Chapter 60: Hug

  Noon came with a mild wind, the grass outside the town swaying in slow waves beneath the sun.

  Ray arrived first, as usual.

  He stood with his sword planted lightly into the soil, posture straight, expression composed—the Brave, as everyone expected him to be. When Ivaline arrived moments later, he greeted her with a nod and immediately began the lesson, voice steady, instructions precise.

  Footwork.

  Balance.

  Breathing.

  He corrected her stance, demonstrated angles, repeated movements without complaint. From the outside, nothing seemed different.

  But Ivaline noticed.

  His movements were still sharp, but a fraction slower between demonstrations. His gaze lingered too long on nothing at all. When he finally sat down, it wasn’t with the relaxed ease of a man finished with work—but with the heaviness of someone whose thoughts outweighed his body.

  He rested his forearms on his knees, head slightly lowered.

  “…Take a short break,” Ray said. “You did well.”

  Ivaline obeyed, but instead of stretching or practicing on her own, she looked at him—really looked.

  Then she whispered.

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  “Chronicle.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why does he look so worn out?” she asked quietly. “Teaching me is that tiring?”

  Chronicle followed her gaze, watching the Brave stare at the ground as if it might offer answers.

  “No,” he replied. “Not physically.”

  “Then…?”

  “He’s tired emotionally.”

  She blinked. “Emotionally?”

  “The kind of exhaustion that resting the body doesn’t fix,” Chronicle explained. “Sleep just presses it down for a while. It doesn’t make it go away.”

  Ivaline absorbed that in silence.

  “…Then how do you heal someone like that?” she asked.

  Chronicle hesitated. “There are many ways. Talking with him. Staying with him. Telling him he’s not alone. Reassurance. Warm food. Sometimes just warmth itself.”

  He paused.

  “…A normal hug can help too.”

  Ivaline nodded, as if the answer were obvious.

  “A hug then.”

  “…Wait.”

  Chronicle realized too late.

  She turned and walked over to Ray.

  “Ray.”

  He lifted his head slightly. “Hmm?”

  That was all the warning he got.

  Pomf.

  Ivaline stepped close and wrapped her arms around his head, pressing his face gently against her chest. It was clumsy, unrefined, and entirely without calculation—the kind of hug only a child could give. One small hand awkwardly patted his hair, fingers threading through it with innocent care.

  “Don’t worry,” she said softly.

  “I’m here.”

  Ray froze.

  His body locked up as if struck by lightning, every thought in his mind evaporating at once. The weight on his shoulders—duty, suspicion, shame, exhaustion—collapsed into static.

  “….”

  Chronicle went completely silent.

  Ivaline continued, unaware of the catastrophic effect of her kindness, gently patting his head as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

  Nothing was wrong.

  Nothing at all.

  Except—

  Far away, at the edge of the field, a man hidden among the trees lowered a spyglass.

  The lookout Corvix had sent narrowed his eyes.

  He watched the Brave—the Brave—being hugged by the girl Corvix had quietly claimed under his protection.

  The man swallowed.

  “…I need to report this.”

  And somewhere in town, a certain dye shop owner was about to have a very, very bad afternoon.