that a good enough answer?" Fyar asked.
Illya breath caught. Under the soft afternoon light, her green eyes began to glass over.
Illya slowly placed her lemonade glass on the park bench.
She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against Fyar’s lips.
Fyar’s body went rigid for a moment. His pupils dilated slightly. He could feel the softness of Illya’s lips and smell the faint perfume from her hair.
The next second, all the tension in Fyar’s shoulders disappeared.
Fyar closed his eyes.
he set his remaining pastry down on its wrapper.
He returned the kiss. His right hand came up, his fingers sliding into the soft green hair at the back of her head, pulling her just a little closer.
The sound of the fountain and the vague chatter from the park around them now felt distant and unimportant.
After a few moments that felt very long, they slowly pulled apart. Both were slightly out of breath.
Illya didn’t dare to look Fyar in the eyes. Her face was now as red as the strawberry pastry they had just eaten.
She quickly rested her head on Fyar’s shoulder again, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
"That..." Illya whispered, her voice muffled and shy. "Was more than enough."