It had been nearly a week since the graduation ceremony.
Seven days. It felt far longer than that. As though the life before that night was a story belonging to someone else that I happened to remember.
My days went on as usual. Wake up, wash my face, prepare coffee, then sit in the garden reading reports from Serena. The same routine. The same house. The same sky.
But now, there was one difference.
A woman was living in my house.
And that difference changed everything.
This house used to be quiet. Not a sad kind of quiet, but a quiet that had become part of who I was. I was used to eating alone. Used to hearing only my own footsteps echoing through the wooden hallway. Used to waking up in the morning to no sound other than birdsong from outside the window.
Now, before my eyes had even fully opened, I could already hear sounds from the kitchen. The soft clink of a pot. The aroma of cooking seeping through the gap beneath my bedroom door. And every now and then, calm footsteps moving between the stove and the dining table with an efficiency that grew more practiced by the day.
Veralyn Silvercrown was making breakfast.
That sentence still sounded strange in my head, even though I had heard it every morning for the past week.
I came down the stairs and headed for the dining room. On the table, two plates were already neatly arranged. Two servings. Without needing to be reminded. A development that brought me more relief than the increase in Crescentia Group's revenue this month.
Veralyn stood near the stove, setting a small pot down on a wooden trivet. Her hair was tied back with the same ribbon she had used on the first day she cooked in this kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. Her posture was still perfectly upright, as though even stirring soup had to be done with the dignity of a former queen-to-be.
I sat down and picked up my spoon.
First bite.
I stopped chewing.
This was... good.
Not the "not bad" I usually said to spare her feelings. Not the "it is fine" that actually meant I needed a full glass of water to neutralize the salt. This was genuinely good. The seasoning was balanced. The texture was right. There was even a subtle touch of spice that had never been present in her cooking before.
I took a second spoonful. A third. A fourth.
This improvement was too fast. Too drastic. One week ago, this woman had nearly set my kitchen on fire with soup that could have been classified as a chemical weapon. Now her cooking had reached a level fit to be served at a restaurant. Where had she learned?
I began to think. I had never seen her leave the house on her own. Every time I went out for work and returned, she was always home, either reading in the library or doing light magic practice in the garden. But was it possible she had gone to the city while I was away? Learned from someone there?
Yet she had no money.
That thought made me slightly worried. Not about the money. But about her safety. In the game, Veralyn never had good luck after being exiled. Misfortune followed her like a shadow. And even though this was no longer a game, I could not ignore that unease.
"I apologize, it seems my cooking is still not very good."
Veralyn's flat voice immediately shattered my thoughts. I looked up and saw her standing at the side of the table with her arms folded across her chest, the posture that had become her trademark whenever she was awaiting judgment.
I realized then that my face must have looked serious while I was thinking about all of that. Of course she assumed I was not enjoying her food.
"Ah, sorry," I said quickly. "I was thinking about work."
A lie that had become reflex. A mysterious NPC must never be caught worrying about someone.
"No," I continued, looking at her directly, "your cooking is much better now. Much better. Where did you learn?"
The question came out with genuine curiosity. An improvement this significant in this short a time was not something that could be achieved through trial and error alone.
"I read about cooking techniques in your library," she answered.
I blinked.
"Really? I am quite surprised I have a book like that."
I tried to recall. My small library did contain all sorts of books, most of them about history, magic, and economics. A cookbook was not something I would have purchased. Unless...
Serena.
That woman frequently left things at my house without saying a word. Books, snacks, unfinished business reports, even a pair of sandals that were still sitting under the living room table to this day. A cookbook left behind was hardly surprising coming from Serena Valenrose.
But I did not care about the book's origin. What mattered was that it had transformed her cooking from a weapon of mass destruction into something that could actually be enjoyed.
Veralyn returned to her chair and began eating her own portion. Without needing to be reminded. Without hesitation. Another piece of progress I had been quietly observing over the past week.
We ate in a silence that had become comfortable. The sound of spoons touching plates. Birdsong from outside the window. The morning breeze drifting in through the vents. A small routine that was slowly beginning to feel like something that had always been there, rather than something new.
Then, as I was nearly finished with my plate, Veralyn spoke.
"By the way," she said, her tone slightly softer than usual, "would it be alright if I went to the city?"
I looked up.
There was something in the way she asked the question. Not an ordinary request. More like someone asking for permission, even though she should not have to.
"Of course," I replied. "You do not need to ask permission to leave the house. You are my guest, not my prisoner."
Veralyn looked at me. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes. Not surprise. More like someone processing a concept that was entirely foreign.
"Really?" she said quietly.
That single word felt heavier than it should have.
Of course she asked that. Her entire life, every movement had been governed by rules. At the Silvercrown mansion, she had to ask permission for everything. At the academy, she was bound by schedules and noble etiquette. Even as the prince's fiancee, her freedom was nothing more than an illusion framed by other people's expectations.
The concept of "you may go whenever you wish" was perhaps something she had never heard before.
"In that case," I said, standing from my chair and carrying my plate to the basin, "come with me. I also have some business in the city."
In truth, I had no business whatsoever in the city today. No documents to sign. No meetings scheduled. The reason I had just given was entirely fabricated.
The reality was that I simply could not feel at ease letting her go alone.
"Thank you," Veralyn answered.
And for a fraction of a second, before she stood and began clearing the table, I saw the corner of her lips rise slightly.
Very slightly.
But after a week of living with this woman, I had learned that a smile that small from Veralyn Silvercrown was worth more than a thousand words.
We began preparing to head into the city.