Chapter 116: Matrimonial Blues

  "NO! NOT THERE! MORE TO THE LEFT!"

  Bob’s voice boomed across the grand hall like a cannon shot. He was pointing a massive finger at a sweating group of servants who were struggling under the weight of a potted plant the size of a small tree. It was a rare species from the deepest part of the rainforest, its leaves shimmering with bioluminescence even in the daylight.

  "MORE GLITTERS!" King Ahmed barked from the other side of the room, directing a team hanging banners from the vaulted ceiling. "It needs to sparkle! Like the stars! Like my daughter's future!"

  The atmosphere in Kah-Kamun Palace was nothing short of hectic. It was a whirlwind of silk, flowers, gold leaf, and shouting.

  It has been a week since the fire incident, Yukari thought, sitting on the edge of a marble fountain in the courtyard, watching the chaos unfold. And it’s been four days since Bob revealed his story to us.

  She turned her head slightly to look at Raito. He was sitting beside her, legs swinging back and forth, watching the two large men bark orders with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

  Ever since he woke up... that malicious black flame has not shown itself, Yukari mused, her eyes tracing his profile. She remembered the coldness in his gaze that night, the void where his soul should have been. I hope that stays buried.

  She stared at him longingly, a silent prayer on her lips. Raito, sensing her gaze, turned and flashed her a grin.

  "Man," he commented, gesturing at the frenzied activity around them. "Royal weddings sure have a very different atmosphere. All those Cals... just evaporating into thin air. Poof!"

  "Don't worry, this is very different, young Raito," a calm voice interjected.

  Queen Aleena walked towards them, the picture of regal grace amidst the storm. Behind her trailed Malik and Samira, hand in hand.

  "Mother is right," Samira added, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Father and Uncle Bob just have a tendency to go overboard."

  "Much more than overboard," Malik squeaked. He was shaking, his knees knocking together visibly. He looked like a man marching to his execution rather than his wedding. "I... I think I'm going to faint."

  "You two should have seen the guest list," Samira said with a sigh. She reached into her sash and pulled out a scroll. With a flick of her wrist, she unrolled it.

  Whish-thud.

  The parchment hit the floor and kept rolling. And rolling. And rolling. It tumbled down the steps, across the courtyard, and didn't stop until it hit the main palace gates fifty meters away.

  Raito and Yukari’s eyes widened in unison, their jaws dropping.

  "That is..." Yukari whispered, staring at the endless list of names. "...a lot of people."

  "How did they manage to invite all of them?!" Raito asked, incredulous. "Did they invite the whole continent?!"

  The Queen sighed, rubbing her temples. "Ahmed and Bob," she said simply. "They know everyone."

  "Is there anything we can do to help?" Yukari asked, wincing as a servant tripped and sent a platter of fruit flying.

  "Well..." Queen Aleena considered, tapping her chin with a fan. "For starters, you can tell those two to stop." She gestured toward Bob and Ahmed, who were now arguing over the placement of a golden statue.

  Yukari gulped. "Uhh..."

  "Yeah... that is not happening," Raito answered for her, shaking his head rapidly. "I choose life."

  "Right," Samira agreed with a solemn nod.

  "Anything that doesn't involve stopping a force of nature?" Yukari asked again, adding extra detail. She stared in disbelief as Bob and King Ahmed began physically moving a wedding cake that was taller than the palace spires itself. It wobbled precariously.

  "That..." The Queen hummed, thinking.

  "Oh, I know!" Samira interjected, her face lighting up. She released Malik's hand to clap hers together. "How about we have a bachelorette party? Amongst the girls!"

  She turned and hugged her mother. "It's been a while since I went out shopping with you, Mom. Let's make it a girls-only outing trip! How does that sound?"

  The Queen smiled, clapping her hands softly. "That does not sound bad at all, Samira! We can also go to the salon to prepare for your wedding. A day of relaxation away from... that." She waved a hand at the cake disaster.

  She turned to Yukari. "And of course, you will come with us too, Miss Yukari. Bring that Lady Lihua with you, please."

  "I... I'll try, hehe," Yukari laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. She knew her mother was not the type to get involved with shopping, beauty treatments, or "fun" in general. It would be a battle.

  "Then I'll drag Mila with me! Wait here!" Samira shouted, already running off toward the guest room, her short dress fluttering behind her. "MILA!"

  "That girl..." The Queen sighed, shaking her head affectionately. "She got her energy from her father."

  She turned back to Yukari, extending a hand. "I guess you will be with me. Come, let's find Lady Lihua. I will help you ask her to join us. Perhaps a royal decree will work."

  "Yes... Your Majesty," Yukari said, standing up. She cast one last look at Raito, who gave her a thumbs up, before following the Queen.

  The girls left, their chatter fading into the distance, leaving the boys alone amidst the chaos.

  An awkward silence descended between Malik and Raito. They looked at each other, then away, then back at each other. Neither knew what to say. The sounds of Bob shouting about "MORE ICING!" filled the void.

  "So..." Raito started, rocking back on his heels. "Wedding tomorrow?"

  "Hi... yes?" Malik answered, his voice a high-pitched squeak. He was breathing shallowly, shivering as if he were freezing in the desert heat.

  Another long silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

  "Are you nervous?" Raito asked, breaking it again.

  "O... o... of course!" Malik blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. He paced a small circle, wringing his hands. "Not only will I get married, but this will be a massive event where everyone who exists will most likely be there! What if I trip? What if I say the wrong vow? What if I do something embarrassing and ruin the reputation of Kah-Kamun's royalty forever?!" He swallowed hard. "What if I stand there and everyone realizes I don’t deserve to be there at all?"

  He stopped, grabbing his hair. "I don't even know what Samira sees in me!"

  Raito looked at Malik, scanning him from his messy hair to his nervous, twitching boots. Then, he laughed. It wasn't mocking, but it was loud.

  "Ugh," Malik groaned, covering his face. "Even you are laughing. I know I'm going to mess up tomorrow."

  "Sorry... sorry," Raito apologized, wiping a tear from his eye. "It's just that... we are more similar than I originally thought."

  "Huh?" Malik blinked, lowering his hands. "What do you mean? I am not brave, or strong, or adventurous like you. I faint at the sight of blood."

  "And I am not as studious nor able to read a thousand books in a day like you," Raito replied with a shrug. "That is not what I meant."

  He leaned against the fountain, crossing his arms. "I meant, both of us are idiots who cannot see what our partners see in us." He chuckled softly. "Even now, I also don't know why Yukari married me."

  The grin didn’t follow the words.

  For once, Raito wasn’t joking.

  Malik stared at him, surprised by the honesty. "Then... then... what should I do?" he asked, his voice desperate for guidance.

  "Isn't it obvious?" Raito said, pushing himself off the fountain. "Just relax. And trust Samira."

  He placed a hand on Malik's shoulder. "Just imagine her, walking down that aisle. Being the most amazing woman for you. And once again... just trust her. There is a reason she chose you, Malik. She sees something you don't."

  "But... but... but..." Malik stammered, his analytical mind struggling. "That is very illogical! There are no studies that say that should work! Where is the data?!"

  "Well... that is how love is," Raito responded with a grin. "All you need is just the will to plunge yourself in it."

  "That does not help me at all!" Malik wailed.

  "Look," Raito sighed. "You clearly need to do something to relax before you burst a blood vessel. So why not come with me?"

  Malik recoiled instantly. "Is it another investigation? Another roleplay?" He shook his head violently. "My heart can't take it anymore! Especially after the last time! The terror of Kaden is still fresh in my mind!"

  "No, no, don't worry, it's not that," Raito laughed, waving his hands. "This one is more... what is the word I'm looking for?" He tapped his temple. "Oh yeah. Thereateuputic?"

  Malik opened his mouth, stopped himself, then sighed.

  "...Therapeutic." He said correcting Raito.

  "Yes, yes, that word!" Raito pointed at him. "The one Shilook uses before his showdown!"

  "I still don't know who this Shilook is," Malik muttered. "And I most likely will never read his book after I saw you in that outfit."

  "Fair," Raito conceded. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Unless you want to be with them."

  He pointed toward the palace entrance. King Ahmed and Bob were waving frantically in their direction, motioning for them to come closer. Behind them loomed multiple stacks of heavy wooden crates, towering precariously high.

  "Hey! You two! Come here!" Bob shouted.

  "Absolutely not," Malik said instantly, his face paling. "I am not built for physical labor. My arms are like noodles."

  "Then run," Raito said.

  He took off, Shoes slapped against stone, sprinting toward a small side door next to the courtyard wall.

  "Wait for me!" Malik shouted, hiking up his robes and running after him.

  From the steps, King Ahmed and Bob watched the two young men flee.

  "Why are they running from us, Brother?" Ahmed asked, scratching his beard in confusion.

  "Don't really know," Bob shrugged. "I just wanted them to help us taste test. The crates behind us aren't for lifting; they're full of pastries!"

  "Oh well," Ahmed chuckled. He turned to his twin, his expression softening. "But... it's nice seeing you more lighthearted again, Brother, hohoho. You seemed to be down after learning about Kaden. I guess he really reminds you of that event."

  Bob's smile faltered for a second, then returned, gentler this time. "That... I have the two brats to thank for," he said softly. "They might not be the family I lost... but they are still family to me. Their presence dragged me from the pits of sorrow, hohoho."

  He looked at the King. "How about yourself, Brother? You seem more determined."

  "Of course, Brother. I have to," Ahmed responded, his voice firm. "With Tanvir, I managed to find more and more buried conspiracies in the archives. "Our father..." Ahmed hesitated. “He... was not as nice as we thought." Ahmed clenched his fist. "So I vowed to myself to be the best King Kah-Kamun has ever seen. And bring justice to the victims. Starting now."

  "He is still our father," Bob said, placing a hand on Ahmed's shoulder. "He must have had his reasons. But you are right. We cannot let Kah-Kamun's darkness stay buried. We must be responsible for those who got wronged, as someone who is part of the royal bloodline."

  He smiled at his twin. "I know you can do it, Brother. You are always better at this than me. And I will be there to help you all the way."

  Ahmed nodded, a tear glistening in his eye. The two newly rejuvenated men stood side by side, finding new purpose in their life. For the first time in years, Kah-Kamun felt like it was moving forward.

  "But first!" they said in perfect sync. "TASTE TESTING!"

  They turned as a line of chefs marched out, bearing silver platters filled with delicacies from all over Calvenoor.

  In the bustling marketplace of Kah-Kamun, a very different kind of chaos was unfolding. Five figures cut through the throngs of people, the royal entourage, drawing more than a few glances as they passed, the sounds of haggling and the scents of exotic spices filling the air.

  At the front, a reluctant procession was underway. Mila was groaning, a sound that rumbled deep in her chest, her face twisted into an expression that clearly spelled out exactly how much she didn't want to be there. She was being dragged—literally—by her arms toward a brightly colored fabric shop.

  The force doing the dragging was none other than Samira. The princess was a ball of uncontainable energy, her red hair bouncing as she pulled the towering mercenary along.

  "Come on, Sister Mila! You need a dress! Armor is not appropriate for a bachelorette party!" Samira chirped, ignoring Mila's protests as she hauled her toward displays of silk and chiffon. She was determined to show Mila pretty much everything the marketplace had to offer.

  Walking closely behind them was Queen Aleena, a serene smile on her face. She moved with the grace of royalty, yet she was acting as their chaperone with genuine delight. She watched her daughter's antics with warm eyes, just happy that Samira was smiling again, and that Mila—despite her grumbling—was being included in the joy after the darkness of the past few weeks.

  Bringing up the rear, moving with the synchronized steps of bodyguards but the relaxed posture of tourists, were Yukari and Zhu Lihua. They scanned the crowd out of habit, their eyes sharp, but their shoulders were loose.

  Yukari took a bite of a yellow desert apple she had bought from a stall, the crisp crunch satisfying in the heat.

  "I have to admit," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "I never imagined you would accept, Mother."

  Zhu Lihua raised an eyebrow, adjusting the sleeve of her red qipao. "Hmm... why not?"

  "Well... you know," Yukari gestured vaguely with her apple. "The whole martial arts thing. The fists of fury. Being a General. A War Empress." She glanced at Mila, who was currently being draped in a violent shade of pink silk by Samira. "Mila seems way more out of place than you, but still. “Shopping doesn’t seem like your battlefield,” Yukari said. “At least… not the one I grew up seeing.”

  Zhu laughed, a rich, throaty sound that turned a few heads. She looked at her stepdaughter with amusement. "Your confusion isn't really out of place, Linlin. I just never really had the time to do this with you. Or show this side of me."

  She looked at a display of jewelry, her eyes distant with memory. "Well... there was a time where I got dragged shopping almost every day by a certain someone. I was pretty much forced to enjoy shopping by that person. She was a handful." Zhu smiled, a soft, wistful expression. "But anything was fun with her."

  Yukari stopped mid-chew. She stared at the formidable woman beside her. "You? Shopping? Every day?" She blinked. "Who was that person that could turn the great war empress into... well... a girl?"

  "Guess," Zhu said, her eyes twinkling.

  Yukari thought for a bit, furrowing her brow. Her mind ran through the list of generals, warriors, and stern figures she associated with Zhu. Nothing fit.

  "I give up," Yukari complained. "Just tell me. The curiosity is killing me."

  Zhu turned to her, her expression tender. "Your mother. The one and only Lei Meihua."

  For a moment, Yukari forgot how to breathe.

  "HUH???"

  Yukari’s shock was so profound that her voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the busy market. People stopped and stared. A camel nearby snorted in surprise.

  Yukari quickly bowed to the bystanders, her face flushing red. "Sorry! Sorry!"

  She turned back to Zhu, whispering frantically. "Mother? That Mother Lei? The Royal Secretary? The beautiful, untouchable, regal peony of the court?"

  She shook her head, trying to reconcile the image. "Someone who is so calm, collected, and regal... dragging the War Empress shopping? I can see my father doing that, maybe, but not Mother. She was at her desk all day long, last time I remember her. You must be mistaken."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Linlin," Zhu said gently, placing a hand on Yukari's shoulder. "You were still a child at the time. And... Lei passed away not long after." Her face saddened, the grief still fresh even after all these years. "So of course you don't remember Lei's more wild side."

  She giggled, a sound that brought the memory of her best friend back to life. "Trust me. When she wanted a specific ribbon, she was more terrifying than any army I ever faced."

  Yukari stumbled, her leg wobbling as the ground seemed to shift beneath her. "“No… there’s no way,” Yukari whispered. “That mother? A wild side?”

  The porcelain image of her mother—serene, composed, eternally writing at a desk—developed a hairline fracture, revealing a vibrant, chaotic color beneath the pedestal of memory. Yukari lunged forward, her fingers digging into the silk of Zhu's sleeve with desperate intensity.

  "Please tell me more," Yukari begged, her silver eyes wide and shining.

  "Uhh... sure," Zhu responded, surprised but pleased by the eagerness in her voice.

  "You two seem to be having some fun," a soft, melodious laugh drifted over the bustle of the crowd. Queen Aleena approached them, her silk robes whispering against the stone, a fan fluttering near her face.

  "Your Majesty," Zhu said, bowing slightly. She gently moved Yukari's gripping hand but kept her stepdaughter close. "It's just... it's been a while since I was invited to do some shopping, so I feel a bit nostalgic."

  "I see," the Queen said, her gaze thoughtful as she took in Zhu's softened demeanor. "Must be a powerful memory to make a being such as the Blaze Lord and the great War Empress of Ruhong, enjoy something as mundane as shopping."

  "Yes, it was," Zhu admitted softly, looking at Yukari. "I owe everything to that person. She saved my humanity."

  The Queen smiled at Zhu, sensing the depth of the bond. "She sounds like a wonderful person. Can I meet her sometime?"

  Zhu’s expression tightened, a shadow of old, unhealed grief passing over her features like a cloud blocking the sun. "Unfortunately, you can't, Your Majesty. She has departed."

  "Oh," the Queen's hand flew to her chest. "My apologies." She bowed her head respectfully.

  "Please, raise your head," Zhu said quickly. "You didn't know."

  "Mother," Yukari interjected, unable to hold back her curiosity, needing to fill the silence with answers. "There is still something I am confused about. You said you enjoyed shopping with Mother Lei. So why did you quit? Is it because she passed away?"

  Zhu looked down, her hand hesitating before settling gently on Yukari's head, the touch awkward but warm. "Partially. But the majority of the reason... is you."

  "Me?" Yukari looked shocked, guilt flashing in her eyes. "Did I hold you back?"

  "No, you would never, Linlin," Zhu said firmly. "It's just that... my responsibility had grown. I had my promise with Lei to take you in. And then... well."

  Zhu sighed, looking away for a moment, watching the dust motes dance in the market air. "I have to admit, I have absolutely no experience raising a kid. So I dedicated myself to training you. To be strong. So you wouldn't get taken advantage of by those sleazy royals back in Ruhong. I just didn't realize..." Her voice softened with regret. "I never properly communicated with you all those years ago. I built a cage and a mask around you. For that I apologize." The words clearly did not come easily to her.

  Yukari shook her head vehemently. "No need to be sorry. I know you had a lot on your hands. And besides..." She smiled, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "If it weren't for that mask, I would never have met that idiot. I am in a much better place now. So please, don't say sorry."

  She leaned into Zhu's touch. "We still have time. So please,” Yukari said softly, leaning into Zhu’s touch, “let us be mother and daughter… properly, this time, hehe."

  Zhu smiled, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

  "Every mother is not perfect," Queen Aleena said softly, watching them. "We are bound to make mistakes. But looking at how young Yukari turned out... you are definitely a good mother, Lady Lihua."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty," Zhu said, bowing her head in genuine gratitude.

  "Please, just call me Aleena," the Queen giggled.

  "Then Aleena," Zhu said with a respectful nod. "Please also call me Zhu."

  "MOM!!!"

  Samira’s voice pierced the emotional bubble like a needle. "Come on! There are still so many shops Sister Mila has to enter!"

  "Wait!" Mila complained from a distance, holding up a violently frilly dress against her armor, looking horrified. "Aren't you the one getting married? Why do I have to be the one trying out outfits?!"

  "Shuush! Just enjoy it!" Samira laughed, pulling her into another stall.

  "Well... you heard her," the Queen shrugged, linking arms with Zhu and Yukari.

  As the three of them joined Samira and Mila, continuing their outing under the warm sun, Zhu leaned closer to the Queen.

  "What you just said back there," Zhu murmured. "Reminds me of someone."

  "Oh? Who is that?" the Queen asked, her curiosity peaking.

  "Madam Yinzi," Zhu said with a wry smile. "She is one fierce woman."

  "Can I meet this one?" the Queen asked, smiling.

  "Yes," Zhu nodded. "I will introduce you two if there is ever the chance."

  "I would love to," the Queen giggled.

  Meanwhile, in the labyrinthine corridors of the palace servant's quarters, far from the laughter and the sunlight, the boys were embarking on a very different kind of adventure. The air here was still and cool, smelling faintly of old stone and lemon oil, a stark contrast to the lively scents of the market.

  Raito and Malik skidded to a halt in front of an unassuming, heavy wooden door. It was tucked away in a shadowed alcove where the torchlight barely reached, the entrance framed by thick, gray spiderwebs that swayed gently in the stagnant air.

  "Where... where are we?" Malik asked, his voice trembling slightly. He peered into the gloom, adjusting his glasses. "I never remember there being a place like this in the palace. This looks... abandoned."

  His anxiety spiked, a familiar cold knot tightening in his stomach. He took a step back, eyeing Raito warily. "Wait... don't tell me you brought me here to kill me? Is this it? Is this the end?"

  "Dude, really?" Raito rolled his eyes, adjusting his shirt cuffs with exaggerated patience. "No one is here to kill you. Just wait."

  Raito stepped up to the door and knocked rhythmically. Rat-a-tat-tat.

  "Mr. Hasan! Are you there?" Raito shouted, his voice echoing down the empty hall.

  Creeeeak.

  The door groaned open slowly on rusted hinges, pushing aside a curtain of dust motes that danced in the sliver of light. Out stepped an old man, thin as a rail, with skin like parchment and a few wisps of white hair clinging to his scalp. He wore a patched gray jumpsuit stained with years of hard work and held a rag that smelled strongly of lemon oil.

  "Oh! Young Raito!" The old man’s face broke into a toothless grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "What do you need today?"

  "Mr. Hasan," Raito said, bowing slightly with genuine respect. He gestured to Malik, who was trying to merge with the stone wall. "Me and this guy here need to borrow some supplies."

  "Sure, sure," Hasan nodded eagerly, stepping aside and waving them in with a bony hand. "It's in the usual spot. Feel free to take some."

  "You're the best, Mr. Hasan!" Raito cheered, dashing into the room, kicking up small clouds of dust with his boots.

  "Hehe," Hasan laughed, a dry, raspy sound like autumn leaves rustling. "In my years working here, I never seen anyone as excited about doing that as you, Young Raito."

  "Uh... hello," Malik finally managed to squeak, raising a hesitant hand. "I'm..."

  He tried to introduce himself, but Hasan cut him off, his milky eyes widening in recognition.

  "Oh! Young Malik!" The old man shuffled forward with surprising speed for his age. "What brings you here?!"

  "You know me?" Malik blinked, surprised.

  "Of course, of course!" Hasan beamed, clapping his hands together. "Who hasn't heard about the soon-to-be son-in-law? The scholar who captured the Princess's heart!"

  Whack.

  Hasan slapped Malik heartily on the back, sending a cloud of dust puffing from the scholar's pristine robes. "Congratulations on your wedding! This old man is so happy that the bratty Princess is finally getting hitched! Someone to tame that storm, eh?"

  "Yelp!" Malik arched his back, rubbing the stinging spot between his shoulder blades. "Uh... thank you? But I'm sorry, I don't really know you. I am here just following him." He pointed a shaking finger at Raito, who was clattering around in the back of the room amongst buckets and brooms.

  "No problem, no problem," Hasan chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't expect a janitor like me to be in your brilliant mind, Young Scholar."

  Malik’s ears burned as he mumbled a thank you, suddenly very aware of how clean his robes were compared to the room. He scrambled inside the room after Raito, eager to escape the scrutiny.

  "What a weird old man," Malik muttered under his breath, looking at the shelves stacked high with cleaning supplies that smelled of soap and wax.

  "Don't be like that," Raito chided, popping up from behind a shelf with a bucket in hand. "He has been working hard to clean this palace for fifty years, you know. You should be glad that he loves cleaning so much that he still works here. The place would fall apart without him."

  "I guess..." Malik said, looking around the dusty supply room, still not understanding the purpose of their visit.

  "Here you go," Raito said, thrusting a long wooden handle into Malik's chest.

  Malik grabbed it reflexively. He looked down. It was a mop. A stringy, gray, well-used mop.

  "What?" Malik stated flatly, staring at the cleaning tool as if it were an alien artifact.

  "A mop," Raito confirmed with a nod.

  "No, I know this is a mop," Malik said, his voice rising in pitch. "I am asking, what is this for?"

  "What else is a mop for?" Raito looked at him like he was dense. "To clean."

  "No no no!" Malik waved the mop frantically. "I know that this is a mop and what the mop is used for! I am asking why do we have to go to this dusty place and grab a mop?!"

  "Well," Raito said, slinging another mop over his shoulder like a rifle and grabbing a bucket of soapy water. "We are going to clean this room. And the pathway to this room."

  He said it as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

  "I see..." Malik paused, processing this. "Wait. We ran away from physical labor with the King... to do another physical labor with a janitor?!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "There is no way I am doing this!"

  "Suit yourself," Raito shrugged. He dipped his mop into the bucket, the water splashing satisfyingly. "This is the thereraraputic experience I promised. You are missing out, man."

  "Therapeutic," Malik corrected automatically through gritted teeth. "And no! I don't see how cleaning is therapeutic! And I still don't see how this will solve my anxiety!"

  Raito sighed, but ignored him. He began to mop the floor, humming a cheerful, off-key tune. Swish, swish, swish. The rhythm was steady, hypnotic, the smell of soap rising to combat the dust.

  Malik stood there for a moment, fuming, holding his mop like a weapon. Then he groaned and slumped onto a rickety wooden chair in the corner, crossing his arms and sulking.

  Old man Hasan grabbed another chair and dragged it over, sitting next to Malik with a groan of old joints. He watched Raito work with a fond expression.

  "Weird kid, isn't he?" Hasan commented, nodding towards the mopping boy.

  "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess," Malik muttered, watching Raito vigorously attack a stubborn stain on the stone floor.

  "In my years working as the palace janitor," Hasan said, leaning back and resting his hands on his knees, "I never seen a guest who actively seeks me out to help me clean. But I am so glad someone like that exists." He rubbed his lower back, grimacing. "I don't know how I can continue with my back aching like this. I should retire already."

  Malik looked at the old man, seeing the weariness etched into his face, then at Raito, who was now moonwalking with the mop, completely lost in his task.

  "Then... then..." Malik asked softly, curiosity overcoming his annoyance. "Why not retire? Just quit if your body can't keep up."

  Hasan turned to him, his wrinkled face breaking into a wide, toothless smile that reached his milky eyes.

  "Because I love this job," he said simply.

  "Huh?" Malik blinked, his brain momentarily short-circuiting. He stared at the cramped room, the piles of rags, the spiderwebs in the corner. “This job? Why… why do you love it? It’s… as low as it gets in the palace.”

  He waved his hand at the dusty, cluttered room, his scholar's logic struggling to compute. "It's dirty. It's tiring. It's thankless."

  "Who knows?" Hasan shrugged, his smile unwavering. "I just love it." He gestured towards Raito, who was currently wringing out his mop with professional flair, whistling a jaunty tune. "Just like that kid Raito. Ask him why he does it."

  "This is so illogical," Malik grumbled, slumping further in his chair, adjusting his glasses in frustration.

  "Well, that is just how this world is, kid," Hasan chuckled, a wise gleam in his eye that seemed out of place on a janitor. “There are things we can explain with numbers and facts,” Hasan said, “and things we simply cannot.”

  "I cannot understand that," Malik said, shaking his head. "Both you and him... saying things without factual proofs. I hate that. It's messy." His feelings were laid bare, the core of his anxiety exposed—a fear of the unknown, the unquantifiable.

  He looked at the old man, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "How did you two meet anyway?" Malik asked. "Raito is not a native, and you've worked here for fifty years. How? There is absolutely no common reason why he would meet you. No offense."

  "None taken," the old man laughed, slapping his knee. "Well... where do I start? He was lost."

  Hasan leaned back, eyes drifting to the peeling paint on the ceiling as he reminisced. "He was wandering the servant corridors, wearing a plaid cap and coat that looked so out of place in this humid and hot region. I thought he was a looney! A lost tourist who took a wrong turn."

  "That must be during one of our investigations," Malik realized, recalling Raito's ridiculous Shilook Huang costume. "Please, continue."

  "Then, I brought him here," Hasan said. "You know, I couldn't just take a kid wearing weird clothing to the palace courtyard. The guards would think he was a threat, or an assassin in disguise. So I pulled him in here to hide him until the coast was clear."

  Hasan gestured around the room, encompassing the grime and the clutter. "Most would be shocked, full of disgust when brought to this old decrepit janitor's closet. But not him. His eyes lit up! As if he was missing this."

  "He immediately asked me if I was the palace janitor," Hasan recalled with a grin. "Of course, I said yes. Then he, without any hesitation, asked me if he could help clean. He grabbed a mop in his hand and a bucket in his other, just like earlier."

  "I asked him why he would do that. Why a guest would want to scrub floors." Hasan shook his head in wonder. "He simply said, 'Cleaning helps clear my mind. I feel calmer whenever I clean.'"

  "I laughed! What a weird kid!" Hasan chuckled, the memory clearly fond. "That is the general story about how we met. After that, well... he would come by whenever he had time. Taking over my cleaning duty, giving me some rest. For that, I am really grateful for young Raito."

  He leaned in close to Malik, whispering conspiratorially. "And... between you and me... his cleaning skill is godlike."

  Malik listened to the story intently, his mind trying to find the logic, the reason, the data point that made sense of it all. He found none. Just feelings. Just connection. Just kindness for the sake of kindness.

  “Tch,” he clicked his tongue—annoyed not at them, but at himself.

  He stood up abruptly, grabbing his own mop from where he had leaned it against the wall. He moved closer towards Raito, and with a sigh of resignation, dipped his mop into the soapy water.

  "So..." Malik asked, holding the dripping mop awkwardly. "What should I do?"

  Raito stopped mid-swish. He turned, a beaming smile spreading across his face. "That's the spirit! Why the change of heart?"

  "No idea," Malik admitted, looking at the suds swirling in the bucket. "Just wanted to try, I guess."

  "Works for me!" Raito said. He pointed his mop handle like a sword. "So you clean that corner over there. And don't use too much water, or it won't dry up fast enough. And don't get too much soap, or it will be slippery! You have to wring it out like this—"

  Raito launched into an overly detailed, passionate explanation of mopping techniques, demonstrating the perfect figure-eight motion. Malik, overwhelmed but surprisingly engaged, grabbed his notebook and started scribbling notes with one hand while holding the mop with the other, determined to master the logic of cleaning.

  All the while, Old man Hasan watched from his chair with a big, toothless smile, looking for all the world like a grandfather watching his two new grandsons learn the family trade.

  By the time the sun began its slow descent beyond the palace walls, Kah-Kamun had changed its colors.

  The blazing gold of the afternoon softened into amber and rose, shadows stretching long across the stone paths. Lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow flickering to life as the heat of the day finally loosened its grip on the city.

  The marketplace had quieted. Merchants packed away their wares, laughter faded into distant echoes, and the smell of spice and dust gave way to the cool, crisp evening air.

  That was when the girls returned to the palace.

  They came back tired but lighter, arms laden with colorful bags, footsteps slower than before but unburdened. Samira still hummed to herself, clearly riding the last waves of excitement, skipping occasionally. Queen Aleena walked with calm satisfaction, her fan resting at her side, a serene smile on her lips.

  Yukari moved between them, her expression softer than it had been that morning, her shoulders relaxed in a way they rarely were. Zhu Lihua followed closely behind Yukari, her usual warrior’s vigilance softened by the contentment of the day. All four of them wore expressions that were lighter, happier. Their makeup clung perfectly to their faces, and their hair shone, silken smooth from the salon treatments.

  And behind them—

  Mila dragged herself up the palace steps like a soldier returning from a war she never signed up for.

  "Why?" Mila groaned, her voice a low rumble of despair. Multiple bags were slung across her body and arms, burying her under a mountain of silk and satin. She was in the same immaculate state as the rest—hair perfectly coiffed, face lightly powdered—but clearly not happy about it.

  "Why me?" she kept asking, adjusting a strap that was digging into her shoulder.

  "Because you need the clothes more than anyone here!" Samira answered, walking backward up the stairs so she could grin at her victim.

  "But you are the one getting married!" Mila groaned, hefting a bag that seemed heavier than her greatsword.

  "I know!" Samira grinned, unrepentant.

  "I still think we should have bought that blue dress," Yukari said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "The one with the silver embroidery. It matched her eyes."

  "No, the red one suits her better," Zhu added, nodding sagely. "Matches her spirit."

  "You two are wrong," the Queen added, joining the debate with expert authority. "The golden piece clearly brings out her beauty and strength."

  "No no no! You all don't understand Sister Mila!" Samira interjected, waving a finger. "Clearly the white one suits her the most! It’s poetic!"

  "Urgh..." Mila groaned again.

  The nightmare was still fresh in her mind. Just a few hours ago, before the salon trip, the girls had turned her into their personal dress-up doll. They had forced her to try on what seemed to be more than a hundred outfits—formal gowns, casual robes, things with too many frills. And the worst part? The four girls had just bought them for her, ignoring her protests, which was why she was now carrying the most bags.

  She shuddered. She didn't think she could enjoy a shopping trip ever again. And the salon... the lotions, the plucking... she shuddered again. She just wouldn't go into details. What's done is done.

  Mila sighed, shifting the weight of the bags. But then, a small, barely perceptible grin touched her lips.

  I guess they just want to cheer me up, she thought, watching Samira bounce up the stairs. I'll admit... it was half fun.

  The other four saw Mila's small grin and smiled with her, a silent moment of female solidarity.

  Then, as they crossed the palace gate and entered the courtyard, they stopped.

  There, standing in the middle of the pristine stone courtyard, were the two boys.

  The closer the girls got, the worse the scene appeared.

  Raito and Malik were covered in dust, mold, and some unidentified wet substance that smelled of soap and old water. They were sweaty, their clothes disheveled, their hair messy and sticking up in all directions. Malik’s glasses were askew, and Raito had a smudge of dirt on his nose.

  Yukari and Samira quickly ran towards them, dropping their composure.

  "What happened to you two?!" Yukari asked, looking Raito up and down in horror.

  "Yeah, Malik, dear, why are you so dirty?" Samira asked, reaching out to wipe a smudge from his cheek but pulling back at the grime.

  Raito and Malik looked at each other. They shared a glance that spoke volumes—of mop buckets, spiderwebs, and the Zen of cleaning.

  Then, they grinned.

  "Boy's secret," they said at the same time.

  Raito winked at Old Man Hasan, who was watching from a distance, leaning on his broom with a satisfied smile. The old janitor winked back.

  "Huh?" Samira and Yukari looked at each other, confused.

  But seeing the genuine smiles on the boys' faces, they just let it go. The boys clearly had their own kind of fun.

  Not long after, Zhu, Queen Aleena, and Mila joined them, dumping their bags on a nearby bench.

  "It seemed like you two had your own adventure," the Queen said, eyeing the dirt on Malik’s robes with amusement.

  "Something like that, Your Majesty," Malik said with a grin he usually reserved for rare books.

  "Hmm... odd," Mila said suddenly, looking around.

  "What is it?" Zhu asked, sensing the shift in the mercenary's tone.

  "Master Bob and King Ahmed..." Mila frowned. "The voices of those two are not heard. They are supposed to be preparing for the wedding, right? Usually, you can hear them shouting from the gates."

  "That's true," the Queen said, her brow furrowing. "My husband and Bob, knowing how they are, they should be barking orders about flowers and icing until late at night."

  "You don't think something happened to both of them, Mom?" Samira asked, her voice tinged with concern.

  "I don't know, dear," the Queen said, clutching her fan tighter. "I hope not."

  "Then we better try to find them," Raito suggested, wiping his hands on his pants.

  Everyone nodded.

  They moved quickly through the palace, checking the usual spots, until the group arrived at the central ballroom. The double doors were ajar.

  Inside, a long, banquet-style table was set up in the middle of the room, laden with silver platters and half-eaten food.

  King Ahmed was seen sitting down at the head of the table, still, silent. Too unmoving.

  And Bob was sitting in front of him, also slumped over.

  And then between them, seen from a distance... seemed to be a small boulder?

  The group exchanged worried glances. They nodded at each other and approached slowly and quietly, fearing the worst.

  What awaited them was not a crime scene, but a tableau of gluttony.

  Bob was sleeping soundly, a piece of roast pork hanging from his mouth mid-chew, a trail of drool soaking into the tablecloth.

  King Ahmed was sleeping with his head on the table, clutching a goblet of some black liquid, snoring softly.

  And Tanvir? The "boulder" was the Museum Director, sleeping on top of the table, curled up amidst the fruit baskets and empty plates.

  All of them sleeping. All of them smelling faintly of rich food and expensive wine.

  The Queen stared at them. Her worry evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, burning irritation. She stepped forward and smacked the table hard with her folded fan.

  THWACK.

  "Wake up!"

  The three men jolted awake, blinking blearily.

  "Care to explain?" The Queen asked, her voice low and dangerous, her fury seething beneath the surface.

  "Oh... hi dear..." King Ahmed mumbled, wiping his mouth. "Hic."

  "We were just... food... tasting..." Bob said, trying to sit up straight and failing. "Hic."

  "Yep... tasting..." Tanvir groaned, rolling off the fruit basket. "Totally... not... drinking. Contest... on the job..." "Hic."

  "Hooooo," the Queen said, her eyes narrowing into slits.

  "Then tomorrow," she declared, her voice brooking no argument, "I expect you three to be the servers at dear Samira's wedding. Totally understandable, right?"

  The three men sobered up in a fraction of a second.

  "NO NO NO!" King Ahmed cried, waving his hands. "We can't do that! We're the fathers! And the King!"

  The Queen glared. A silence stretched, heavy and terrifying.

  "Sorry," the three men said in unison, hanging their heads.

  "Good," the Queen said, snapping her fan open. "Now, chop chop! You three servers, clean this mess! I expect you three to meet Old Hasan and learn from him! NOW!!!" she barked.

  "Yes..." the three men said, slumping in defeat as they stood up and began to clear the plates, walking out toward the servant's quarters under the Queen's watchful eye.

  The rest of the group watched them go, and then, unable to hold it back any longer, they shared a loud, hearty laugh that echoed through the ballroom.

  Samira wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing. “…This wedding is going to be unforgettable.”