Why Can't I Have a Romance Fantasy?
I sprawled out on the camp bed after stripping off all my gear, catching my breath while Kalia and I traded a few curt words amid stretches of heavy silence. Truth be told, I wasn't the sociable type either. And from what I'd seen, Kalia seemed cut from the same cloth. Few words, clumsy with emotions, silent unless it was necessary—she embodied that vibe. Whether it was her usual icy aura or just plain awkwardness, the air had thickened into an uncomfortable hush by then.
That's when Kalia broke the stillness first, opening her mouth cautiously. Was she fed up with the suffocating mood too, or did she have something urgent to say? I nodded eagerly inside at the sight of her speaking up.
'Come on, say something—anything.'
My short, urging response drew her gaze to me. Staring into those red eyes, I found myself tensing up, fixated unwittingly on her lips.
"Young master, I'll step out for a moment."
"Huh? Where to?"
Her words shattered the quiet, mocking every scenario I'd imagined in my head and sending them flying. What an odd thing to say. Suddenly needing to go somewhere? Of course, as my exclusive guard knight, she couldn't stray a single step from my side without the protectee's—mine—permission.
Ah.
It hit me then. I'm something of a gentleman who knows how to read a lady's mind. Kalia was a beauty, sharp atmosphere aside. The only weird part was this being the first time in a week she'd asked to go anywhere. Didn't she just pop off to the bathroom without asking before? Some change of heart? Or maybe our relationship had progressed over the week?
Her blank expression gave nothing away. So I gave permission plainly, no flowery words needed. A bathroom break deserved some ease. Gotta eat to live, after all.
The moment I approved, Kalia spun on her heel and moved. To think that steely expression was just basic biology. Even a one-woman army of a squire was human in the end. The "Northern Sword" who carved through battlefields might be unstoppable, but no one beats the call of nature.
Who knew I'd feel a kinship in something so primal?
'I figured knights handled that with mana or something. But webtoons clearly showed...'
The parts with the heroine and hero were skimmed in side stories; I'd scrolled past settings at a glance, so maybe I didn't know jack. With so many fantasy webtoons, things probably got jumbled in my head.
Suddenly, illusion shattered. What was I thinking? Knights and mages weren't superhumans or immortals living off dew. Breaking my fantasy over a potty break? Laughable. A hollow chuckle escaped me.
But oddly, relief washed over me too. Seeing flawless Kalia just like any human lightened the stiffness from playing noble after possession.
I watched her retreating figure with crisp poise. Thwack.
The tent flap that should've billowed dramatically smacked her face instead. Her imperial-commanding aura crumbled in an instant.
Yes. Kalia Crisia was a hopeless klutz.
"Pfft."
A week with her, and I'd seen this show plenty, but it never failed to amuse and baffle. The battlefield demon showing her ditzy side—the gap was glaring to me every time.
At first, I thought it was some advanced test acting. Strong folks were rarely normal, right?
'Webtoon and novel tropes, sure.'
So I'd pegged her blunders as eccentric genius quirks. Maybe gauging my reactions? I'd stifled laughs desperately, peeking at her face.
And she was a squire, no less. Unthinkable for her rank here. Tutors called them human weapons, terrifying. Knights from afar matched that rep.
But watching Kalia? Knights were people too. She shattered my knight stereotypes. Not a bad thing. Her slip-ups eased my initial tension from possession stiffness.
The sharp intimidation faded bit by bit. Her over-the-top loyalty still weighed heavy, though.
Just four months into noble life. Time heals all, right? Stranger world, stranger body. Being a possessed noble would normalize eventually.
-----
After Kalia left the tent, some time passed, and my fatigue eased. I hauled my heavy body up. Wanted more rest, but goblin-bloodied clothes and sticky sweat screamed otherwise. The musty stench assaulting my nose was bonus.
And the clincher: this golden window with Kalia away to wash quickly.
She was obsessively dutiful as guard knight. She'd stand front-row for my bath or insist on joining to protect me.
"I can't leave you in a blind spot, young master."
That grave declaration was no joke. Her dazzling beauty complicated it. Rationally, reject firmly—but instinct glued my tongue, self-loathing surging. Black hair floating on waves, red eyes staring... No, stop. Too stimulating.
"Hah..."
After agonizing self-hate, we compromised: her waiting outside post-Day 1. But her total absence like now? Prime no-eyes bath time.
'The protectee minding his guard knight's feelings... right?'
If I weren't a kid, who knows. Wait, because I'm a kid, she suggested it. Yeah. Not forever, right...? As lifelong guard unless I refuse, what if later?
I scratched my feverish cheeks, grabbed a towel. Lifted the flap, stepped out—future worries later. Clean this grime first.
Spotting me, soldier Ron strode over.
"Oh, young master! Off to wash?"
"Yeah. Goblin blood all over—can't rest. Gotta rinse."
"Wise choice. Those bastards are useless even dead. Stink alone's killer. I was headed there—join me?"
Lonely solo bath? Solid offer. I accepted Ron's warm grin readily.
"Sure, let's go."
Walking side-by-side with Ron, we chatted miscellany. More his gentle advice, age-considerate. 'Has a little brother, right?' Explained the ingrained care.
Unneeded kindness for me, but unspoken. No need to embarrass the giver—and his chatter was fun radio background.
Mid-talk, an igloo-like building appeared. The northern outdoor bathhouse.
Bathing unprepared in brutal northern cold? Suicide. Worse for mana-inepts like me or Ron.
How, then? Northern way: smash ice or fetch stream water, heat/purify with magic. Magic tools recycle used water. Thus, camp bathhouse coziness.
Just a steam-vent chimney poking up; rounded enclosure like giant igloo. Unique, practical northern design.
Ron and I entered casually. Door opened—misty steam and warm air enveloped us. Biting cold melted; stiff muscles finally loosened.
Knew from Day 1 "forced" bath with Kalia.
'Ah.'
Shook head hard to dispel nagging Kalia image. No risky thoughts or misunderstandings.
Best: distract elsewhere.
"Ahh, this is why we live north!"
Ron flung clothes off expertly. His boldness spurred me—stripped without hesitation. Peeling goblin-soaked garb, a thought struck.
'...Wait, this ain't romance fantasy either, huh?'
Typical genre possession: opulent bathroom, blinding luxury, elegant soak with pretty maid service.
But here? No marble floors or rose petals—just buff soldier Ron's bod in view.
No heroine flirt-mance; sweat-stinking soldier bromance bath. Why can't I have romance fantasy...