Lyra barely has time to breathe when she steps inside Cherry's base before trouble comes hurtling toward her.
Two figures dart out from the shadows of the hallway—swift, synchronized, and undeniably mischievous.
"Lyraaa~"
"Oh youngest one~"
Theresa and Claire
What are they up to now?
Lyra thinks as she confronts the twins. Lyra only has half a second to react before they lunge at her from both sides. With a sharp pivot, she ducks under Theresa's attempted shoulder grab, sidesteps Claire's arm hook, and spins out of their reach, landing a few steps away with a smirk of victory.
The twins recover quickly, not discouraged in the slightest. In fact, their grin widen as they circle her again.
"Ohh, you're fast tonight!" Claire exclaims.
"But we'll definitely get you next time," Theresa adds.
Lyra exhales, already feeling a headache creep in. "And why, exactly, are you two behaving like overly excited hounds?"
The twins share a glance, and then, in perfect unison, they grin.
"We saw you~"
"Dining with Edric~"
Lyra stills for half a second, but that is all they need to confirm their suspicions.
Theresa claps her hands together. "So, so—how was it? Did he wine and dine you like a proper gentleman?"
Claire leans forward, eyes alight with mischief. "Or was he all serious and brooding? Or, perhaps cold and indifferent to everything else but you?~"
Lyra rolls her eyes. "You two are insufferable."
"You like that we're insufferable," Claire counters smoothly.
"Anyway~" Theresa drags the word out. "Details. Spill."
"There's nothing to spill," Lyra declares flatly. "It was just dinner."
"Ohhh, but he invited you to dinner. That means something, doesn't it, sister?"
Claire nods sagely. "It does mean something."
Lyra sighs. If she stays here a moment longer, they'll drag this out until sunrise.
Using the briefest opening in their stance, she darts forward, faking a movement to the left before expertly twisting past them on the right. The twins arch their eyebrows in surprise, but before they can give chase, Lyra is already halfway down the hall, calling over her shoulder—
"I'm tired, and I have a report to send! Go bother someone else!"
She hears their groans of protest but doesn't slow down until she reaches the quiet solitude of her room. Only then does she allow herself to relax.
She sits at her desk, pulls up her digital terminal, and quickly types up her report:
Mission Update:
Successfully negotiated with the mafia using the notebook.
We gained significant leverage and secured our safety during the talks.
Attempted ambush on our way back—neutralized before it escalated.
Will provide a full face-to-face report in the morning.
– Lyra
She sends the message off to Madam Cherry's secure line, then leans back in her chair, rubbing her temples.
Tomorrow, she'll have to deal with Madam Cherry's inquiry, but for now, she rest.
And hopefully, the twins will find someone else to pester.
****
Edric is alone in his office, momentarily in a daze as he looks down on the street. He's been staring at the streets since he arrived at his office, unmoving. He remembers Lyra's smile at him and then…at the other man.
Edric has never been one to dwell on emotions. Feelings are things to be acknowledged and set aside—processed with calculated detachment and never allowed to interfere.
And yet, as he has watched Lyra—just a few steps away, already beyond his reach—accept the piece of paper from that charming man with an amused smile, something twists inside him.
He clenches his jaw.
It isn't anger. It isn't jealousy. Not exactly.
It is a sharp, unfamiliar bitterness—something deeply unpleasant that settles at the pit of his stomach like an ill-placed blow.
Lyra's reaction is vastly different than he expected.
Edric has seen her sharp, focused eyes, her smooth and precise movements, and her indifferent but vigilant composure. Her sweet and blissful smile while eating sweets. He is simply mesmerized by her every time they meet.
And yet he sees the way she has smiled just then—not her usual smirks of amusement or knowing grins when she outmaneuvered someone, but a different kind of smile, one edged with intrigue—and it irritates him more than it should have.
He exhales sharply, as he tears his gaze away from the view outside his window. Dwelling on this is useless.
Yet the memory lingers like a gum stuck on one's pocket.
Edric is back at his desk, he forces himself into routine. Remove the coat, set the weapons aside, check for messages. Then, as always, the final step—he reports to the council of elites.
Perhaps I should send a message to Aunt Cherry, after all, she sent Lyra to assist me.
After sending a detailed report and proposals to the council of elite, Edric then sends a report to his aunt.
He sits at his terminal, fingers flying over the keys with his usual precision, detailing the mission's outcome, the leverage they secured against the mafia, the attempted ambush, and Lyra's swift response.
Successfully cornered the mafia into an advantageous agreement.
Ambush was anticipated—Lyra handled it efficiently before further engagement was needed.
No casualties, full control of the situation.
Upon return, Lyra was approached by a potential romantic prospect—
He freezes.
His fingers stills over the keyboard, and his breath caught in his throat.
What the hell is that?
He blinks, rereading the line he has typed out in a moment of distracted frustration.
A second pass before he immediately deletes it, clearing the words before they can be sent.
He inhales slowly, regaining his composure, and rewrote the final line properly.
Successfully cornered the mafia into an advantageous agreement.
Ambush was anticipated—Lyra handled it efficiently before further engagement was needed.
No casualties, full control of the situation.
Satisfied, he sends the message.
Then, a second later, his screen blinks with an incoming message from Cherry.
He frowns, his aunt replying so fast means there's something…
His stomach sinks.
He hesitates before opening it.
For someone as meticulous as you, a mistake of sending a draft and then an edited one seems out of character.
Shaken much,Edric?
He stiffens.
His aunt's message is short but terrifying since it exposes his mortifying slip-up…
And even through a mere message, the underlying amusement is evident. She hasn't outright confronted him, hasn't even named what she is implying, but the weight of her words hits him harder than any direct accusation.
Edric sighs, shuts his eyes briefly before rubbing his temple.
He has walked into that one. And worse, he has an inkling that his Aunt Cherry would never let him live it down.
His only comfort is that she hasn't chosen to elaborate.
Yet.
****
Cherry sits at her desk, a steaming cup of black tea beside her, its rich aroma curling through the air.
She taps her fingers idly against the armrest of her chair as she skims through the reports that have just come in—one from Lyra, the other from Edric.
She reads Lyra's first.
As expected, it is precise and to the point, yet detailed where it matters.
Mission Success.
Negotiation went as planned—Edric applied appropriate pressure on the mafia without overextending.
Ambush attempt neutralized before engagement escalated. No major injuries sustained.
Returning safely. No loose ends left behind.
Will report in person in the morning.
Cherry hums approvingly.
Efficient as always.
But there is something almost too measured about it—especially in how she frames Edric's role. No unnecessary praise, but no criticism either. A balance Lyra typically doesn't bother with.
That is interesting.
She sets Lyra's report aside and opens Edric's next.
Her sharp eyes flick across the screen, noting his usual precise structure—until she reaches the very last section.
Then she receives another report from Edric; this one doesn't have the very last section from his previous message.
A smirk slowly curves her lips.
So her nephew has a slip-up huh?
Now, as she compares their reports side by side, her amusement only grows.
Lyra is deliberately neutral. Edric is meticulously composed—except for that one fleeting mistake he made.
And mistakes, no matter how minor, meant something.
After a long while, Edric deletes his first report immediately after she sends a message hinting at his slip-up.
Cherry's smirk turns to a wide grin as she then sends a follow-up message to her nephew. The urge to tease her nephew is irresistible.
Cherry leans back, swirling her tea thoughtfully before tapping out a message.
Lyra's report was clean. Precise. Controlled.
You, on the other hand…
She pauses deliberately before adding:
Not as composed as you like to believe, are you, dear nephew?
She sends the message and barely has to wait a moment before a new one blinks onto her screen
.…Is there a point to this, Aunt Cherry?
Cherry grins. Oh, he is trying so hard to sound unaffected.
She types back.
Of course. I just think it's fascinating how well you handle high-stakes negotiations, deadly ambushes, and hostile organizations…
And yet, one little dinner with Lyra and you're slipping up in your reports?
Silence.
Cherry almost chuckles out loud.
She doesn't push further—she doesn't need to.
The seed is planted, and Edric, for all his intelligence, won't be able to stop himself from overanalyzing it.
Satisfied, Cherry sips her tea, eyes gleaming with mischief.
This is getting interesting.
*****
Edric sits in his office, the dim glow of his tablet casting a faint light over the room. His fingers hover over his keyboard, finishing the final touches on a security analysis report.
His mind has been unusually light ever since his dinner with Lyra, and yet the slight irritation still lingers. And well, his aunt's message did shake his composure for a bit.
As he is preparing to have a quick break from his work, his personal communicator blinks.
A message.
Lyra:Thank you for the dinner. I had a great time.
Edric blinks. Once. Twice.
For a moment, he simply stares at the message, re-reading it as if his mind is playing tricks on him. It is unlike Lyra to send something like this. Isn't it?
So far, from his observation and interaction with Lyra, Edric has sensed that Lyra is quite indifferent to him and that she doesn't speak unnecessary words. Nor adds personal touches.
Yet, here's a personal message from her.
A slow, unbidden smile creeps onto his lips. That bitter feeling from earlier, the one that has weighed on him when he saw her accept another man's number, evaporates entirely.
Edric:The pleasure was mine, truly.
He sends the message before he can overthink it.
To his surprise, she responds almost immediately.
Lyra:The place your subordinate picked was cozy. I didn't expect that from you.
Edric:I'll be sure to tell him you approve. Should I assume this means you'll trust my dinner choices from now on?
Lyra:Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Edric chuckles. The messages continues, small exchanges about the food, the ambiance, and even trivial things—like how she doesn't expect to enjoy the peach-strawberry cobbler so much. It is light, effortless, yet entirely uncharacteristic of the usual back-and-forth they had.
Then, abruptly—
Lyra:…Um ah, well, good night!
Edric stares at the message.
It is sudden. Short. Almost too sudden.
A realization strikes him, and his grin widens.
She is embarrassed.
He can practically picture her, realizing she is acting differently than usual, flustering at her own behavior and deciding to cut it off before it got worse.
Instead of replying, he lets her escape for now, merely setting his communicator aside in a far better mood than he has been in days.
The door to his office opens. One of his subordinates enters, a stack of reports in hand.
"Sir, I have the intel from—"
The man pauses, studying Edric for a moment. "You seem… pleased."
Edric barely glances up. "Do I?"
The subordinate raises an eyebrow. "Did negotiations go that well?"
Edric simply smirks and takes the reports.
"No," he muses, flipping through the files. "Better."
****
Lyra lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refuses to come.
She is restless, but she should get some sleep. The day has been grueling, filled with tension and danger. The negotiations with the mafia could have gone south at any moment, yet Edric handled it with a precision that left no room for error.
He maneuvered through the conversation with ease, pressing them without fear, unraveling their defenses thread by thread.
And she?
She has done her part, but in the grand scheme of things, she hasn't been the one leading. She is trained in combat, survival, and direct confrontation. But this? The battlefield of words, hidden threats, and power plays—it seems to be his domain.
Lyra realizes that she doesn't have the skill to navigate through that kind of battlefield field and it scares her a bit. Seeing how Edric has the skills, the knowledge, and the presence to command a room full of cutthroats without breaking a sweat makes Lyra admire him.
Lyra smiles as she remembers that the prince of combat suddenly asks her to dine with him.
She finds the invitation unusual but not unpleasant to her surprise.
The memory of the warm restaurant, the quiet but genuine conversations, the way the weight of the day seems to melt away over good food—it feels oddly… grounding.
Lyra sighs, turning onto her side. The room is silent, but her thoughts are loud. Before she can second-guess herself, she reaches for her communicator.
Her fingers hesitate over the screen. She has never sent messages like this. She never needed to.
And yet—
She presses send before she can regret it.
The seconds stretch unbearably long.
Then, the device blinks.
Lyra:Thank you for dinner.
Edric: The pleasure was mine, truly.
Lyra:The place your subordinate picked was cozy. I didn't expect that from you.
Edric:I'll be sure to tell him you approve. Should I assume this means you'll trust my dinner choices from now on?
Lyra:Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Lyra: Besides, it's just because I couldn't sleep, so I ended up thinking about it. I appreciate it.
Edric:Couldn't sleep? Was it the cobbler?
Lyra lets out a quiet laugh, while shaking her head.
Lyra:No, the cobbler was perfect.
Edric:Then what is it?
She hesitates. How can she put it into words?
That she has been thinking about how capable he is?
That she feels like she isn't contributing enough?
That she isn't used to being the one who followed rather than led?
She settles for something simple.
Lyra:Just had a lot on my mind. The negotiations. The dinner.
Edric:I see. And which one is keeping you up more?
She hesitates again.
Lyra:…Both.
A pause. Then, his reply comes through.
Edric:I'll take that as a compliment.
She rolls her eyes but smiles slightly.
Lyra:Why of course, that was my intention all along.
Edric:Are you sure? It sounds to me that you wanted to praise me more for being such a gentleman. And as a gentleman, I should also compliment how the peach cobbler is so amazing that it brought out the most amazing smile from a beautiful lady like you.
Lyra, unused to such flattery, blushes while momentarily speechless from Edric's reply.
Lyra: You sure have a way with words, as expected from a prince.
Edric: A prince? Why, I prefer that you think of it more like a gentleman trying to sway a beautiful, majestic lady warrior to let him stay by her side.
Lyra: Oh I get, it seems that I'm a practice dummy. A practice target before heading out to confront a master huh, someone like Madam Cherry perhaps?
Lyra is trying her best to divert the conversation away from any more flattery. She feels her cheeks are warm to the touch from blushing too much.
Edric: Surely you jest? Don't you think you fit the description of such a fine lady more?
Lyra: …Um ah, well, good night!
Lyra shuts her eyes as soon as she sends her reply, immediately turning off her communicator, afraid of receiving a reply.
What did I just do? Why did I even message him? What's wrong with me?
Her face still flustered, but her eyes tightly closed, she lays in her bed, restless.