CHAPTER 13
“I heard you were hurt.”
After a long pause, Mayna finally answered.
“Who told you?”
“I overheard some passersby talking while shopping near the Iddium coast.”
As soon as Mayna finished, Kalif clicked his tongue in irritation.
“Couldn’t stop it from reaching the streets, huh.”
Sera, who had been watching the two, cut in.
“The aide told us not to mention it. Said you’d only worry.”
She added,
“He even ordered that no one be allowed into the hospital, but that felt wrong, so I passed the message along myself.”
The one who gave the order—“Don’t let anyone in except the aide”—turned out to be Sera Parker.
Feeling a bitter taste in her mouth, Mayna forced herself to stop thinking and asked Kalif,
“Were you badly hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“He was hurt quite badly.”
Kalif’s and Sera’s answers clashed.
“Of course, thanks to my quick action, the situation didn’t turn dangerous.”
Wearing her usual enchanting smile, Sera added,
“The monster’s horn pierced through Sir Lennox’s back.
The moment I found him, I tore off my own clothes, ripped his too, and we shared a deep embrace.”
“Bravo!”
The guild members who had witnessed the scene cheered playfully at her words.
Mages of Sera’s rank—A-class or higher—could heal without direct contact.
But physical touch made healing and energy transfer faster and more efficient.
The larger the contact area, the greater the effect, especially when skin met skin instead of fabric.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Mayna said softly.
Kalif and Sera, embracing half-naked in a deadly dungeon—Mayna thought it was both cruel and beautiful.
“If you’re done talking, get out. It’s noisy.”
Kalif frowned and waved his hand.
His eyes met Mayna’s.
“You too. Go home.”
Mayna quietly nodded.
“Oh, wait.”
Clink…
He tossed her a handful of gold and silver coins.
They were clumped together, caked with sticky mud and some unknown fluid.
“For the ride.”
“……”
“Anything left over, keep as pocket money.”
“……Thank you.”
Mayna answered flatly, gathered the coins, and turned to leave.
***
Kalif was hospitalized for two days before being discharged.
As Sera said, the quick treatment had prevented a fatal injury, but the wound was still serious enough that he couldn’t return to the field right away.
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Sir Lennox.”
“I said I am.”
“You’re not! Didn’t you hear what Dr. Goul said?”
Kalif and Adonis had been arguing for a full thirty minutes.
Keurden, flipping through papers in the corner of the conference room, quietly put on earplugs.
“What did Dr. Goul say?”
“He said if Lady Parker hadn’t been there, your spine would’ve been shattered—you would’ve died instantly!”
“I’m alive though.”
Kalif shrugged casually.
“That’s exactly the point! You barely made it! He said you need at least a week of rest!”
Adonis stomped his feet in frustration.
Adonis Hiaron, the youngest son of Baron Hiaron.
He was once a soft and refined young noble, but five years under Chief Secretary Kalif Lennox had worn him down like sandpaper.
“Calm down. You’re the one who needs rest.”
“Do I look calm to you?”
Then Keurden threw his earplugs aside.
“Gasp.”
Adonis froze immediately.
“Ahem.”
Even Mayna, who had stayed silent, cleared her throat nervously and glanced at Keurden.
Hot-tempered like Kalif, Keurden despised noise—especially what he called ‘Kalif’s endless rants.’
“There’s an angle.”
Instead of yelling, Keurden said something unexpected.
“What angle?”
Adonis asked, confused.
“You two should take a vacation.”
‘The two of us…?’
Mayna stared at his lips anxiously, praying inside.
Please. Please don’t let it be me and Kalif.
Please…
“Aide. Take Sir Lennox out for some fresh air.”
‘So it is me and Kalif.’
Damn it!
“Ha…ha. Me?”
Mayna forced a strained smile.
“Yes. Since you can’t enter any dungeons for the next five days anyway, let’s clear the postponed tasks.”
“What postponed tasks?”
Kalif asked Keurden.
He sat comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, as if none of this concerned him.
“Start with the magazine photo shoot. Then attend the banquet hosted by Marquis Berryrich. After that, take a short vacation—say, two nights and three days?”
Keurden spoke casually to his old friend.
Mayna finally understood his real intention.
The photo shoot and banquet were the two things Kalif despised most.
He’d been delaying them for months, and Keurden clearly planned to wrap them up now and reward him with a break afterward.
‘Then what about me?’
Dark clouds formed on Mayna’s face.
Vacation with her boss? She’d rather keep working.
But that boss being Kalif Lennox? She’d rather die.
“Hmmm.”
Keurden hummed cheerfully, pleased with his plan.
So unfair!
Mayna glared at him, but he didn’t notice, flipping through a desk calendar instead.
“Perfect timing—the spring festival’s on.”
“Where?”
Kalif asked.
“Vacation spot.”
“Meaning?”
“La Rundel Town.”
As soon as she heard it, Mayna’s face lit up instantly.
***
Two days later.
Having recovered considerably, Kalif sat in the dressing room.
Today was the day for his cover photo shoot for Parman, Parman!, a magazine published directly by the Imperial Family.
“Please, keep it light. Simple hair and clean makeup.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The makeup team responded firmly to Mayna’s instruction.
Their faces were tense.
Today’s client was the notoriously irritable X-class Holy Knight.
Rumor had it he even slept with his sword strapped to his waist.
Stories of his heroics and his frightening temper spread in equal measure.
One tale said a veteran hairdresser once plucked a single sideburn by mistake—and ended up with both hands cut off.
It was false, of course.
When Keurden told Mayna about the rumor, her first response was, “He must’ve acted like such a jerk to earn that kind of story.”
Kalif never corrected it—he figured some bad press might teach him humility.
Now, sitting before the mirror, Kalif muttered with a face like he’d swallowed something sour.
“I’m not a stage actor or a dancer. Why the hell do I have to do this?”
A young stylist froze mid-motion.
It’s okay,
Mayna mouthed silently, giving him a kind smile.
Hunters’ main job, of course, was monster hunting—killing beasts, destroying dungeons, sealing gates, and protecting civilians.
Guild operations existed to support those missions.
But there were plenty of other duties too.
Like meeting nobles who browsed through guilds as if shopping at a market stall, or sitting through unwanted drinking parties with reporters.
Public relations, essentially.
Photo shoots and interviews were part of that, even if Kalif hated them.
He always said,
“I’d rather shower in monster blood than let anyone paint my face for photos.”
And today was no exception.
“What the hell are you putting on my lips?”
“Oh, uh, this is… um, tint—yes, a tint! To add color and liveliness—a kind of peach tone that makes your lips look—uh, fresh and…”
“Peach tone, my ass.”
“Sir Lennox.”
Mayna quietly stopped him.
The makeup artist, nearly in tears, looked at her for help.
“It’s fine.”
With Mayna’s approval, the trembling stylist finally dabbed a thin layer of sheer pink lipstick on Kalif’s lips.
