Solaira licked her lips and flopped down on his shoulder like she owned the spot. Shirayuki took the offered spoon and munched cutely, tail wagging slowly as she leaned against Cian's chest.
The old man, sitting nearby with his own bowl, watched the scene and let out a hearty laugh.
"You're gettin' surrounded, lad. Hope you trained your appetite too."
He chuckled, then coughed again—one soft, then one deeper.
Cian glanced at him, a little worried, but the old man just smiled and took another bite.
After lunch, Cian stretched with a groan, still feeling the weight of the morning's training in his arms.
"All right, lad," the old man called from the side, standing with arms crossed. "Back to the grind. Kureha won't swing itself."
Cian sighed, picking up the sleek steel blade. "I still think most people start with wooden swords…"
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Are you 'most people'? No? Then swing."
Cian grumbled under his breath but took his stance. He lifted Kureha—heavier than it looked—and brought it down with a loud whoosh. It nearly pulled him forward with it.
"Too stiff!" the old man barked. "You're swingin' like a fish floppin' out of water. Relax your shoulders!"
The sword came down again. And again. Each time Cian fought the pull, learning to adjust. His arms shook. Sweat poured.
The system popped in with a dry tone.
[SYSTEM]: Swinging that hard, you sure you're not trying to impress the girls? Or maybe it's the sword that's too much for your delicate limbs?
"I'll stab you next," Cian muttered under his breath, panting.
[SYSTEM]: With what? That noodle-arm swing? Kureha deserves better.
The old man, ignoring the banter, stepped behind Cian and adjusted his grip. "Balance, lad. You don't fight a blade. You dance with it."
"Then why do I feel like it's dancing on me?" Cian groaned.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the training area, Solaira was pawing at the grass, tail flicking back and forth. She suddenly darted after a fluttering butterfly with a squeaky chirp, leaping into the air and tumbling down with a roll.
Shirayuki sat quietly on a flat stone nearby, watching Cian with gentle eyes. She licked her paw and tilted her head. Her ears twitched, and her tail swayed with the breeze.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the girls stood up. Solaira climbed onto Shirayuki's back with a playful bounce.
They looked at Cian—Solaira squeaked and waved her paw, and Shirayuki gave a small nod before both dashed into the woods.
"They're off to hunt," the old man said, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Dinner won't catch itself."
Cian watched them vanish into the trees, then looked down at the sword in his hand. His fingers ached.
"One more hour," the old man said, walking away. "Then you can cry."
Cian groaned. "What's after that, crawl to bed?"
[SYSTEM]: Only if you can still walk.
After another hour of swinging Kureha under the afternoon sun, the old man finally raised his hand.
"That's enough for today, lad," he said, voice firm but calm. "Save your strength. We've still got a long way to go tomorrow."
Cian dropped the sword into the dirt and dropped to one knee, completely drenched in sweat. "I can't feel my arms…"
[SYSTEM]: Wow, dramatic. You swung a sword for an hour, not saved the world.
Cian frowned. "It felt like a hundred years…"
[SYSTEM]: Maybe because your form was tragic. That sword was supposed to slash, not dance like a noodle.
The old man strapped on a small pack, brushing dust off his shoulder. "I'm off now. Night shift's mine again. My master prefers a quiet watch."
Cian looked up, lips parting to speak. He wanted to say something—"Please eat dinner first." But the words didn't come out. They stayed stuck in his throat as he watched the old man slowly walk away, into the deepening twilight.
Then, the bushes rustled.
Out came Shirayuki, dragging a big, fuzzy Furbull by the leg. It flopped with a thud near the firepit. And riding comfortably on her head was Solaira—fast asleep, arms limp, little snores puffing soft sparks from her tiny mouth.
Cian blinked, caught between surprise and laughter.
"You… hunted that?" he asked.
Shirayuki didn't reply. She just wagged her tail once, calmly, her yellow eyes flicking to him like it was no big deal.
Solaira twitched in her sleep, mumbling something in her dream and letting out a sleepy chirp.
Cian sighed, rubbing his face. "I sweat for an hour, and you two just… nap-hunt."
[SYSTEM]: Maybe you should try riding on someone's head. It seems efficient.
I mustered all the strength I had left and stood up, dragging my aching limbs toward the cooking area. My whole body felt like jelly, but someone had to make dinner. The old man was gone, and the two girls… well, one was asleep on the other's head, and the other was just staring at me.
I lit the fire and started prepping the Furbull meat. It was tougher than I expected—probably from all the running it did before becoming tonight's meal.
Shirayuki quietly sat a few feet away, tail curled neatly around her. Her big eyes never left me.
"…Are you watching because you want to learn how to cook?" I asked, even though I knew she couldn't answer.
She tilted her head slightly. Was that a yes? Or maybe she was just curious why I was burning everything.
I smiled to myself. "Alright, but no laughing if I mess up."
Solaira shifted in her sleep, still perched on Shirayuki's head like a warm hat, her tail drooping off to the side. A tiny spark escaped her mouth, followed by a soft snore.
[SYSTEM]: Behold. A warrior broken by training, now bravely fighting onions. Truly heroic.
"…You could help, y'know," I muttered.
[SYSTEM]: I am helping. Comic relief is important.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head as I tossed some chopped root veggies into the pot. Maybe dinner wouldn't be too bad.
Cian stirred the pan gently, the scent of sizzling meat and herbs wafting into the cool evening air. Behind him, the crackle of the fire mixed with the soft rustle of grass. He smiled—peaceful moments like these were rare.
Just as he reached for the seasoning, a light tug at his waistband made him freeze.
"...Huh?"
He glanced down, and his breath caught. Shirayuki knelt there, eyes dreamy and half-lidded, her pale cheeks tinted pink. She tilted her head curiously, gripping the hem of his pants with a soft, innocent hum. Before he could react, her lips—warm, soft—closed gently around something just out of frame.
Cian's knees nearly buckled.
"A-Ah—Shira?! Wh-What are you—" His voice cracked.
She blinked up at him, looking so innocent… too innocent.
The sensation sent shivers dancing up his spine. His back arched slightly, and one hand reached out, instinctively brushing her hair. Her ears twitched, tail swaying with every rhythmic, innocent motion. He could barely breathe.
The system's window popped up with an audible ding.
[SYSTEM]: Well, well, looks like someone's having his "cooking" interrupted. You sure you're not the dish tonight, Cian?
Cian's eye twitched.
"I-I was just making dinner...!"