Geralt dropped to his knees at once, his knees hitting the ground in pure desperation.

"Y-Young Master! Please forgive me!" His eyes grew watery again, just like that time when he was ready to put his backside at risk. "I'm just a big-mouthed fool! I never meant to—"

Anya reflexively covered her mouth with both hands.

"Ah!" Her eyes went wide. "Oh no… Father said I'm not allowed to tell anyone about this…!"

She slowly fell to her knees as well, like a knight admitting she could no longer continue the battle.

Silvara let out a long breath.

Slow. Heavy.

In her mind, one name surfaced uninvited—

Lucian Voss.

As usual, that rotten reputation…

was dragging more trouble toward Lucas.

Healer Mae moved as well.

She knelt down on one knee.

"Please forgive the stupidity of these two commoners, Young Master." Her posture was rigid and formal.

"If necessary… I am willing to accept any punishment—"

"Stop."

"Huh?" Mae froze.

Lucas raised one hand.

Enough.

He let out a breath.

Flat and tired.

"It's fine." He crossed his arms.

"There's no need for drama." He shook his head.

Mae fell silent.

Geralt stiffened.

Lucas continued.

"Just make the potion." He gestured toward Mae.

"Properly."

Silence.

For a moment.

Then Mae bowed even lower.

"…Understood, Young Master."

---

Lucas let out a quiet breath.

Still panting.

Still feeling a heavy pressure in his chest.

"Mae," he said shortly.

"Stand up."

Lucas glanced at her briefly.

"Just go. You might still have other matters to attend to… or someone sick who needs you."

His tone was flat.

Not gentle.

Not harsh.

Just cold enough to be misunderstood.

Mae was startled.

"E-Eh…?"

She stood up hesitantly.

"B-But the—"

"I don't like drama," Lucas cut in.

He looked straight ahead.

As if on purpose.

Then said coolly—

"…And honestly, I still don't like your face."

Mae froze.

"…"

"Because you accused me before."

Lucas's voice was low.

Controlled.

As if he truly meant to wound.

In that instant, Mae's face went pale.

She nodded quickly.

"My apologies. Young Master. I'll take my leave…"

Without daring to say anything else, she turned away.

Her steps were quick.

Her hands trembled as she clutched her bag.

She didn't look back.

And within seconds—

Healer Mae's silhouette vanished from the sight of the beautiful tomatoes on the field.

---

Mae walked briskly along the dirt path toward her clinic.

Her steps were steady, but her thoughts were in complete disarray.

Why would Geralt say something like that to Anya?

She exhaled quietly.

Was it because the Young Master paid him well?

Or… very well?

Well enough that an old man like him would willingly endure bad manners, cold stares, and harsh words?

Mae lowered her gaze.

"Bad manners?" she muttered, frowning slightly.

Then she slowed to a stop.

…Or could it be—

"Is the Young Master trying to change?"

The thought felt strange.

Illogical.

But… not entirely impossible.

Mae hesitated.

Her lips pursed slightly without her noticing.

Could it be—

She let out a small snort.

Because of love?

Impossible.

She shook her head quickly, as if rejecting a shameful idea.

"I must've read too many romance tales this week," she whispered, trying to force the thought away.

But then she remembered—

The way he spoke.

His stiff expression.

His rudeness that felt… strangely deliberate.

But if that's the case…

Who is the woman?

Her steps slowed.

Tick…

Tick…

Moments passed as her thoughts snapped together with one significant detail.

Silvara, she thought.

Earlier…

She wasn't shocked.

Not surprised.

Not reacting like someone hearing a major revelation.

"Silvara wasn't startled by the Young Master's attitude…" Mae murmured, touching her chin.

"She only sighed. She didn't even look worried that the Young Master might mistreat Sir Geralt or Anya."

Mae stopped walking.

Her brows lowered.

What…?

Her heartbeat quickened.

Suddenly, one memory surged up.

About a potion.

About a certain dangerous substance that could boost sexual desires—

The moment in the cave, when Silvara firmly stated that they only did it because both of them were affected by the poison, flashed through her mind.

"Oh my...." Her eyes widened.

Mae swallowed hard.

"Oh Saints…"

She closed her eyes briefly.

If the path of love opened because of that…

If those feelings were real enough to bring change…

She slowly opened her eyes, staring at the road ahead.

"If that allows even a glimmer of goodness to grow in his darkened heart…"

"…then may those feelings be strengthened."

And without realizing it, her lips trembled softly in prayer:

"For the silver-haired knight, beautiful and fair."

A prayer born with genuine sincerity.

---

Moments before that prayer could truly be spoken—

Back at the tomato field.

Lucas had already bent his knees.

Ready to run again.

Anya and Geralt were still standing stiffly.

Their faces frozen with embarrassment.

Like two statues placed in the wrong place.

Lucas lifted one foot—

"Stop."

Silvara caught his arm.

Lucas turned to her.

"You're going to run again?" Silvara asked.

Lucas nodded.

"Sure."

"Only twenty-two so far," he added while catching his breath.

Silvara cut in immediately.

"No need."

Lucas frowned.

"…Huh? Why?"

Silvara looked away for a second.

Her expression stiff.

"…I was just saying it earlier without thinking," she admitted.

Lucas stared at her, his eyes wide open. "Are you deadass?"

"Huh?" Silvara frowned.

"Why are you talking about ass? Dead and ass? That makes no sense."

Lucas swallowed.

"Ah… hahaha." He scratched his head.

I really shouldn't have used that word, he thought.

Silvara took a breath.

"Honestly… I didn't expect you would actually run. You're a strange man, Luc—"

She stopped herself.

Her tongue nearly spoke his name.

In front of Geralt and Anya.

She cleared her throat lightly.

"…I didn't expect the Young Master to run with such determination."

Lucas exhaled roughly.

"Cut that drama."

He waved his hand lightly.

"Just train me."

Silvara paused for a moment.

Then straightened her posture.

"…Very well."

Her tone turned cold again.

Professional.

"Then we'll start with—"

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