“Wait, but—”
“Ma’am.”
· · ·
“Allow me to take your measurements.”
Never mind being interrupted by the clerk; Anasta was struck utterly speechless by the unfamiliar title used to address her.
Ryan was momentarily taken aback as well, but quickly composed his expression and waved his hand dismissively.
His gesture clearly urged her to try it on quickly before any more time was wasted.
In the end, Anasta surrendered to the clerk’s leading hand, choosing the simplest dress she could find to put on.
“My goodness, you look absolutely stunning. With a figure like yours, anything you wear is bound to suit you perfectly.”
Anasta listened to the clerk’s flattering remarks while her thoughts lingered entirely on the price of the dress.
“And your husband is so remarkably handsome, too. I truly envy you. It is plain to see how dearly he dotes on you.”
Anasta conceded that Ryan’s striking looks were undeniable, but she could not agree in the slightest with what followed.
Just what on earth had this clerk seen to mistake her for being so beloved?
“Usually, husbands never accompany their wives into a dress boutique.”
“Ah.”
“And what is more, his gaze never once drifted away from you. He kept staring the entire time—staring only at you, ma’am.”
As she spoke, the clerk smoothed the hem of the garment to finish adjusting it. It was an elegant dark purple dress, paired with a soft lavender mantle designed to keep out the chill.
The clerk openly admired how lovely she looked, but Anasta’s mind was still tangled in the words she had just heard.
“When I draw this curtain, your husband will surely be breathless at the sight of his enchanting wife. He probably won’t be able to tear his eyes away.”
“He isn't that sort of person.”
“I guarantee it. Your husband is utterly head over heels for you.”
“I shall open the curtain now.”
With the clerk’s cue, the rich red curtain parted slowly to the side.
· · ·
At that moment, Ryan—who had been lounging haughtily on the sofa—abruptly lowered the leg he had crossed over his knee.
Whatever words he had been about to say died on his lips, leaving him staring at her like a man stunned out of his wits.
Faced with such an unexpected reaction, Anasta froze stiff as a board herself.
Only the clerk beamed with satisfaction, leaning in to whisper softly into Anasta’s ear to drive home her point: “What did I tell you?”
“Ahem. It looks warm, and it suits you well. We’ll take this one.”
After staring at her in silence for quite a while, Ryan suddenly bolted upright from the sofa.
His movements were so brisk that he paid the bill and swept out the door in the blink of an eye.
Looking at Ryan’s flushed earlobes, Anasta murmured softly,
“Thank you for buying the dress.”
“It would be a nuisance if you caught a cold. Now then, let us go have that soup.”
Anasta nodded, stepping carefully so as not to trip over her hem.
“Hold on to me.”
Suddenly, a broad hand appeared before her.
Anasta did not refuse, slipping her hand into his. Ryan’s thick fingers intertwined with hers, sending a gentle warmth coursing between them.
Walking down Langder Street, there was a particular shop where an eye-catching crowd had gathered.
“Is it here?”
“Right here. Let us go in.”
It was the famous pumpkin soup eatery.
Ryan took an empty seat and glanced around the parlor.
During his academy days, he had only come here to eat soup during festivals or special occasions.
The place had always been packed, but the moment he tasted the warm, velvety broth, every worry seemed to melt away.
Having returned to taste it after three whole years, Ryan could not hide his sheer delight.
“It smells wonderful.”
“It’s not just the smell. The flavor is extraordinary.”
Ryan declared with complete confidence, his eyes sparkling.
Within a few minutes, the bowls were served. Shaking off his nostalgic awe, Ryan waited for Anasta to take the first bite.
· · ·
Anasta lifted a generous spoonful and placed it into her mouth.
A rich aroma of roasted pumpkin flooded her palate, followed by a mellow sweetness tempered with a delicate hint of savory saltiness.
Finally, a clean, smooth aftertaste bloomed, accentuating the natural sweetness.
Overcome by the flavor, Anasta’s eyes widened extraordinarily round.
“It is delicious!”
When she looked up and exclaimed, Ryan grinned like a little boy.
“Is it not?”
“Very much so! You should try some as well, Lord Ryan.”
With a flutter in his chest, Ryan dipped his spoon into the soup.
The moment that long-missed, familiar taste met his tongue, genuine awe swept over him.
‘Damn, this is ridiculously good.’
The fragrant pumpkin scent was richer and the sweetness far deeper than he remembered.
Was it because he had gone so long without it, or was it because he was sharing it with Anasta?
Watching Anasta—who usually ate like a little bird—wipe her bowl completely clean filled Ryan with quiet satisfaction.
He, too, felt genuinely sated, having cleaned his entire bowl for the first time in ages.
“Lord Ryan.”
A lingering regret remained over how swiftly it had vanished, but Anasta was watching him with unusual intentness.
“What is it?”
“The truth is…”
“What's the matter?”
“Shall we order more? Since we went through the trouble of coming all this way, it feels a pity to stop at just one bowl.”
“Hahaha.”
Ryan burst into hearty laughter on the spot.
“Indeed, back during my academy days, I never stopped at a single bowl either. I would down at least three.”
“Three bowls sounds like far too much.”
“Perhaps for you. In any case, order another.”
Ryan said, struggling to suppress his chuckles.
As soon as the fresh bowls arrived, Ryan and Anasta emptied them just as quickly.
Even though it was her second bowl, Anasta licked her lips, staring down at the empty dish before remarking, “I think I will find myself craving this again.”
“Then we shall come back.”
Having answered without thinking, Ryan realized how terribly out of character it was for him to say such a thing.
Come back? When? He had no way of knowing when he would die.
“That sounds wonderful.”
Anasta smiled brightly, oblivious to anything strange in his words.
Gazing at that smile, Ryan felt heat rush straight to his face.
This had been happening to him quite often lately.
Whenever he looked at Anasta, his heart ached with a peculiar tickle, and his stomach fluttered uncomfortably.
Even now, in his flustered state, the fork slipped carelessly from his grasp.
“Ah.”
“Here, you dropped your fork.”
“Thank you.”
The moment Ryan took the fork handed over by someone at the adjacent table, an odd prickle of familiarity brushed over him.
Sure enough, when he lifted his gaze, he was met with a burly, middle-aged man with flaming red hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a deep scar cutting across his left eye.
“…Sir Gregory?”
At Ryan’s voice, Gregory raised his head.
“…Ryan?”
His eyes widened in equal measure the moment he caught sight of Ryan.
“What are you doing here…?”
It was a reunion between master and pupil.
The three of them sat side by side at a café.
Sitting between the two men, Anasta stole furtive glances at Gregory.
Alongside the scar slashing over his eye, he possessed brilliant, fiery red hair.
His frame was so massive it looked ready to burst the seams of his military uniform, and the stern furrow between his brows gave him an inherently imposing air.
“I never expected to see you again, Ryan. You haven’t shown your face all this time.”
“I was ill.”
Ryan stated the simple, precise fact.
“Even so, I thought you would at least write.”
“I was terribly ill.”
“And what about now?”
“I snuck out.”
Ryan answered candidly, without an ounce of shame.
Knowing well what the atmosphere inside House Soltaire was like, Gregory grasped the situation from that single remark and let out a sigh.
Then, turning his eyes away from his former student, Gregory examined the unfamiliar woman.
“Pardon my late introduction. My name is Gregory Victor.”
“I am Anasta Winterlit.”
Though Gregory’s appearance intimidated her inside, she greeted him with her customary calm and poise.
“I have heard of your renown in rumors, and it is an honor to meet you in person, Sir Gregory.”
“I have heard rumors myself—rumors that Ryan had taken a fiancée. I was rather worried at first, but is it the young lady who dragged Ryan out in secret?”
“Yes.”
Anasta saw no reason to lie, either.
Gregory regarded her intently for a beat before bursting into a hearty roar of laughter.
“You are quite something, my lady. The Soltaire family must have their hands full.”
“Are you going to tell my father?”
Ryan asked.
“No need for that. If I do, I might truly never see you again.”
· · ·
“For someone who claimed to be so gravely ill, you’ve grown up well. You’re taller, and your features have sharpened.”
“I lost a great deal of weight to this cursed illness. My muscles shrank because I couldn't train.”
“You’ve certainly grown lean. It might not be to your taste, but women quite fancy a build like that. Step outside, and you’ll find yourself far more popular than before.”
Ryan let out a dry scoff. What good was being popular with women?
All he had ever longed for was a massive frame and rock-hard muscles like Gregory’s.
“Still, it gladdens me to see you after all this time, Ryan.”
“…Spare me the embarrassing sentiment.”
“I mean it.”
Gregory smiled faintly, tinged with bitterness.
“You were the finest among all the students I ever taught, and that remains true even now. Perhaps no one felt more regret than I did when you submitted your withdrawal due to your health.”
“That is all in the past.”
“Perhaps so. But there is one thing I want you to know: you can return whenever you wish. The army needs you.”
END
