Vesphyr tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely weighing the idea instead of immediately dismissing it like any sane person would. "...It makes it acceptable."

Sykelion opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Then stopped, as if his brain had finally decided this conversation was not worth the effort anymore.

"...You know what?" he muttered, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I’m not dealing with this today. Fine. Let’s just—" he pointed accusingly at Vesphyr like a man on the verge of filing a complaint to the heavens, "—pay her and let her go before we end up in prison."

Vesphyr didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his gaze dropped to the woman in his arms, still fast asleep, completely unaware that her current situation involved kidnapping, financial negotiations, and now... potential life decisions being made on her behalf.

"What if I keep her by my side instead?"

"Absolutely not!" Sykelion fired back instantly, no hesitation, no room for discussion, no patience left in his soul.

"She can... magically disappear my Hysteria."

"No."

"She absolutely loves money. I’ll keep her in the estate and pay her."

"Please don’t," Sykelion sighed, dragging a hand down his face like he had aged ten years in the last minute alone. "You don’t even know if she has a family to go home to."

There was a brief pause.

"Then I’ll marry her. That way her family won’t be worried."

Sykelion went completely still. "...I’m sorry," he said slowly, "you’ll do what?"

"This solves multiple issues," Vesphyr continued calmly, like he was discussing estate management and not proposing marriage to a stranger currently unconscious in his arms.

Sykelion stared at him in pure disbelief.

This was it.

This was the moment.

The exact moment the Duke officially lost all remaining traces of reason.

"What if she’s already married?!" Sykelion demanded, clinging desperately to logic like it was his last lifeline.

Vesphyr merely raised a brow, completely unbothered, as he reached up and gently brushed a few stray strands of hair away from the woman’s face.

"Then I’ll find a way for her to divorce him and marry me instead," he said, tone thoughtful, as if this were a minor scheduling inconvenience. "She loves money. I am rich. I can give her everything. Perhaps her poor husband cannot."

Sykelion grabbed his own hair. "THAT IS NOT THE POINT!"

Vesphyr glanced at him, mildly confused, like he was the one being unreasonable here.

"What if she actually loves her husband?!" Sykelion pressed, desperation leaking into his voice. "What if she doesn’t want to divorce him?!"

Vesphyr looked at him for a long second then spoke, as if reminding him of something painfully obvious. "Polyandry and polygamy are widely accepted."

Sykelion froze.

His soul left his body.

Then slowly returned—just in time for him to give up entirely.

"...I have failed as an aide," he whispered to himself, staring blankly into the distance. "This is my fault. I should have never brought you here. I should have locked you in the estate. None of this would be happening."

Meanwhile, Vesphyr remained dangerously calm.

"Sykelion..." he said quietly.

Something in his tone made Sykelion look up.

"You already know about the legend," Vesphyr continued.

Sykelion stilled.

Ah.

That.

Of course.

The one thing no one talked about anymore.

There were originally two ways to stop Hysteria.

The first—common, widely used, and ultimately unreliable—was the energy stone. Temporary relief. A fragile solution, as proven by the one currently cracking in Vesphyr’s possession.

And the second was forgotten, almost treated like a fairy tale.

Finding one’s true mate.

The only permanent cure.

The problem was—almost no one ever found theirs.

So people stopped believing, stopped hoping, and even stopped trying.

Sykelion swallowed, his gaze drifting back to the sleeping woman in Vesphyr’s arms like she was the center of a problem he absolutely did not sign up to solve.

"...You cannot be serious," he said quietly.

Vesphyr didn’t answer.

Sykelion exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face before straightening like a man about to negotiate with fate itself.

"How about this..." he began, choosing his words carefully, cautiously—like one wrong sentence might cost him his job, his dignity, and possibly his life. "We let her go—"

He froze because Vesphyr looked at him.

The kind of look that made people reconsider their existence.

"—temporarily!" he corrected immediately, nearly tripping over his own words. "I mean temporarily! You don’t even know her name!" he added, voice rising slightly in panic. "So what I’m saying is—if you’re truly mated, then let fate lead her back to you, Duke," he finished, now sounding less like an aide and more like a man begging the universe for mercy.

There was a long pause.

"Fine."

Sykelion nearly collapsed in relief.

Vesphyr stood, movements careful—gentle, even—as he carried the sleeping woman over to the nearby couch. He adjusted her position with surprising precision, making sure she was comfortable, like this wasn’t the same person who had, not long ago, kidnapped her behind a curtain.

"Give me my OmniSync."

Sykelion immediately handed it over, not daring to question anything while the Duke was in this... state.

Vesphyr typed something quickly, his expression unreadable, before reaching for the woman’s OmniSync and tapping the two devices together. A soft sync chime followed.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he pulled out a sleek business card and placed it neatly on the table beside her.

He paused just for a second but long enough to give her one last look then he turned and walked out.

Sykelion didn’t follow right away.

Instead, he stared at the card.

"...I’m sorry," he muttered under his breath, quickly slipping the card into his pocket like a man committing a small but very necessary crime. "But I need to do this."

If fate really existed—

If that ridiculous myth actually held any truth—

then they would meet again.

Right?

Right.

With that fragile reassurance, he hurried out and closed the curtain behind him.

Only to nearly die on the spot when he saw Vesphyr standing there, staring at him.

Serious.

Suspiciously serious.

"I-Is something wrong, Duke?" Sykelion asked, his voice betraying him. ’Did he find out? Is this the end? Am I about to be buried in an unmarked grave?’

"Pay the items the lady bought in this boutique too," Vesphyr said calmly before walking off like he hadn’t just shaved ten years off Sykelion’s lifespan.

"...."

Sykelion stood there in silence, slowly looked back at the curtain, at his wallet, then back at the curtain.

"...The lady really is smart when it comes to asking for money," he muttered.

Because somehow, even while unconscious, she was still winning.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I woke up to the sound of my name being called like I had a scheduled appointment with reality that I completely forgot about.

"Miss Blanca? Where did she go?" Bubbles’ voice rang out, confused and slightly panicked.

"She was just lounging here," Buttercup added.

"But I didn’t even notice her going out," Blossom said, sounding personally offended by the lapse in observation.

I blinked, still half-asleep, my brain slowly rebooting as I sat up.

Instead of answering them like a normal person, the first thing I did was look around.

Left.

Right.

Forward.

Backward.

Curtains.

Couch.

No suspiciously handsome man with nine tails.

I sat up straighter.

Hold on.

Where.

Is.

My.

Money.

My eyes widened as a horrifying realization hit me like a brick to the face.

"...No way," I muttered under my breath. "There’s no way."

Is that man—

a scammer?

Did I just get emotionally, physically, and financially manipulated by a handsome, noble-looking man with a face that clearly had no right being that trustworthy?

I stared into the void for a solid three seconds.

"...WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"

I was just about to release a scream that would shake the entire boutique and possibly summon security, management, and divine intervention when—

Blink.

My OmniSync lit up as I paused mid-rage and checked it.

It was a notification.

"...Huh?" I blinked, blinked again, then squinted like the numbers might rearrange themselves if I stared hard enough.

[+500,000 IC received]

...

..

.

My brain refused to process it.

"...Five hundred thousand?" I whispered, like saying it out loud would make it disappear.

I checked again.

[+500,000 IC received]

"...So he wasn’t a scammer."

Another pause.

"...He was a walking bank."

My eyes widened so much I was pretty sure I looked possessed. "...I got paid extra for emotional damage," I muttered, deeply moved.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

The kidnapping?

Forgiven.

The weird sniffing?

Debatable.

The whole "turning me into a stress-relief plushie"?

...Financially acceptable.

Just then, the curtain in front of me opened, revealing Laurel, elegant as ever and completely unaware that I had just gone through a full emotional rollercoaster involving betrayal, revenge, and financial recovery.

"Huh? Miss Blanca?" she said, clearly surprised. "I thought I—" she glanced at the lounge where she had apparently left me before looking back at me. "It seems I was mistaken. Anyways, your items are ready. Would you like to take a look first?"

I nodded immediately.

She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Bubbles, Buttercup, and Blossom appeared in front of me, each carrying a tray with the kind of professionalism that suggested they had definitely not been panicking earlier.

I reached for one of the items, running my fingers over the fabric and immediately froze.

The texture.

The quality.

The craftsmanship.

"This is perfect," I said, genuinely impressed.