Breakfast Teasing and Battle Broadcasts
"Pfft...!!"
After seeing Kernax off, Siron, who ended up naturally joining me for breakfast in the dining hall, spat out the water she was drinking.
Giena, sitting beside her, pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over, and Siron wiped her mouth while shooting me a slightly twisted glare.
"No way... You seriously said that right there?"
"I was just curious, Siron. What'd I do wrong?"
"Haa... What the hell am I gonna do with this idiot."
Siron wiped her mouth and then tapped her own forehead with one hand, shaking her head.
"Fine. Yeah, I can totally see you blurting that out without a second thought."
"Right?"
Siron said it, and Giena nodded in agreement beside her.
So what the hell's the issue? Tell me already.
"Hey, think about it. A guy personally goes out to see off a woman heading to work? And instead of 'be careful' or 'have a safe trip,' he says, 'I'll be waiting for you'? What do you think that means? Cut the crap about it just meaning he'll wait."
"There's... something else to it?"
"Hell yeah there is. Common sense: why would a guy wait for a girl? Sure, if it was the other way around. But a guy waiting for a girl? Only one answer. He's saying 'let's go a round tonight'—what else could it be?"
"...It comes off like that?"
These pervy women. Overlaying filthy implications on my pure send-off.
But hearing Siron out, I could see how the setup might spark that kind of misunderstanding.
"Get it now?"
"So you're saying I just did some public sex appeal?"
"...Yeah. And watch what you say out loud."
Siron gave me a look, and only then did I remember we weren't alone—this room had maidservants attending us.
To me, who'd even left Ardella's aftercare to them, this was no big deal. But Siron seemed embarrassed.
She's surprisingly prudish about stuff like this.
The meal was wrapping up amid casual chit-chat when Siron set her spoon down on her empty plate and turned to me.
"But why don't you call me noona?"
"...Huh?"
Did I hear that wrong? I double-checked with her.
"Siron. What'd you just say?"
"Call me noona too. C'mon. Fair's fair."
We'd been chatting fine and the food was great, but suddenly Siron pouted like a duck, staring at me.
Calling her noona isn't hard, but she's younger than me—calling her that feels off.
"No, Siron. I'm older than you. Shouldn't you call me oppa? While we're at it, say 'Smith-oppa'—"
Smack—!!
Something nicely moist hit my face. I picked it off—Giena's handkerchief from earlier, the one Siron used to wipe her mouth.
"O-op-oppa... what the fuck!!"
Siron's face flushed as red as her hair, jabbing a finger at me and fuming.
Damn, calling you oppa's that hard, Siron? This oppa's heart hurts.
Then Giena, who'd quietly finished eating, looked at me.
"I'm definitely older than you, Smith, so calling me noona would be fine."
"Hah?! Are you nuts?!"
"Why not? We settled it last night, didn't we?"
"No!!"
Whatever it was, while I was busy with Ardella, Siron must've chatted with Giena and Kernax about it.
But noona for Giena? Her looks scream it, but age gap-wise, isn't it a bit rude?
Anyway, Siron's noona push and my oppa bid fizzled out thanks to Giena jumping in.
After breakfast, we dumped cleanup on the maids and headed to Siron's room for some rest and digestion.
We were catching our breath over fragrant tea a maid brought when—
"Hey, idiot."
"Yeah? What's up?"
Siron, head pillowed on my lap like before, stared up at me.
"The territorial war. You don't have to watch it live, right?"
"Territorial war?"
"Yeah. That's why we came all this way."
"True. Which is exactly why I gotta see it live."
Truth be told, I didn't wanna watch a territorial war up close. Who wants to see people die right in front of them?
Not me, that's for sure.
But I still needed to witness it firsthand—no other way to eyeball Night Fairy's real performance. And like anywhere, seeing it yourself hits different from reports or docs.
"Can't you just watch if you can see it?"
"Huh? Yeah, if I can see it, that's enough. Why d'you think we're here?"
Siron bolted upright from my thigh—thankfully, no tea spill.
"Hey. Then no need to go live."
She twisted around, staring at me.
I stared right back.
"No need to go live? Siron, care to elaborate?"
"Was just about to."
Siron grumbled like 'impatient as ever' and explained.
"So that's that."
"Gotcha."
I nodded at her summary. In short:
While I was mannequin'd yesterday, Kernax and Lenia talked territorial war stuff, and out of nowhere Lenia brought me up.
Boiled down: "What's that guy's deal coming here?"
Kernax shared what couldn't be hidden—what'd come out anyway—and Lenia got it as "here to check the soldiers' gear performance live."
Key part starts here.
Territorial wars are open to any reps from either territory. Lenia, under Ardella's heavy influence, said she'd accommodate me watching if I wanted.
But also added:
—If it's just gear performance, merchants provide broadcast footage on the day.
—If you insist on live, we'll provide every courtesy.
Siron explained the "broadcast": stupidly expensive projection-magic-embedded comm crystals, relayed through multiples—a slightly delayed live feed.
Merchants and caravans in nearby cities team up, providing crystals/venues. Why? Money.
Gambling on the war rakes in fees—they all profit big. Some "donated" to city growth—who knows if it's real.
Bottom line: live or broadcast, full VIP treatment either way.
"No need to go yourself, right?"
"Sounds good, but is the feed clear?"
"Gotta be crisp or no one's entertained—and no entertainment, no repeat customers."
"Oh."
Made sense. Food or shows, if it's eye candy, you're halfway sold—merchants obsess over quality.
"If you're iffy, just ask for a demo now."
"Can I?"
"Who'd say no to the lord's personal guest?"
Siron flashed a small silver medal from her bosom—engraved with Viscount Biolin's crest. Proof you're treated like family anywhere they hold sway.
"Meant for you, but if you lose it, trouble. I'll hold it. Got it?"
"Yeah. Smart call."
I'm not a total space cadet dropping stuff, but pickpockets exist here—better she or Giena holds valuables. Peace of mind.
"While we're at it, let's go now. Nothing else here anyway."
"Fair."
Walking aids digestion better than sitting, and early outing lets us scout temple spots and wander.
"Shall we?"
We followed the soldiers' backs at a leisurely pace.
Like yesterday, casual group stroll—but Lenia'd warned via soldiers:
—While Lady Ardella and I are away, to prevent any noble friction in the city, we're assigning escorts. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Couldn't refuse that. So minimal: two front, two back. Four total.
Drew eyes, but no interruptions—smooth sailing. Nice.
"That building."
A lead soldier pointed. Merchant guild HQ—towering two heads over neighbors. Front buzzed with shouters, hammers/boards in hand—interior renos?
"This way."
Side path per soldier—quieter quick. Stopped at two fancy-dressed women by a door. Guards, with entry behind.
Soldier whispered before questions—one stepped aside.
"Go on in."
No words needed—we slipped inside with soldiers.
"What business?"
Wrinkle-free-suited woman approached soldiers.
"Lord's guests. Who's in charge today?"
"Nyaho of Black Thread Traders."
"...No other branch heads?"
Soldier looked awkward; suit glanced past at me, nodded.
"One moment. I'll check for others and bring if available."
"Thanks."
Suit click-clacked away.
Soldier turned: "Sorry. Please wait."
"No prob. But that Nyaho from Black Thread—is she trouble?"
Soldier nodded.
"Nyaho's a pureblood black cat tribe woman."
I blinked. New heteromorph babe? But why trouble?
I waited quietly for more.
Soldier blinked back.
"......"
"......"
Silence.
"That's... it?"
"Pardon? Oh, yes."
Huh. Black cat tribe that bitchy? Cats get stereotyped for moods and quirks—maybe that's it. Avoid for sanity.
But personally? Kinda wanna meet one.
As I pictured Nyaho, suit returned—with a new woman.
"Sorry for the wait. This is—"
"Eek—?!"
The follower spotted us, shrieked high, clapped hand over mouth.
All eyes on her—including suit's.
Pale-faced, hand-muffled. Voluptuous chest, sultry curves. Outfit screaming "rich bitch."
I stared at the frozen woman behind suit.
"Honey... night...?"