"Hmm... Surprisingly, the food in the capital turned out to be quite decent," Fomalhaut mused thoughtfully, slowly taking a bite of his onigiri. His voice was even, almost lazy, but a spark of pleasure flickered in his eyes.
He sat at a simple wooden table in a quiet, modest establishment dimly lit by oil lamps. The air was filled with the scent of soy sauce and freshly brewed tea.
Across from him sat an elderly man in his sixties, dressed in a long black cloak that concealed his bulky frame. He had a well-groomed gray beard, and silver hair peeked out from under his hood. At first glance, he seemed like an ordinary old man, but his sharp, piercing gaze suggested otherwise. Beneath his cloak, the hilt of a katana glinted faintly, a subtle reminder of his not-so-peaceful nature.
"May I ask, Master Fo, why are you eating that?" the man's voice was low, with a slight rasp. "Your body, which requires an incredible amount of energy, won't gain anything useful from food. It's like trying to quench my thirst with a single drop of water."
Fomalhaut shrugged with visible nonchalance, his eyes never leaving the onigiri in his hand.
"You don't understand, Leonhard. For me, food isn't about calories or nutritional value," he paused, as if savoring the sound of his own words. "It's about taste. Pure enjoyment of flavor. That's all."
He spoke calmly, but his tone carried a hint of mockery, almost teasing.
Leonhard frowned slightly, scratching his beard as if trying to make sense of the thought.
"I suppose I'll never understand a being like you," he said thoughtfully.
Fomalhaut leaned back in his chair, tilting it slightly on its hind legs. A faint smile touched his lips.
"You know, sometimes I just want to enjoy something simple. Forget about destiny, energy, grand goals. Just eat normal food... It's more important than you might think."
"Noted. Have you found your next diversion for the hour, Master Fo?" the old man asked with a touch of irony, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze remained calm, but his voice carried a hint of weary resignation.
Fomalhaut, without turning, merely licked his lips predatorily, his slender fingers gripping the edge of the table.
"Yes..." he drawled, savoring the word as if it were a delicacy.
His gaze, sharp and bold, was fixed on a distant table. There, in the dim light, sat a woman with voluptuous curves. Her long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her form-fitting dress accentuated her ample bust and graceful figure. She was chatting with a friend, completely unaware that a predator was watching her.
A clear lust, mixed with greedy interest, gleamed in Fomalhaut's eyes, enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
"...And I think it'll be quite fun," he added with a lazy smirk, a shadow of anticipation in his tone.
Fomalhaut considered romance nonsense for fools, a silly fairy tale he would never believe in. Those absurd speeches about love and emotions only bored and disgusted him. But entertainment? A hot, passionate moment, a brief night with an alluring woman? That he considered not only acceptable but an extremely pleasant way to spend his time. He enjoyed using his charisma, his strength, to get what he wanted, and in that, he found the true beauty of life.
Leonhard sighed, understanding what was being discussed, and simply shook his head.
"I hope you'll at least be careful, Master Fo," he said, returning his gaze to his tea.
"Oh, I'm always careful, Leonhard. Just don't worry so much..." Fomalhaut took a sip of water and then stood, heading toward his next "diversion."
"One-two! One-two!" Mirzam counted loudly, energetically performing her exercises. Her movements were sharp, almost militant, as if she weren't just doing a workout but preparing for battle. Each swing of her arm was accompanied by a faint whistle of air, and her face was lit with a smile full of excitement.
Chelsea, sitting at a dresser with a mirror, was leisurely brushing her light-red hair. Each movement of her hand was smooth, almost hypnotic. She kept glancing at her reflection, as if admiring herself, and her pink eyes sparkled with playful mischief.
Regulus, sprawled on the couch, held a book in his hands. His posture was so relaxed that it seemed he might melt into the soft upholstery. His leg, crossed over the other, swayed slightly in rhythm with his thoughts. From time to time, he would glance up from the pages and cast brief looks at Mirzam.
"How boring," he thought, flipping a page. "Always reading books. It wouldn't hurt to borrow some manga from Mirzam. I wonder what she reads? Given her jokes, it's definitely something raunchy."
His gaze slid toward Chelsea. Unlike Mirzam, the redhead instantly sensed his stare. She turned her head, and her slightly narrowed pink eyes met his.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice tinged with mockery. "Come here, help me," she added in a playful tone, as if inviting him to join some amusing game.
Regulus sighed heavily but, setting the book aside, slowly rose from the couch. His movements were deliberately slow, as if to show he was doing this out of politeness rather than interest.
"And what do you need help with?" he asked, approaching her. His voice was even, but there was a hint of skepticism in it.
Chelsea, without taking her eyes off the mirror, handed him an orange comb.
"Help me brush my hair, hehe~," she said playfully, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Regulus took the comb, hesitating slightly. He looked at her hair, which shimmered softly, as if woven from sunlight.
"Are you serious?" he asked, but his voice no longer held its earlier dryness.
"Absolutely," Chelsea replied, smiling even wider. "Come on, don't be afraid, I won't bite~."
Regulus sighed again, but this time with a slight smile. He carefully ran the comb through her hair, trying not to tug.
"Like this," Chelsea whispered, closing her eyes. "You're doing pretty well."
The redheaded assassin closed her eyes contentedly, allowing herself to relax. Her face showed a rare calmness, almost serenity. Chelsea rarely let anyone see her vulnerable side—or rather, no one. Only Regulus was granted such an honor.
"You'll make a useful hairdresser for me, hehe~," she teased, tilting her head slightly to give him more room to work. "Now you'll be brushing my hair," she declared with a smile, her voice carrying a hint of provocation.
Regulus's golden eyes widened slightly, as if her words had caught him off guard.
"What else?!" he blurted out, but there was no real indignation in his tone. It was more an attempt to save face in the face of her persistence.
But Chelsea smiled even wider, her pink eyes sparkling with mischief.
"What, afraid you're useless in this area too?~" she quipped, her words like a sharp dagger aimed straight at his pride.
Regulus froze for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly on the comb. He was slightly annoyed by the jab, but despite that, he didn't stop brushing her hair. His movements became a bit sharper but still careful, as if he were afraid of causing her discomfort.
"I'm not useless," the Archbishop of Greed said in a monotone, trying to remain calm. But his eyes betrayed a hint of frustration mixed with stubbornness.
Chelsea, sensing his reaction, chuckled softly. Her laughter was light, almost musical, and it made Regulus forget his irritation for a moment.
"Of course, of course," she drawled, playing with the ends of her hair.
Mirzam, watching Regulus and Chelsea, couldn't help but smile. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and that familiar grin appeared on her face, the one that always preceded something provocative.
"Seems like you're just brushing hair, but in reality, your mind is full of dirty thoughts," she teased, clearly trying to needle Regulus.
But her attempt fell flat. Regulus remained unfazed, his face calm, his hands continuing to gently brush Chelsea's hair.
"I think only you have dirty thoughts all the time," he replied evenly, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His voice was confident, as if he were used to such jabs and knew how to respond.
Mirzam touched her fingers to her lips, as if contemplating her next move. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and she continued her "attack."
"Oh, come on," she drawled, raising an eyebrow. "You know, I think any man brushing a girl's hair would definitely have some naughty thoughts at that moment."
Regulus shrugged, maintaining his composure.
"I don't know what strange thoughts you have, but that's not the case," he replied calmly, continuing his task.
Chelsea, listening to their banter, exhaled deeply and turned her head toward Mirzam. Her pink eyes sparkled with mischief, and a sly smile spread across her face.
"Hey, manga lover and dirty joke enthusiast," she called out to the black-haired girl. "Should I tell everyone what you read? I think they'd find it interesting, hehe~."
Hearing Chelsea's words, Mirzam's cheeks flushed slightly. She averted her gaze to the floor, her confidence evaporating instantly.
"Sorry," she whispered apologetically. "I forgot about our agreement."
Regulus, watching Mirzam, narrowed his golden eyes, as if trying to decipher her strange reaction. His gaze was intense, almost analytical, as if he were trying to read her thoughts.
"She's embarrassed just because Chelsea might reveal what manga she reads?" he thought, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "I need to find out. I'll steal some of her manga tonight."
His thoughts were interrupted by Mirzam's voice, which suddenly sounded much more energetic.
"By the way, Reg, are you ready for the training match?" she asked, stretching her arms and bouncing slightly on her feet.
"Training match?" Regulus echoed, raising an eyebrow. His voice sounded slightly detached, as if he were still lost in thought.
"Yep," the girl nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Nembus organized it. It's happening today. We need to see what each of us is capable of," she explained energetically, continuing to stretch. Her movements were sharp and confident, as if she were already preparing for the fight.
Regulus shrugged, his face remaining calm.
"I hadn't even heard about it," he replied, spreading his hands slightly. "Just found out now."
Chelsea, without opening her eyes but clearly listening to their conversation, smiled slightly.
"Less counting crows," she quipped, her voice playful but with a hint of mockery.
Regulus turned to her, frowning slightly.
"Crows have nothing to do with it," he replied dryly, but there was no real irritation in his tone.
Mirzam, watching their exchange, laughed.
"So, Reg, ready to show what you're made of?" she prodded, winking at him.
Regulus smiled slightly, his golden eyes gleaming with confidence.
"If you're so eager to see what I can do, then why not?" he replied, his voice calm but with a hint of challenge.
Chelsea, finally opening her eyes, looked at him with a slight smirk.
"Just don't overestimate yourself," she said, her pink eyes sparkling with mischief. "What if it turns out you're not as strong as you make yourself out to be?"
"Alright," Regulus said evenly, his voice calm and confident.
He finished brushing Chelsea's hair and, without asking for permission, began carefully gathering it. His fingers moved deftly, as if he'd done this before.
"Hey, what are you doing?" the redhead protested, frowning slightly but, strangely, not stopping him. Her pink eyes watched his actions curiously through the mirror.
"Changing your hairstyle. Ever thought about switching it up?" Regulus asked, not looking up from his task. His voice was slightly mocking but with a hint of care.
Chelsea averted her gaze, as if slightly embarrassed.
"Not really..." she admitted, her voice softening. "But if I don't like it, I'll gut you, hehe~," she added.
Regulus smirked, continuing to tie her hair.
"Don't doubt me," he replied, his voice confident, almost challenging.
Less than five minutes passed. In that time, Regulus had completely transformed Chelsea's hairstyle: the redhead now sported two voluminous ponytails that gave her a playful and lighthearted look. Each ponytail was neatly gathered, with a few strands left loose to emphasize her mischievous nature.
"So, how is it?" Regulus asked, watching her face through the mirror. His voice was calm but carried a hint of anticipation. He stood slightly behind her, the comb still in his hands, his golden eyes carefully observing her reaction.
"Decent hairstyle? I hope you really like it. After all, I put effort into it. I think it's reasonable to appreciate people's efforts."
Chelsea studied herself in the mirror, her pink eyes scanning her reflection, evaluating every detail. She tilted her head slightly to the right, then to the left, as if checking how the ponytails looked from different angles. A faint smile touched her lips, and her eyes showed satisfaction.
"You did a good job," she praised, turning her head slightly to get a better look at the hairstyle. Her voice was soft but carried her usual playful tone. "Maybe you really will become my personal hairdresser, hehe~?"
"Not a chance," Regulus said firmly, his voice steady but without irritation. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if emphasizing his decision. His gaze was calm, but there was a hint of weariness from her constant teasing.
"Alright, alright," Chelsea said, shrugging slightly. "If you say so."
She stretched, as if releasing tension, then stood up, stretching a bit. Her movements were smooth and graceful, as if she were always in motion. She took a couple of steps, then turned to Mirzam, who had been watching them with a slight smirk.
"You know, the ponytails suit you, Chelsea..." Mirzam remarked, her voice slightly mocking but with a touch of sincerity. She tilted her head, as if evaluating Regulus's work. Her dark hair was disheveled, and her eyes showed mild curiosity.
A mischievous smile flashed across Chelsea's face. She turned to Mirzam, her pink eyes sparkling with playful gleam.
"Oh, you liked them that much? You were staring at me for a whole minute," she teased, tilting her head slightly. "You're not as dumb as I thought, hehe~. I thought you were even dumber."
Hearing her jab, Mirzam flushed—whether from anger or embarrassment. Her cheeks turned red, and her eyes flashed with indignation. She clenched her fists and took a step forward, as if about to lunge at Chelsea.
"Go to hell, Chelsea!" she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion.
Without hesitation, Mirzam chased after the redhead, who, in turn, began to run away with a light laugh.
Chelsea moved gracefully, as if playing a game of tag, her ponytails bouncing with each step. She deftly circled the couch, then leaped over a low table, as if it were part of some exciting quest.
Regulus, watching the scene, simply shook his head. His face remained calm, but a slight smile played at the corners of his lips.
Cornias knew that with these two, boredom was never an option.
He picked up the book he had set aside earlier and settled back on the couch, trying to ignore the noise.
"What a team," he muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. "It's like being in a kindergarten."