When Fischer finally struggled to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was the familiar ceiling of his train compartnt. He stared blankly at it for a long mont before turning to look beside him—only to find the space empty, with him being the sole occupant of the bed.
Sitting up, he winced at the sharp pain coursing through his body. Glancing down, he noticed bandages wrapped haphazardly around him, thin and loose like so amateur had attempted mummification. Still, they had at least stopped the bleeding, preventing him from bleeding out.
Thanks to his enhanced physique, his recovery was swift. Overnight, most of his wounds had already scabbed over.
Almost like the absurd regenerative abilities of a Dragonkin.
"Fischer, you're awake!"
Just as Fischer was examining himself, the door to his room creaked open, revealing Raphaëlle standing there with a relieved expression. Before he could speak, however, a loud voice chid in from behind her.
"What? Fischer's awake? Let see!"
"Larr!"
The petite Larr ducked under Raphaëlle’s arm, completely ignoring the latter’s glare, and bounded excitedly to Fischer’s bedside.
"Fischer, you’re awake! Last night, Raphaëlle said your bed was too small and she didn’t want to press on your wounds, but I think it’s fine! If I just curl my tail a bit, I can totally fit!"
Raphaëlle’s face flushed. She had originally intended to rest with Fischer last night, but his bed was a single—too cramped to share without risking his injuries. She hadn’t expected Larr to blurt it all out.
"Larr, weren’t you supposed to go wash up in the river outside?"
"No! Raphaëlle! I don’t wanna go now! Cachil and Fassil will definitely splash ! I swear!"
Watching the noisy exchange, Fischer chuckled—but after a full night of fighting and sleeping straight through noon, his stomach growled loudly. Rembering the bread he’d bought in Fieron City sitting on his nightstand, he reached for it—only to grasp empty air.
Huh? Where’s my bread?
Before he could ask, Larr—now pinned by Raphaëlle—buried her face in Raphaëlle’s chest and mumbled,
"Ohhh, I suddenly really wanna take a bath! Maybe I’ll go now, yeah?"
"..."
Without another word, Larr clapped her hands over her ears and bolted out the door, vanishing down the train car.
Now, only Fischer and Raphaëlle remained in the room. Raphaëlle glanced at Fischer’s bare torso and added,
"Your clothes were ruined. I took them off and put them over there, but they’re unwearable now. Everything from the pockets is here."
On the bedside table lay his wallet, a pack of Nary cigarettes, and a matchbox—but his two handbooks were missing. Fischer nodded, rubbing his sore body before saying to Raphaëlle,
"You go ahead. I’ll join you after changing."
"Mm."
Once Raphaëlle closed the door, Fischer groaned as he rose from the bed, eyeing his tattered suit jacket hanging on the rack. Reaching into the inner pocket, he found the two Completion Handbooks.
Odd. He’d placed them together yesterday, yet now one was on the left side and the other on the right. He hadn’t moved them, and no one else could even see them—so had they moved on their own?
Retrieving both books, he headed to the adjacent changing room to swap into his last tailored suit. Who’d have thought that in the Southern Continent, his clothes would burn through faster than his money? Between dirt and battle damage, he was down to his final set. Maybe he should’ve ditched the suits altogether.
After so deliberation, he left the jacket hanging and settled for just the white dress shirt underneath.
Hunger gnawing at him, Fischer stepped out of the train to find them parked beside a forest stream. Cachil and Fassil were already done washing up, drying their hair with towels, while Mir tended to a small fire where at roasted over leaves.
"Lord Fischer, you’re awake. Co have so breakfast."
"Thanks... Where are we now?"
"Ah, Raphaëlle kept us heading north. We shouldn’t have strayed from the route."
Mir handed Fischer a skewer of unidentified at before adding,
"No one’s chasing us, but last night we heard human cannon fire in the distance, so Raphaëlle stopped our advance."
"I see."
Fischer gazed toward the forest. According to Fieron, this area was supposed to be contested between the Lords’ Alliance of Schwalli and local tribes over mining rights.
Deciding to rest for the day until his wounds improved, Fischer took a bite of at—just as Larr’s voice rang out from the shallow stream.
"Fischer! Look, I learned how to swim!"
Mir’s face reddened as she stood abruptly.
"Larr! You’re not wearing anything! I told you not to swim over here!"
"But I want Fischer to polish my scales..."
Polish... scales?
That’s—that’s sothing only a Tailmate should do!!
Mir froze, speechless, while Raphaëlle—standing by the stream—snapped at Larr to swim back imdiately.
Fischer kept his eyes firmly on his food, chewing thodically.
"Sorry, Lord Fischer. Larr’s just... too much sotis."
"It’s fine."
After breakfast, the previously energetic Larr slumped, wrapped in a towel and barely able to keep her eyes open. They’d stopped near dawn, and while the others had managed, the youngest of them had hit her limit.
Once Mir dried her hair, Larr curled up for a nap, leaving Fischer to step outside for air.
The dayti forest was oddly quiet, the distant human-goblin battle thankfully not disturbing this pocket of peace.
With the respite, Fischer’s mind wandered back to recent events—Fieron’s Soul Completion Handbook, and that terrifying entity that had claid their souls.
Fieron had handed him the handbook, telling him to "handle the technology" himself. Did that an the soul-extraction technique?
Seed he’d have to study this handbook after all.
Reaching into his shirt, he felt for the Soul Completion Handbook—only to find the Demi-Human Girl Completion Handbook in its place.
"Huh?"
His other pocket yielded the soul manual, wedged awkwardly in the corner.
As he puzzled over this, footsteps approached. Turning, he found Raphaëlle standing beside him, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel, her face flushed and gaze averted.
Thankfully, her tail stayed still—otherwise, the flimsy fabric wouldn’t have stood a chance.
"I... I wanted to wash up too."
"..." Fischer’s gaze lingered on the glimpses of bare skin, pale as fresh cream, before he forced himself to look away. With his injuries, now wasn’t the ti for complications.
"Right. I’ll head back then."
But as he passed her, she caught his sleeve. When he turned, only her profile was visible.
"W-wait... Help ... polish my scales. I can’t reach my back or tail."
"...Alright."
"..."
The stream was shallow, barely reaching Raphaëlle’s chest even as she knelt. She kept the towel loosely draped, revealing only her back and the scales trailing down her spine. Her tail arched above the water’s surface, swaying slightly.
"How do I...?"
Her scales were smooth and perfectly ford, warm to the touch like heated stones. Where his fingers brushed, they quivered faintly but never raised.
Steam curled around them, mist mingling with the cool stream as if they’d stumbled into a hot spring. Then, cheeks pink, Raphaëlle glanced back at Fischer—his focus entirely on her scales.
"Fischer..."
"What?"
His reply was flat, hands still working along her usually restless tail, now docile under his touch.
Instead of answering, Raphaëlle tugged his collar, pulling him into a kiss that lted his stoic expression.
When she finally pulled away, breathless, she imdiately turned back, clutching the towel tightly.
"Paynt... for helping ."
"..."
"And... from now on, you only polish my scales."
The last words were soft, but the forest’s silence carried them clearly. Perhaps Larr’s earlier request had reminded her.
"Fine."
At his agreent, her damp tail curled possessively around his ankle, refusing to let go.
The mist thickened. The stream murmured on.
---
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