Vangar genuinely felt hopelessly incompetent.
He had blown up the kitchen trying to cook, and now he had nearly set himself on fire grilling at.
Worse still, he had made his Female Master worry over him.
"It’s alright. Everyone has things they’re good at and things they’re not."
Rory noticed that the burst of fla from earlier had scorched the hem of Vangar’s black shirt.
The fine fabric had burned through near his waist, revealing a small section of lean, toned skin beneath. A distinct patch of redness marked the area where the heat had caught him.
She lifted her eyes and looked at him seriously.
There wasn’t the slightest trace of bla in her clear gaze—only genuine concern.
"You don’t need to feel bad."
Letting go of his hand gently, Rory spoke in a soft, comforting voice.
"You’re the Empire’s Marshal—the war god who can tear through insectoids with his bare hands. Your battlefield is among the stars, not in front of a tiny grill. So what if you can’t barbecue? In the future, I’ll just cook for you instead."
Her voice wasn’t loud, yet it flowed through him like warmth spreading through frozen veins, instantly soothing the frustration and restlessness tangled inside his chest.
Then Rory’s gaze dropped again to the angry red mark at his waist.
Her brows drew together slightly.
"You got burned. Does it hurt?"
Such a simple question, yet to Vangar, it felt like a faint stream of warmth slipping quietly through his heart.
He followed her gaze downward and saw the reddened patch—barely the size of a fist.
Smiling faintly, he shook his head. "Female Master, my skin’s thick. It’s nothing."
Without realizing it, even his voice had softened.
No one had ever asked him that before.
Does it hurt?
At ten years old, he had already followed his father onto the battlefield.
He had suffered injuries far worse than this—broken bones, pierced organs, shattered chs, ntal collapse hovering at the brink... And no one had ever cared.
"No way it’s ’nothing.’ If it’s not treated properly, it’ll blister."
As she spoke, Rory took his hand and led him into the living room.
"Sit still. I’ll put dicine on it."
She retrieved one of Yuel’s leaves from her spatial ring, gently crushing it between her fingers before applying the cool juice to the burn at Vangar’s waist.
"Lift your shirt a little higher. So of it is covered."
Her fingers were sticky with the dicinal sap now, making it inconvenient to touch his clothes.
The mont Vangar felt her gentle touch at his waist, his heartbeat skipped.
"...Alright, Female Master."
His long fingers caught the burned edge of his shirt and slowly lifted it upward.
The black fabric slid higher, exposing far more than the reddened burn mark.
Smooth, powerful abdominal muscles. Sharp, defined lines disappearing beneath the waistband. The elegant V of his hips.
The sight was overwhelming—raw masculine strength wrapped in effortless restraint.
Rory’s breathing faltered for the briefest mont.
Forcing herself to focus, she leaned closer, carefully applying the cool dicinal juice to the flushed skin at his waist with delicate fingertips.
The soothing dicine instantly eased the lingering burn. But to Vangar, her touch felt hotter than any fla.
She was so close. Close enough that he could see every long, curled lash framing her eyes. Close enough to catch the faint fragrance lingering in her hair.
If he lowered his head just a little more... He could touch her lips.
Vangar’s body tensed instantly.
His throat bobbed once as he swallowed hard, the movent betraying a tension he could barely suppress...
Vangar watched Rory’s profile in silence.
Her gaze was lowered in concentration, long lashes casting delicate shadows against her fair skin.
Every movent of her hands was careful and gentle.
Vangar had never experienced this kind of tenderness before—never been treated with such quiet care.
His throat tightened again as he looked at her.
Then, slowly, a bold thought began to take root inside him.
He wanted to kiss her.
The mont the thought appeared, it spread like wildfire through his chest, impossible to suppress.
Without drawing attention to it, Vangar lowered his head slightly and edged closer.
At this distance... if Rory simply looked up, she would kiss him.
"All done. Just don’t let it touch water for the next few days, and it should heal quick—"
Rory lifted her head after finishing the dicine. Before she could finish speaking, warmth brushed against her lips.
The rest of her words vanished at once. Vangar’s heat surrounded her in an instant. And when she saw the stunned shock in his eyes, Rory’s mind went completely blank.
She... Had just kissed Vangar. And apparently kissed him so thoroughly she’d left him stunned speechless.
For two full seconds, the atmosphere felt frozen.
Then Vangar reacted first.
As if burned, he jerked backward abruptly.
"F-Female Master..."
He stared at Rory in flustered panic, hurriedly trying to explain himself.
"I’m sorry—I... I didn’t an to. I just wanted to look at the injury on my waist, I..."
Color flooded his face all the way to his ears, even staining his neck crimson.
He lowered his head, visibly embarrassed, too flustered to et her eyes.
Rory blinked at him, montarily dazed.
She truly had not expected the Empire’s fearso Marshal—the man every beastman viewed as cold-blooded and decisive, the war god who terrified the insectoids on the battlefield—to be this pure-hearted.
It was just a kiss, and yet he had beco so shy and panicked over it.
"It’s alright. You don’t need to apologize."
Rory wasn’t angry in the slightest. After all, Vangar hadn’t done it intentionally. If anything, it felt more like she had startled him.
Her gaze drifted back to the burn at his waist. Thanks to Yuel’s leaf, the redness had already faded considerably.
"You should rest here in the living room for a while."
At this point, Rory was fully convinced Vangar truly had no talent whatsoever for cooking.
Lack of talent itself wasn’t frightening. What was frightening was soone without talent who also happened to be a walking kitchen disaster.
"I’m going back outside to grill the at. Once it’s ready, I’ll call you."
After tidying up the dicine, she turned to leave.
"Female Master!" Suddenly, Vangar reached out and caught her wrist.
His hand was large and warm, roughened slightly with calluses, making her wrist feel impossibly slender in his grasp.
Rory paused and turned back in confusion. "What is it?"
"I... I’m not tired. I want to go with you."
His voice had dropped lower, quieter. "I promise I won’t touch the fire anymore. I’ll just stay quietly by your side. I won’t cause trouble."
Even Vangar himself had accepted the truth now—he had absolutely no talent for cooking. He didn’t dare try again.
Thankfully, this ti the only person injured had been him, not his Female Master.
After speaking, he looked at Rory with unmistakable nervousness. "Female Master... could you not leave here alone?"
Rory looked at the tension in his expression, at the strange unease hidden beneath his composure, and frowned slightly.
He seed... genuinely afraid of being left alone here.
"...Alright. Then co with ."
She took his hand and pulled him gently up from the sofa.
As they walked, she warned him again, unable to fully relax her concern.
"You stay beside and don’t touch anything, understood?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers