Bedroom.
Jeanne practically fled back to her room, face burning. She dove straight into bed and buried her face in a pillow, trying to smother the blush that had spread all the way from her cheeks down to her neck.
"Wh-why did I agree so easily…?" she mumbled into the pillow, twisting around in embarrassment. "I should've just said no. Firmly. Definitely no…"
Living room.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then an hour.
Lucas stood up abruptly, expression deadpan. He'd officially run out of patience.
"Jeanne!"
The bedroom door creaked open. Slowly, Jeanne stepped out under his gaze.
She looked mortified, but she forced herself to stand tall—showing off her figure in the new battle outfit she'd promised to try on.
It was supposed to be a practical combat uniform. But under Lucas's heated stare, Jeanne felt like she was wearing nothing at all. Her skin prickled, a wave of heat crawling up her body.
Lucas, on the other hand, looked absolutely enthralled.
The dark-blue cleric-style dress had a high slit that framed her curves perfectly. Black over-the-knee socks added a sharp contrast, making her legs look impossibly long.
And if she paired it with the armor he'd commissioned from Tsubaki—silver gauntlets, greaves, a plated skirt, plus the chained gorget and circlet—it would recreate her image exactly as he remembered it.
"Golden hair, blue eyes, black thigh-highs, braided jellyfish bob… His voice came out in a reverent whisper. "As expected of the Holy Maiden herself…"
Jeanne's whole body tensed. Her cheeks flared even redder. "H-have you stared enough?!"
Lucas blurted out instinctively, "Not even close. Love it. Can't stop looking."
"You… ugh!" Jeanne turned away, pretending to be offended—but the tiny, smug flicker of pride on her lips gave her away.
Still…
Why did his praise make her heart flutter like this? Why did showing herself to him, of all people, make her so happy?
The strange feeling made her chest tight and her mind spin.
At least they were alone in the house.
Jeanne exhaled quietly, finally calming down. The initial wave of panic had passed, and she'd gotten used to the feeling of the outfit against her skin.
At the very least, she could stand there without wanting to bolt anymore.
---
Morning came before they knew it.
The first rays of sunlight spilled through the window, heralding midsummer.
Lucas woke up at his usual hour. The sky outside was still a pale blue, a few stubborn stars clinging to the dawn.
He stretched, washed up, watered the plants, went through his morning exercises, started breakfast, and tidied up the house.
In the middle of all that, Jeanne's door opened.
She stepped out wearing one of the dresses they'd bought yesterday—a countryside-style Lolita outfit, all soft pastels and tiny details. A leather corset belt cinched her waist, matching the sleeves and apron. Frilly trim danced along the hem and neckline.
Her golden hair was braided into twin plaits that framed her face, and the mid-heeled brown boots gave her a graceful lift.
"Good morning, Lucas."
He turned, caught sight of her, and smiled wide.
"Morning, Jeanne. You look great. That dress really suits you."
He said it while flipping the pan with practiced ease. The fried egg spun midair, landing perfectly back in the skillet.
"Thank you…" Jeanne's cheeks warmed, but she recovered quickly. Last night's "trial" had clearly boosted her tolerance for his compliments.
"Any plans for today?" she asked, sitting down at the table. "You mentioned something about exploring the Dungeon or taking quests soon?"
"That's the idea," Lucas said, sprinkling pepper and salt over the eggs, "but our weapons and armor aren't ready yet. It's better not to rush. The Dungeon isn't exactly forgiving."
"So today…?"
"Today's all about practice," he said, setting down breakfast. "We'll spar, get a feel for each other's fighting styles, build some teamwork."
"Combat training?" Jeanne's eyes brightened. That, she could get behind. She was a strategist first and foremost, but she'd trained in combat too—and she was eager to see what Lucas could actually do.
If he was as capable as he claimed, it would also give her a rough idea of Orario's power scale.
---
In the courtyard, they faced each other from five meters apart, each holding a wooden practice spear.
Jeanne studied Lucas's stance—casual, sloppy, full of openings. Her brows furrowed. Maybe it was a feint, meant to bait her in?
Not bad, she thought. Guess I won't hold back, then.
Lucas crooked a finger and smirked. "Come on. I'll make it quick."
Jeanne's expression hardened. Every muscle in her body coiled tight.
With a sharp exhale, she lunged.
The air cracked.
She shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Her right arm twisted, the spear darting like lightning straight for his chest—
"—?!?"
Lucas didn't even have time to react before—
WHAM!
Jeanne's leg swung in a perfect arc, her boot connecting squarely with his jaw.
His eyes went wide, face freezing in shock before he went spinning through the air and crashed against the wall.
"Ghhh—!"
Lucas dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach and dry-heaving, his whole body trembling.
"Blegh—ugh—ugh—"
Jeanne just stood there, staring blankly.
What the hell just happened?
Her brain short-circuited. The fight had lasted maybe five seconds.
Lucas, meanwhile, was having a full existential crisis. Between dry heaves, flashes of every battle he'd ever fought as an adventurer zipped through his mind like a slideshow—right before Jeanne's second kick filled his entire field of vision.
Then, darkness.
"What kind of 'combat practice' was that?" he thought weakly. "I couldn't even last three moves against Jeanne?! No way… no way in hell…"
His heroic self-image shattered on impact.
Jeanne looked down at him, guilt flickering for half a second before a mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
She remembered that predatory look in his eyes last night—the way he'd made her model that outfit—and any guilt vanished.
Oh, how the tables turn.
That kick felt good.
Righteous, even.
Almost… transcendent.
"'Battle training,' huh?" she said, crossing her arms, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "If that's all you've got, I'm amazed you've survived in the Dungeon at all."
Still hunched over, Lucas's face darkened.
"T-that doesn't count," he grumbled. "I'm used to fighting monsters, not people! PVP's a whole different skill set!"
That was… technically true.
Lucas had no mentor, no formal training—everything he knew came from experience and instinct. Against a clever, tactical opponent like Jeanne, his fighting style looked downright crude. Full of holes. Sloppy.
He didn't even realize his eyes followed his weapon instead of his opponent—something Jeanne exploited effortlessly. One feint was all it took to leave him open.
Clearly, he'd never fought anyone who thought while they fought.
She sighed, then straightened.
"Lucas, if you ever want to get good at real combat, start from the ground up." Her tone was firm, teacher-like. "We're stopping the spar here. From now on, we work on your basics—starting with your stance."
"Strong foundations make strong fighters," she declared, leaving no room for argument. The spar had officially become a lecture.
For someone with a bit of a macho streak, that stung. His face heated, but he could only grumble, "Yeah, yeah, got it."
Jeanne chuckled softly. "Cheer up. Not everyone gets personal lessons from the Holy Maiden herself."
"…Right." Lucas sighed in defeat, brushing the dirt off his clothes.
"Alright," Jeanne said, stepping behind him to demonstrate. "Start with a wide stance. Feet apart, knees bent, center of gravity low." Her hands guided his shoulders and waist, adjusting him with precise care.
"No matter your weapon—sword, spear, staff—balance is everything."
"For beginners, a wide stance is safer and steadier than a narrow one," she continued, pressing closer to help him align properly.
Her breath brushed against his neck.
Holy crap, she's soft.
"Don't move!"
Smack!
"Ah—!"
Silence.
The training session suddenly felt less like a lesson and more like… something else entirely.
And in the quiet summer air, the tension between them was thick enough to touch.