It had been about a week since the excursion to the ruins. The little girl was now safely at Cynthia and Barth's orphanage—no objections, no questions asked. After everything Trafalgar had done for them, directly or indirectly, neither of them hesitated.

Now, Velkaris was alive with its usual rhythm — glowing runic streetlamps hummed softly, and the faint metallic whisper of magic trains echoed through the air. Trafalgar stepped out of the station, stretching his shoulders as he glanced toward the northern district.

'Hm, the ruins were worth it,' he thought, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. 'That armor alone… a Unique piece, plus a set bonus. Feels like a damn RPG. Except—' his gaze wandered to the crystalline skyline, '—if this is a game, where's the player? Or maybe this really is my world now.'

He shook his head, exhaling sharply. 'Pointless. There's no answer for that.'

The streets of Velkaris were crowded but calm — a blend of races moving as one: humans, dwarves, demons, elves, even a few lycans. Ahead, a commotion caught his attention — a lycan trying to snatch a vendor's pouch. Three guards reacted in sync: a dwarf summoned an earthen wall, a demon conjured chains of flame, and a human cut the escape route with a gleaming blade.

Trafalgar slowed to watch for a second. 'A dwarf, a demon, and a human, all cooperating.'

He resumed walking

By the time he reached Mayla's building, the sun was brushing the rooftops in gold. He had a spare key — she'd made him one after he bought the apartment for her — but he preferred to respect her privacy. He pressed the doorbell instead.

A familiar voice called from inside, "Coming!"

When the door opened, Trafalgar found himself momentarily speechless. Mayla stood there in a beige dress tied at the waist with a black ribbon, a small bow pulling her hair into a neat ponytail.

"Cute," he murmured without thinking.

Mayla blinked — then blushed, a small smile curling at her lips. "I'm glad to see you, Trafalgar."

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. "You've grown again," she said, tilting her head.

"In height? Really?" He lifted his hand and placed it above her head, smirking. "Seems like you're the one who stopped."

Her face disappeared beneath his palm, and before he could react, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips lightly against his.

Trafalgar froze for half a heartbeat, then exhaled with a faint grin. "I'm glad to see you too, Mayla."

"Shall we?" she said, eyes bright. "You promised to cook for me today, remember?"

"I did," Trafalgar replied, stepping aside to let her walk first. "You'll see — I'm not completely hopeless in the kitchen."

Mayla giggled softly, still red. "That's what worries me."

He laughed under his breath as they walked toward the market district together.

The streets of Velkaris stretched open before them, lined with merchant stalls overflowing with glowing fruits, bags of enchanted herbs, and rows of freshly caught riverfish floating midair in stasis charms. The air carried the scent of spice and steam, mingling with the low hum of mana engines that powered the street lamps.

Trafalgar and Mayla walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally until hers slipped quietly into his. It wasn't planned, but neither said anything — it just felt right.

"So," she began softly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, "what exactly are you cooking?"

He smirked. "You'll find out when I don't burn it."

Mayla laughed, shaking her head. "That's not reassuring."

They stopped at a fruit stand first. Trafalgar leaned forward, examining each piece carefully before picking two. "Too soft," he muttered. "And these—too ripe. The sweetness throws off the balance."

Mayla raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you sound like a chef?"

"Since I decided I like living," he replied dryly.

The vendor chuckled under his breath. Mayla covered her mouth to hide her smile. They moved from stall to stall — fish, herbs, vegetables — and with every stop, Trafalgar's surprising precision showed.

But when they paused at a small bakery corner, the laughter faded from her tone. "You haven't said much about the ruins," she said quietly. "How was it… really?"

He hesitated, picking up a small bag of flour before answering. "Complicated."

"Complicated how?" she asked gently.

Trafalgar exhaled, eyes on the horizon. "Things got messy. Some people went too far."

Mayla slowed her pace, searching his expression. "You're not hurt, are you?"

He shook his head. "No. Just tired."

There was a beat of silence before he added, "I had to protect the Morgain name. Someone crossed a line."

Mayla's brows furrowed. "What kind of line?"

His voice dropped. "A Myrrhvale guard was mistreating a child and disrespecting my name."

Her steps stopped entirely. "Myrrhvale?" she whispered, her eyes widening.

Trafalgar looked over his shoulder, calm but firm. "Yeah. It turned into a duel. I ended it."

Mayla's throat tightened. "You… killed him?"

He nodded once. "It had to be done."

The crowd moved around them, oblivious. For a moment, neither spoke. Then he reached for her hand again.

"Hey," he said, voice soft but steady. "I'm fine. No war, no fallout. Everything's handled."

Mayla stared at him for a long moment before finally squeezing his hand back. "You always say that. But somehow, I still end up worrying."

Trafalgar gave a quiet chuckle. "That's part of your job description, isn't it?"

She smiled faintly, relief replacing the tension in her eyes. "Maybe. But you could make it easier on me sometimes."

"I'll try," he said, though both of them knew he wouldn't.

They left the busy market street and turned down a quieter lane that led toward Mayla's apartment. The setting sun filtered through the crystalline towers, casting amber streaks across the cobblestones. The faint scent of fresh bread and roasted spices lingered from the stalls behind them.

Trafalgar carried the bags easily in one hand while Mayla walked beside him, occasionally stealing curious glances at the ingredients. "You're being suspiciously quiet," she said.

He smirked. "Strategic silence. I don't want you guessing what I'm making."

Mayla tilted her head, mock offended. "I think I have the right to know what's going into my dinner."

"You'll live," he said, smiling faintly. "I want it to be a surprise."

They reached the building entrance; he held the door open for her, and they began the short walk up the spiral stairs to her apartment.

"So," she said, breaking the comfortable silence, "this recipe of yours — where did you learn it?"

"From the academy," Trafalgar replied smoothly.

Mayla blinked, surprised. "The academy has cooking classes?"

"It's an elective. Helps with focus, supposedly."

"Supposedly," she echoed with a small laugh. "You, in a cooking class? I can't picture it."

"That's the point," he said. "Nobody can."

He wasn't lying entirely — the recipe was something he'd learned before, just not in this world. It was from his working days back on Earth — a simple dish, but one that always carried warmth with it. Something human, grounding.

He could almost see the faint memory in his mind — stainless steel counters, friends chatting around a stove, the smell of garlic and herbs. It felt distant now, like a dream he wasn't supposed to remember.

'Let's see if it tastes as good here,' he thought.

Inside the apartment, Mayla set the table while he unpacked the bags onto the counter. She hovered nearby, watching with obvious curiosity. "You're sure you don't need help?"

"I've got it handled," he said. "Just… trust me."

She folded her arms but smiled. "Fine. But if the kitchen explodes, you're cleaning it."

"Deal."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. 'A dinner from Earth…'

The apartment filled with the soft rhythm of metal and flame — the gentle sizzle of oil heating in the pan, the aroma of garlic and vegetables rising like a promise. Mayla leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching as Trafalgar moved with quiet precision.

He'd tied his hair loosely back, sleeves rolled up. When he lifted the pan handle, the light caught something along his forearm — faint black lines that twisted like inked veins, forming a sigil that pulsed softly for a heartbeat before fading.

Mayla frowned slightly, stepping closer. "That tatto… is different?"

Trafalgar glanced at her over his shoulder, then back at the pan. "Yes…"

"Is it dangerous?" she asked, worry slipping into her tone.

He shook his head, stirring the ingredients with deliberate care. "No. Just complicated." Then, with a small, calm smile: "I'll tell you during dinner, alright?"

Mayla hesitated but nodded. "Alright."

He returned his focus to the dish — adding the diced meat and vegetables one by one, letting them brown perfectly before mixing in rice and broth. The air filled with the rich scent of saffron, pepper, and roasted flavor.

"That smells incredible," Mayla said softly, the tension in her voice melting away. "What is it?"

He smirked. "Trade secret. You'll know soon enough."

She crossed her arms, pretending to pout. "You're enjoying this."

"Maybe," he admitted.

The mixture shimmered golden under the heat, steam rising like threads of sunlight. Trafalgar worked methodically — no magic, no shortcuts, just skill and patience. Watching him, Mayla felt a strange calm settle over her. 'He looks… human again,' she thought. 'No weight, no titles. Just Trafalgar.'

After a few minutes, he lowered the flame and stepped back, wiping his hands on a towel. "Almost done," he said. "The secret is to let it rest."

"So… the secret is waiting?"

"Exactly."

Mayla laughed softly. "You're full of surprises today."

He shrugged, setting down the pan as the golden rice glowed faintly in the lamplight. "Paella," he finally said. "Learned it in the academy, is pretty good."

Mayla repeated the word carefully. "Paella… it sounds foreign."

"Maybe it is," Trafalgar said with a faint grin. "But I thought you'd like it."

He set two plates on the counter, the scent of saffron and roasted meat filling the room.

Mayla's smile softened. "I already do."

Trafalgar looked at the dish — the steam rising like gold ribbons.

He pulled out her chair and gestured lightly. "Let's eat."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.