When Klein pushed open the cabin door, Aphros was sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, with her feet dangling above the wooden planks. Her toes were opening and closing rhythmically.
She was practicing controlling her toes.
Klein paused at the door. Aphros shifted her gaze from her feet to him, her gray-green vertical slit pupils meeting his gaze without any flinching or unnecessary emotional fluctuation.
The cabin was small. The bedding was neatly folded, and a cup of water sat next to half an unfinished wheat cake. The portion in front of Aphros had been touched; the cup was empty, and most of the wheat cake had been nibbled away. She held the remaining piece in her hand, crumbs clinging to her fingertips.
Klein walked inside.
“Is the food alright?”
Aphros looked down at the wheat cake in her hand.
“A bit dry,” she said.
“...Yeah, the supplies on the ship aren't great.”
Klein sat on the stool opposite her. The stool’s legs were a bit uneven; he had to shift it around to find an angle where it wouldn't wobble. Aphros's toes were still moving, her big toe and second toe spreading apart, closing, then spreading again, as if repeating a newly learned command.
She hadn't been walking for long. Her legs were new, her feet were new, and every joint movement still carried a sense of fresh awkwardness for her.
Klein observed her for a moment. Her breathing was steady, there were no abnormal reactions on her skin, and her pupils constricted normally—at least from the outside, the commotion in the deep sea hadn't affected her.
“Aphros.”
She looked up.
“How much did Diancie tell you about what’s happening outside?”
Aphros put down the wheat cake and rubbed the crumbs off her fingertips onto the bedding. Her movements were deliberate, rubbing each finger one by one as if performing a ritual only she understood.
She shook her head.
Klein wasn't surprised at all. Diancie was a smart girl—smart people knew what should be said, what shouldn't be said, and what was unnecessary to say.
“Then what about yourself?” Klein changed his approach. “Can you feel the changes outside?”
Aphros's toes paused. Her big toe and second toe remained spread, not closing.
She nodded.
“If you mean the feeling...”
Aphros looked down, staring at her bare feet for a few seconds. Her feet were white, so white that the faint blue veins beneath the skin were visible. These feet had existed in this world for less than a month in total.
“It is very dangerous, yes.”
“Are you afraid?” Klein asked.
“Afraid,” Aphros repeated the word, the rhythm of her lips moving a bit strangely, like she was chewing on an unfamiliar piece of food. “Not yet.”
This answer made Klein fall silent for two seconds.
However, Klein didn't dwell on the question. Some things didn't need to be taught; they were learned naturally by living. Some things were better left unlearned, but that wasn't up to her.
“In that case,” Klein stood up, the stool legs scraping against the floorboards, “let me ask you something—would you mind if I added an extra layer of insurance on you?”
Aphros tilted her head.
“Insurance?”
Klein used two fingers to trace a frame in the air. “To put it simply, it’s adding a layer of something to you. In case the danger outside finds you, it can protect you for a while.”
Aphros stared at the frame he had traced for a moment, then looked down at her hands and then her feet.
“Will it hurt?”
“No.”
“Will it itch?”
Klein’s lip twitched at the follow-up question. “No. You won't feel anything during the setup, and once it's done, it won't affect your walking, eating, or toe exercises—it won't interfere with anything.”
Aphros's toes moved again, the big toe and second toe closing as if to confirm she still had control over the movement.
“Then okay,” she said.
...
...
After Klein finished setting up the spell on Aphros and checked its stability twice, he left once he was sure nothing had been missed.
He pushed open the door to his own cabin, and Ophelia was already sitting inside.
She had changed into dry clothes, her half-dry hair draped over her shoulders. She was holding a soft cloth, wiping her sword. White salt stains left behind by evaporated seawater remained on the blade; she wiped it carefully, inch by inch.
She looked up briefly when Klein entered, then looked back down to continue wiping.
“Everything settled with Aphros?”
“All settled,” Klein said as he bypassed her and walked to his usual spot—the small table by the window.
He pulled out the stool and sat down, opening his notebook and pulling out a pen.
Just as the tip of the pen touched the paper, before the first letter was even written, a soft sound came from behind—Ophelia had placed her sword on the headboard.
“Klein.”
“Hmm?” He didn't turn around, his pen suspended in mid-air.
“You should rest.”
“Don't overextend your mental energy again like you used to.”
“I know your mana is abundant, but... mental energy is different.”
Klein put down the pen.
Ophelia was right. Every time Klein overextended himself, it was after intense mental calculations.
The exhaustion from combat was, by comparison... insignificant.
The cabin fell silent for a few seconds. The ship rose and fell slightly in the waves, the wooden planks creaking.
Klein turned around, leaning back in his chair and looking at her.
“Fair enough.”
Ophelia was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands propped at her sides, her posture relaxed. But the look she gave him was one Klein knew all too well.
“Then go lie down on the bed.”
“I still have one set of data to—”
“Klein.”
He shut up.
Klein was very sensible.
He closed the notebook, pushed it to the corner of the table, and stood up.
“Fine, I’ll rest.”
He walked to the bedside but didn't lie down immediately.
As Ophelia was about to get up to make room for him, Klein reached out and pressed her shoulder, making her sit back down.
“Don't move.”
Ophelia raised an eyebrow.
Klein knelt down in front of her, looking up at her face.
“...What is it?”
“I have a condition.”
“What condition do you need just to lie down and sleep?”
“A lap pillow.”
Ophelia’s movements froze for a beat.
Klein added, “Yours.”
“I know it’s mine.” Ophelia’s tone didn't change, but the small patch of skin at the base of her ear betrayed her, turning slightly red and spreading a little down her earlobe. “What are you thinking at a time like this?”
“I’m thinking about how to get better sleep,” Klein said matter-of-factly. “The efficiency of mental energy recovery is positively correlated with sleep quality, sleep quality is positively correlated with comfort, and comfort is correlated with—”
“Enough.”
Ophelia interrupted him.
She moved further back on the bed, straightening her legs, and pulled a pillow behind her to lean against. This series of actions was done efficiently, without any extra hesitation. Once finished, she looked down at him and patted her thigh.
Once.
There was no second pat.
Klein climbed onto the bed, his head landing precisely on her lap.
Klein adjusted his head’s position, rubbing the back of his head against her leg a couple of times until he found the most comfortable spot and stopped.
“Stop squirming.”
“Finding the right angle.”
“...How long does it take you to find it?”
“Got it.”
He quieted down, facing upward.
The lighting in the cabin wasn't great. The window was small, and a tiny sliver of the sunset’s glow squeezed through the palm-sized porthole, illuminating a small patch on the opposite wall; everywhere else was dim. As the ship rocked, that patch of light swayed with it, slowly drawing circles on the wall.
Ophelia’s hand found its way to him at some point.
Her fingertips landed on his forehead, gently brushing away the stray hairs sticking there. The movement was casual, without much of a pattern, as if done on a whim. Then, that hand didn't pull back; it stayed in his hair, her thumb slowly stroking from his forehead to the top of his head, over and over.
Klein didn't speak.
He closed his eyes.
When her fingers passed near his temples, the string he had kept taut all day suddenly loosened. It wasn't the kind of loosening where a string snaps, but as if someone had carefully untied it—loop by loop, bit by bit, until finally, his entire being sank downward.
“About the plan...” he murmured half-heartedly.
“Calculate it tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
He rolled over, facing her abdomen, his nose brushing against the warmth through the fabric.
Ophelia’s hand moved from the top of his head to the back, her fingers spreading slightly to cradle his head, her palm resting against the back of his neck.
His breathing soon became deep and long.
Ophelia looked down at him for a while.
Once asleep, Klein relaxed completely. His brow smoothed out, his lips were slightly parted, and his exhales hit her clothes, causing a small patch of fabric to flutter slightly with his breath.
His right hand was still resting on the outside of her knee, his fingers loosely curled, not clenched.
Ophelia didn't move.
The patch of light outside the window continued to draw circles on the wall. The ship rose and fell in the waves, the wooden planks creaking every now and then. In the distance, the faint sounds of sailors greeting each other during a shift change could be heard, blurry and indistinct.
Ophelia shifted her gaze from his face to the longsword resting on the sword rack in the corner of the cabin.
Only half of the salt stains on the blade had been wiped away.
She didn't get up again.
Her fingers continued to comb through his hair every now and then, the frequency of her movements slowing down, gradually synchronizing with the rocking of the ship.
A long time passed—perhaps fifteen minutes, perhaps longer—before the back of her head rested against the pillow behind her, and her eyelids slowly lowered.
Rate on N.U.
