Show Me Your Stats!

The singing was utterly chaotic—off-key, off-rhythm, with botched lyrics and sloppy instrumentals. It wasn’t even worth the two mana stones Ayra had given out of sympathy.

"Is that so?"

The indifferent response came from the other person, who stretched out their long, folded legs with a yawn before casually tossing aside the instrument they had been holding. Startled, Ayra instinctively picked up the instrument that had rolled to her feet.

"You shouldn’t treat an instrument so roughly!"

"It’s not even mine."

"If it belongs to someone else, shouldn’t you take even better care of it?"

Ayra scolded, then, out of habit, summoned the other person’s stat window.

<Janus Rehzedt>

HP: ???

MP: ???

Physical Attack: ???

Magic Attack: ???

Favorability: ???♡

Rehzedt? As in the Rehzedt—the massive, treacherous mountain range in the East? A surname named after a mountain range? What an odd thing, Ayra mused.

Just then, she felt an intense gaze on her. When she hurriedly looked away from the stat window, she found crimson eyes staring at her sharply before they slowly lowered. His gaze shifted down to the worn-out shoes resting on his thick thighs, which he absentmindedly wiggled, and then, out of nowhere, he asked:

"Is there something wrong with your feet?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I’ve been watching for days. You keep tripping over the same rock."

Ayra, caught off guard by the realization that someone had been observing her stumbling all this time, cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I was just... a little distracted. But why have you been sitting here for days?"

She wondered if it had to do with how unwelcoming this land was toward outsiders. As she spoke, she slowly sat down beside him—her legs ached from all the walking she had done today. Determined to talk to as many of her estate’s people as possible, she automatically introduced herself.

"Call me Ayra."

"Janus."

The way this man looked at someone sitting beside him was peculiar. He didn’t turn his head—only his vivid red eyes rolled sideways to glance at her before he grinned slyly. He seemed about the same age as her, with sharp facial features and a clean-shaven jawline. Not a hint of stubble. @@novelbin@@

But instead of answering why he’d been loitering here for days, he simply fired off a question of his own.

"Never seen your face before. You’re not from around here, are you? That getup, your accent—you sound Southern."

"Well, I am more familiar with the speech from other regions. But you must be from here. You don’t even seem to feel the cold..."

Ayra’s gaze drifted to his exposed skin. He definitely didn’t look like a minstrel. The way his muscular forearms peeked from under his linen sleeves suggested otherwise. Sitting this close, she realized he was bigger than her, with a well-groomed face that hardly fit the image of a vagabond. And now that she was paying attention, she noticed a sword strapped to his waist. It was so worn that the scabbard had split apart, revealing the chipped blade inside.

"I’ve lived here for about ten years."

So he was just an outsider who had adjusted to the cold. Come to think of it, she had never heard an outsider’s perspective on this land before. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"Then, why don’t you show me a good place to eat around here? I’ll buy us a meal in return."

"Sounds good."

Ayra had expected him to continue sitting around for days, but surprisingly, Janus dusted himself off and stood up without hesitation. Now that he was on his feet, he was even taller than she had initially thought. Everything about his appearance screamed foreigner.

Yet, as they walked, it became clear that he was well-known in the area. From time to time, people called out to him, greeting him by name, and Janus responded with a grin and a casual nod. Ayra found it fascinating how he seemed to remember every single person he encountered.

"Here we are."

Janus led her to a small tavern tucked away in a shabby alley. In front of it, a steaming pot billowed fragrant clouds into the air, carrying the delicious aroma of something being cooked. A burly man, sweating as he stoked the fire, turned to them with a warm smile.

"Been a while, Janus."

"Yeah, Wolf. Give us two of each. And two bottles of liquor."

"Got it, coming right up."

Janus ordered with familiarity before pushing open the tavern door. The inside was bustling, packed with people, but fortunately, the rush had died down enough that a single table was still open.

Not long after they sat down, the food arrived.

Every dish was a type of large, steamed bun. One was drenched in a golden broth, with a crimson flower—the symbol of Morunka Church—floating on top. Another sat in a thick red sauce alongside mashed potatoes. The last one was served dry on a plain plate, without any broth at all.

Ayra cautiously took a spoonful of the broth.

The next thing she knew, she had finished an entire bun in what felt like an instant.

When she looked up, Janus was already on his third plate, so she ordered another round of food for them both.

"So, why are you here? Trying to make money?"

Feeling full, Ayra pushed her untouched bottle of liquor toward Janus and leisurely sipped at the rich broth before asking.

"I'm here to find a lover."

"You’ve been looking for a lover here for ten years?"

Ayra looked at Janus again. With a face and body like that, surely even if he were a penniless, talentless, vagabond minstrel, finding a lover wouldn't be that difficult?

Janus' face was almost too well-made, as if someone had sculpted it with precision. His crimson eyes, instead of being unsettling, gleamed like high-quality rubies, and his straight nose was impeccably defined. His sharp eyes had a fierce quality, but when he smiled, it only enhanced his charm. With looks like that, it was no wonder Ayra had remembered him after passing by the plaza a few times—and now, she was even buying him a meal.

"I’ve dated a few, but none of them were quite right."

He counted on his fingers—one, two... The number exceeded ten. Apparently, his standards were sky-high. Well, I suppose someone that handsome is allowed to be picky, Ayra mused, sipping the flavorful broth.

"Anyway, I’ve been getting a little tired of it lately, so I was thinking of wrapping things up and leaving. But I’d really miss the broth buns from this place."

Ayra nodded in agreement. It was just meat buns soaked in a well-brewed broth, but the warmth seeped into her bones, filling her with a deep, satisfying comfort.

"How is this estate for an outsider to live in?"

She finally steered the conversation to her real question. Janus, who had been drinking straight from the bottle, answered nonchalantly. After setting the bottle down, he rested his chin on his hand and stared at her intently. Maybe it was because of his eye color, but even just looking made his gaze incredibly striking. How could eyes be that beautiful? An irrational sense of possessiveness stirred in her, but she forcibly reminded herself: He's a person. A person. She suppressed the feeling.

"Not great. Boring. Nothing much to do. The only things around are alcohol, pickled fish, pickled meat. Snowy mountains, rocky mountains, dirt mountains... If it were me, I’d go live in Sobletz or Bolnie."

Sobletz and Bolnie were territories neighboring Solar Estate. As its future lord, Ayra didn't find his answer particularly encouraging. In short, it sounded like the estate had no defining features or resources.

"Well... there must be at least one good thing about it, right?"

"The cold?"

Judging from his clothing, he probably couldn’t tolerate heat very well. That wasn’t exactly a good thing. Just as Ayra was about to sigh, Janus suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Oh, one more. This place’s food."

Ayra's faint hope immediately deflated. Even though she was full, she picked up her spoon again, intending to enjoy another piece of the warm bun. Just then, Janus grinned playfully and asked:

"That aside... Ayra, are you a mage?"

At those words, the piece of bun she had been swallowing lodged itself in her throat. She barely managed to gulp it down before rasping:

"...What makes you say that all of a sudden?"

"This."

Janus tapped her hand lightly with a finger. When she looked down, she saw Pebble peeking out from the base of her index finger, curiously glancing around before scurrying back up her wrist in a hurry. Before Ayra could react, Janus casually grabbed her hand and rolled up her sleeve, making her flinch. His hand was shockingly warm.

"This little thing runs away."

His fingers pressed down on her forearm, leaving two lingering spots of heat on her skin. Then, like tiny legs, his fingers "walked" up her arm, chasing Pebble. Startled, Pebble scurried back to her hand, flustered and cornered. When Janus finally caught up and pressed his fingertip against it, the tiny spirit let out a helpless little poof, forming a small heart in protest.

Janus tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing with curiosity. Then, a quick, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Are you flirting with me right now?"

"What?! No!"

Still dazed, Ayra took a moment to register his words before panicking, hastily pulling her arm away. Her heart pounded—not from embarrassment, but from sheer surprise. Ever since she had left the estate as a child, she hadn’t experienced such abrupt physical contact.

"Hey."

She shot him a glare, reprimanding him for touching her without permission, but Janus only smiled, the corners of his red eyes crinkling with amusement. His grin was sharp and roguish, the perfect blend of playfulness and charm.

"Sorry. I’ve just never seen a moving tattoo before."

Ayra quickly pushed Pebble back under her sleeve, smoothing down the fabric. Janus’ gaze lingered for a moment on her pale skin before he finally looked away. Then, he asked again.

"So... are you a mage?"