10. Search Commission
They'd more or less accomplished the goal of the search commission and were heading down the mountain. Bella strode ahead without a word. Ian trailed at a careful distance, stealing glances at her. Unlike the easy camaraderie on the way up, an excruciating awkwardness hung between them now.
Ha, damn it. Why the hell did I do that? Bella's mind was a tangled mess. What she'd done to Ian just moments ago was utterly unlike her usual self—something she couldn't even comprehend.
What had gotten her so worked up that she'd lashed out like that? Thinking it over, it was just their usual banter, nothing more—for both of them. And yet, the sight of him dramatically overreacting, wiping fake blood from his face and dodging away, had ignited something in her. Especially with that nagging thought: If it had been Ju Cheong-ah, he wouldn't have dodged.
It was just our normal joking around, so why did I snap like that? A twinge of regret mixed with self-reproach and embarrassment over her impulsive outburst, all swirling into a strangely complex feeling.
And what's with that idiot suddenly watching my mood? Ian never cared if she snapped or got pissy. So why was he creeping along so cautiously now, peeking at her face? It felt all wrong. If he'd just come up like usual, apologize casually, she'd forgive him in a heartbeat. This stifling awkwardness grated on her.
Should I apologize first? No, what did she even have to be sorry for? Sure, snapping at his prank was a bit much. But he'd been out of line too.
Come to think of it, he started it. Why treat people differently? Why always... to me... Huh?
...We kissed today too. Bella's gaze drifted to her new black metallic arm—now so familiar. That bastard. Rotten jerk. Whether he knew it or not, his distant trailing only irked her more. She bit her lip.
If only she couldn't see him. Wait, she couldn't see him—her missing eye was bandaged. It was just the sense of him following behind. When had she started caring this much about Ian?
Probably from that night. The first night conquering the dungeon. Before then, Bella had felt nothing for him. Just a teammate roped in by Aria's "request"? Not even a real teammate. More like a mouthy, prideful deadweight—talentless but stubborn. Someone she'd eventually ditch, barely connected to her life.
At least he handles chores well. Deadweight was too harsh—handyman fit better. Plus, leeching off a powerhouse like Ju Cheong-ah... Hmm.
Leech is too much. Kept man, maybe. That was her assessment back then.
Then the first kiss. The night her arm regenerated. Everything changed.
It started with shock. This crazy bastard dares to—! Rage over her stolen lips overrode the joy of her new arm. She'd smashed his face, turning his eye into a black shiner.
She'd been a princess, after all. Not just any princess—the heir apparent to the Mountain Kingdom, slated to be queen. Exile and years as a mercenary had roughened her, but she was still nobility. Refined upbringing, royal poise, education—she had it all. Her tomboyish personality, foul mouth, and guy-like mannerisms just masked it.
Back in the kingdom, she'd been the top marriage prospect, making men's hearts flutter. Including Tronen's late crown prince—Aria's brother.
Not that I'd brag about it. Bella just wanted to remind herself she was desirable. A catch.
So why... with that idiot...?
First came shock. Then subtle interest. After the kiss, in the dungeon or resting outside, her eyes kept finding him. Sure, initial outrage faded, leaving gratitude for her arm. Daily kisses for maintenance fueled it. What was he doing? Looking at? Thinking? Interest turned to fondness.
In the dungeon's final room. Waking after. Back at the guild. Which moment flipped the switch? She couldn't pinpoint it. What? Why? No clue. Suddenly, he grated on her nerves—incessantly.
That was it. Even now, under the darkening sky with slow raindrops falling. Just a bit irritating.
A cold, wet plip on my scalp. I looked up, hand outstretched.
"What the...? Rain?"
Drops hit my face. When had the sky turned so dark? It'd been clear entering the mountain. Now clouds promised a downpour.
Rain intensified. Delay more, and we'd be soaked. Descending in this was risky. I ran to catch Bella.
"Bella...!"
"...What?" She half-turned, still grumpy.
Rain first. I pointed skyward.
"Uh, it's raining. Can't head down right away. We need shelter."
"Jeez... Where around here?"
"Well..."
I recalled a rickety cabin off the path up. Abandoned—probably for herbalists or woodcutters. I explained; she nodded.
"Fine, go there."
"Got it. I'll lead—I know the spot."
I dashed ahead through pouring rain. By the cabin, we were drenched rats.
What downpour. Shower? No—sky unrelenting. Weather service would've issued warnings.
The creaky door groaned. Inside matched outside: dilapidated, leaking everywhere.
"Hey, Ian. Leaks."
"Not everywhere. Corner's dry—there."
"Fine."
We dragged wet bodies to the dry patch, sat.
Achoo! "Ugh, cold."
Me too—chilled. I scanned: dry logs, branches in corner. Even a dusty blanket.
Worn cabin, but beggars can't be choosers.
"Wait here."
"Huh? What?"
I hustled logs/branches safe from rain, dusted blanket.
Before fire...
"Uh, Bella?"
"What."
Still pissy. I eyed cautiously.
"No misunderstanding. You're soaked— you'll catch cold keeping that on."
"Take it off?"
"Yeah. Cover with this." I handed blanket.
She pondered, stood.
"...Don't look."
"Gotcha."
I turned, rummaged for fire-starting magic tool. Prep paid off.
Behind: rustle of leather shedding water—thuds on floor. No fabric whisper—her gear was soaked hide. Then blanket swish.
Fire lit. She eyed her clothes, placed near flames. Called me—back still turned.
"Hey, Ian."
"Yeah?"
"You not stripping? Just me?"
"...Huh?"
"You're soaked too. Not just my cold—yours."
"Uh, well..."
Hesitant. Her undressing had half-hardened me. Awkward now. Blanket was hers. Normally, no biggie—naked's fine. But after her words, her hurt look lingered. Felt bad acting casual.
"I'm good. Dry here."
"Bullshit. Strip, idiot. Don't care about your dick."
"Nah, I'm fi—"
"Just fucking strip. Whiny bitch. Said I don't give a shit about your tiny prick?"
She cut me off, pissed. I bristled. Tiny...? Well, accurate, but. Already holding back, now insults? Pissed me off.
...Why am I like this? Trying to be nice, she snaps. Screw consideration.
Splash-splash. I stripped, tossed clothes by fire. Naked. Dick deflated with anger.
Hot stare on it—probably imagination.
"Happy now?"
"...Y-yeah. Why drag it out if you're stripping anyway?"
"Shut up. You don't get it."
I plopped by fire. She called awkwardly.
"Hey. Ian."
"What?"
She lifted blanket edge.
"...Come in?"