After Orson and Litte went upstairs, the elven receptionist clasped her face with both hands, her expression one of utter disbelief.
Oh my gods, did I just serve such a VIP guest?
In Saint Roland City, Orson’s fame had been sky-high ever since last year’s entrance exam.
A young man who was not only handsome, polite, and refined but also incredibly powerful had quickly become the object of countless young women’s fantasies.
For those girls, just seeing Orson or exchanging a few words with him was enough to fill them with excitement.
And for the elven receptionist, who was over 100 years old, it was no different.
Among the elves, a famously long-lived race, the first 100 years of life were considered childhood. It was only after reaching 100 that one was considered an adult.
So, referring to her as a teenage girl in her “youthful years” was entirely accurate.
The moment she saw Orson’s name, the receptionist had been overwhelmed with nervous excitement. Only after Orson went upstairs did she finally recover.
Just now, when handing over the keys, she might have “accidentally” let her hand brush against Orson’s.
No way! Tonight, this hand must not be washed.
It might still carry the scent of Orson.
Thinking this, she gently sniffed her hand and let out a dreamy giggle.
“Guh-heh, guh-heh-heh...”
—
Orson led Litte upstairs.
Unlocking the door with their key, they entered a spacious, luxurious room.
The suite was equipped with a living room, bedroom, and bathroom—everything except a kitchen. It felt more like an upscale private residence than a hotel room.
The furnishings and decor were far more luxurious than what most commoners could ever afford, and even wealthier merchants would envy the tasteful extravagance of the space.
The centerpiece of the room, however, was the large, opulent bed.
Litte glanced at it. Not only could two people easily sleep on it, but it could probably fit several more.
For some reason, the thought left Litte feeling a faint sense of disappointment.
If only the bed were a little smaller...
Orson, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content.
“Truly worthy of being a double room; the bed is much larger than in a single room.”
This way, when sharing the bed with Litte at night, they could sleep on opposite sides.
Although Orson had no inappropriate thoughts about Litte, he worried that prolonged closeness might confuse Litte or give rise to questionable feelings. That would be troublesome.
After all, as a handsome and capable older brother, Orson was undoubtedly an inspiring figure to Litte. If Litte became overly dependent on him and developed some kind of warped affection, Orson wouldn’t know how to handle it.
But then again, the original story depicted Litte as a staunch heterosexual who despised boys with effeminate tendencies. He had even gone so far as to eliminate them outright. Surely there was no way Litte harbored such feelings toward him.
Thinking this, Orson relaxed.
“Well, Litte, what do you think about the room? Should we look for an inn with more available rooms?”
“There’s no need, Orson. This place is fine,” Litte said, nodding before sitting down on the sofa in the living room.
“Alright.” Orson closed the door and walked out onto the balcony.
“Let’s rest here for the day. Tomorrow is the entrance exam for the Imperial Academy. Father has already registered you in advance, so all you need to do is wear your family crest and give your name.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go with you. I have some errands to run there as well.”
The two chatted for a while until there was a knock at the door.
When Orson opened it, he found the elven receptionist standing there.
“Excuse me, are you Young Master Orson?”
“Uh, yes, that’s me,” Orson said with a nod. “Is there something you need?”
“Ah, sorry to bother you. It’s almost lunchtime. Would you like to place an order for room service, or will you and Young Master Litte be dining out?”
“I was so nervous earlier while handling the room assignment that I forgot to ask.”
“Hm...” Orson considered for a moment before nodding. “We’ll eat here. I trust your kitchen’s skills.”
“Very well.” The receptionist nodded but lingered in place, seemingly lost in thought.
“Uh, is there anything else?”
“Well...” The receptionist hesitated before pulling out a pen. “Young Master Orson, I... I’m actually a big fan of yours. Could I please have your autograph?”
“Huh?” Orson was momentarily stunned.
“You see, ever since you entered the Imperial Academy with such an awe-inspiring display last year, your reputation has spread throughout the capital. Afterward, we even formed an unofficial fan club called the ‘Orson Support Group.’ I’m one of its members.”
“I think having your autograph would make not only me but everyone in the group incredibly happy...”
“Of course, if it’s inconvenient, I deeply apologize. I’ll just leave...” The receptionist turned to leave.
“Wait a moment,” Orson called out.
“You said you wanted an autograph, right? Where would you like me to sign?”
“Ah... well...” The receptionist hesitated before slightly lifting the hem of her skirt.
“Not there!” Orson immediately rejected the idea, shaking his head firmly.
The last thing he wanted was to be accused of being some kind of pervert who harassed fans.
“Then... could you sign my ear?” the receptionist suggested, her initial disappointment giving way to a more reasonable request.
For elves, their pointed ears were one of their most distinctive features, setting them apart from humans. As such, elves placed great importance on their ears, allowing only close companions to touch them.
“That works.” Orson nodded and signed his name on the receptionist’s ear.
Each stroke of the pen caused the receptionist to tremble slightly, and she even let out a few ambiguous gasps.
“If you keep doing that, I’m not signing anything.”
“Ah, sorry, Young Master Orson. I’ll keep quiet,” she said, covering her mouth.
Elves’ ears were one of their most sensitive areas. The delicate touch of the pen against her ear sent waves of sensation through her. Suppressing her shame and excitement, she endured until Orson had finished signing his name.
“All done,” Orson said, handing the pen back to the receptionist.
He was greeted by the sight of her flushed face and unfocused, dreamy eyes.
“Uh... are you okay?”
“I-I’m fine, Young Master Orson. Guh-heh-heh, thank you...”
“Lunch will be delivered soon. I-I’ll be going now. Hehe...” With that, she giggled to herself and hurried downstairs.
“What a weirdo,” Orson muttered, shaking his head as he closed the door.
In the room, Litte sat on the sofa, her cheeks puffed out in annoyance.
“What’s wrong, Litte?”
“Orson, that woman just now was so weird!” Litte said, unable to hold back her complaint.
“Yeah, I thought so too.” Orson nodded, sitting down on the sofa. “She was definitely a bit odd, but hey, she’s a fan. You know what they say—don’t hit someone who’s smiling at you.”
“It’s fine. When you become famous someday, you’ll have a bunch of crazy fans too,” Orson said, trying to reassure Litte.
“No way!” Litte turned her head away. “Those kinds of fans are way too weird. I don’t want any fans like that!”