Chapter 58

For Lifa, life in the Royal Capital was a whirlwind of stimulation and novelty. The city offered countless sights and experiences she never would have encountered had she spent her entire life in her small village.

The abundance of her surroundings was almost enough to make her forget her predicament, yet she couldn't bring herself to enjoy it from the bottom of her heart. A lingering sense of guilt weighed on her; she knew her thoughtless words and actions had caused Harold unnecessary trouble.

Logic dictated that she should simply apologize and clear the air, but whenever she actually faced him, she found herself rising to his provocations. They always ended up trading barbs. Consequently, she kept missing the right moment to say she was sorry, leading her to where she was now.

Thus, she welcomed her third day at the institute with a thorn of unease still pricking her conscience. This was the day her first formal discussion with Justus finally took place.

It lasted only an hour, but that was more than enough time for Lifa to realize just how brilliant a man Justus Freund was.

He offered perspectives she had never considered and ideas she lacked. One after another, she discovered flaws and potential refinements in her own theories—logic she had previously assumed was flawless. While her pride took a bit of a bruising, the thrill of knowing her magic would reach even greater heights far outweighed any fleeting sense of shame or frustration.

And yet, despite the academic breakthrough, Lifa’s mood remained clouded.

"Sigh..."

"What’s wrong, Lifa-chan? You look a bit down."

The sun had already begun its late afternoon descent. While she was taking a break in the Free Space, a man who happened to be nearby called out to her. Lifa didn't recall his name, but his affable smile had left a positive impression on her over the last few days.

The man sat down across from her with practiced ease, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"It’s nothing, really..."

"Director Justus reviewed the technical theories Lifa devised earlier," El added, offering a casual cover from the seat next to her. "She seems a bit depressed because there were more inadequacies than she expected."

"Ah, Director Justus is relentless, isn't he..."

Lifa appreciated the backup. It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was better than dealing with unnecessary prying. Over the past few days, she had developed a growing reluctance to engage with the staff here.

"Well, if that’s all it is, you don’t need to worry. I thought for sure that guy had done something awful to you."

This was the source of her irritation. The researchers here took every possible opportunity to bring up Harold’s name just to disparage him.

Their malice was fueled by Harold’s own words, his public reputation, and reports of his villainous behavior. In a sense, it was Harold’s own fault. Lifa didn't feel the need to ignore his faults or blindly defend him.

After all, Harold was a man with a twisted personality. He showered anyone within earshot with insults, sarcasm, and ridicule the moment he opened his mouth. It was perfectly understandable why people hated him.

However, Lifa knew there was more to Harold than that.

He had braved the danger of fighting Ice Dragons for the sake of a request that was nothing more than a verbal promise. Even when the situation turned dire with the appearance of two dragons at once, Harold had honored his word. Despite being in a position where a truly heartless person would have abandoned her to save themselves, he had helped her without a second thought.

Would a truly arrogant, selfish man be so fastidious about a promise? Lifa couldn't bring herself to believe it.

One could argue he was acting in expectation of a future reward, but his actions only served to advance Lifa’s research. As far as she could tell, Harold himself stood to gain absolutely nothing from it.

"Hmm, well, he hasn't actually done anything to us, so it’s hard to feel a sense of crisis," El remarked.

"That’s how he lures you into a false sense of security! Take my word for it, it's better to stay far away from that guy."

The man continued to lecture them on how dangerous Harold was. To him, this was the objective truth, and he likely believed he was acting in Lifa’s best interest.

But for Lifa, it only added to her confusion.

As the stream of insults against Harold continued, El listened intently, likely searching for clues in Harold’s past that would explain his reputation. It wasn't a conversation Lifa wanted to be part of anymore.

The more she thought about it, the more miserable she felt. Eventually, she began to feel physically ill.

"...Sorry, I'm going back to my room."

Leaving them behind without a second look, Lifa stood up and retreated to her assigned quarters. Once there, she crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over her head.

This was Lifa’s sanctuary.

Whenever she was scolded by her mother or hit a wall in her research, she would curl up in the dark like this to find her calm. As she lay there hugging her knees, regrets over her behavior and questions about Harold circled her mind in an endless, answerless loop.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she finally drifted off. When she eventually woke, she was still in the same position, drenched in sweat. Her shirt clung uncomfortably to her skin.

Groaning, she poked her head out from under the covers. Outside the window, the veil of night had already fallen. She had slept for a significant amount of time.

"Are you awake?"

Lifa rolled over to see El sitting by her own bedside lamp, reading a hardcover book. Closing it with a soft snap, El picked up a tray from the table and brought it over.

On the tray were sandwiches and a salad. El poured a glass of ice water from a pitcher and handed it to her.

"How are you feeling? I brought some light food, but if you want something more substantial, we could head to the Dining Hall."

"No, this is fine. Thank you."

Lifa wasn't particularly hungry, so the snack was perfect. She drained half the glass of water in one go and let out a long sigh of relief.

El watched her with a gentle, knowing gaze that made Lifa feel a bit self-conscious.

"What is it?"

"I could tell you were troubled. I'm not sure if I can offer much help, but I'm here to listen if you want to talk. Not that I mean to meddle."

It seemed El had seen right through her. Since it wasn't a secret, and since Lifa wanted El's perspective anyway, she decided to open up.

"El... what do you really think about Harold?"

"You mean whether he's actually the person the rumors say he is?"

"Yeah."

El had grasped the core of her question instantly. Perhaps El had been pondering the same thing.

"I’m not entirely sure yet. He has a foul mouth and a difficult personality, but he doesn't strike me as a cold-blooded, villainous murderer. If we believe what Harold said, someone is intentionally spreading bad rumors about him."

"He did mention that, didn't he?"

Was that the source of the massive discrepancy? If so, then perhaps Harold wasn't a bad person after all.

However, El quickly grounded her.

"But they do say there's no smoke without fire. With a personality like his, it wouldn't be surprising if he's causing trouble or making enemies wherever he goes. I just don't know... or rather, I don't have enough information to make a judgment yet."

"But you already knew about him, didn't you, El?"

"Only the rumors. And as we saw at the Deliberation Chamber, information about him is heavily restricted. He might be hiding things himself, but it’s clear he’s carrying a lot of secrets."

"Harold’s secrets..."

He had nearly been executed based on circumstantial evidence—a trial that was likely orchestrated by someone behind the scenes. Yet, as if following a script, he had escaped execution only to end up as a test subject in this research institute.

Even with the little El had told her, the situation was bizarre. Add to that the mystery of why he wore a Sarian Imperial Uniform, and the fact that a man involved in his trial had suddenly gone mad and nearly died the moment someone tried to question him...

Everything centered on Harold. Lifa couldn't even begin to fathom the magnitude of the secrets he was guarding so fiercely.

"It’s hard not to be influenced by what everyone else says," El continued, "but you should decide for yourself after seeing him with your own eyes. That’s the privilege of being close to him."

"...Yeah, you're right. Thanks. I think I feel a bit better now."

"I'm glad."

Lifa realized El was right. She had always been the type to ignore the opinions of others and pursue her own path. No matter how many people told her she couldn't be an inventor or tried to stop her, she had stayed true to her own will.

She applied that same standard to everything else in life. So why was she so conflicted about Harold?

(Is it because... I want him to be a good person?)

The thought struck her suddenly.

Shunned by society, excluded, alone without a single ally or anyone who understood him... In a way, his situation mirrored her own experience of being treated as a freak in her village.

If she was projecting herself onto him, then she might be subconsciously hoping that if Harold was righteous, it would prove that she was righteous too. It was a humiliating realization, but it made sense.

That was why she couldn't see the real Harold. She had been looking at him through a filter of her own desires, never truly trying to understand the man himself.

Once Lifa reached a conclusion, she couldn't stand still. She polished off the sandwiches and salad in record time.

"Thanks for the food!"

"There was no need to eat that fast."

"I want to go see Harold for a minute."

"At this hour?"

El chuckled and pointed at the clock. The hands were approaching midnight. Harold was likely asleep, and even if he wasn't, it was an incredibly rude time to visit.

More than anything, Lifa was shocked she had managed to sleep that long.

"I guess going now would just be a nuisance, huh..."

"Well, if you're planning a midnight tryst, it’s the perfect time."

"I'm not doing that!"

"I won't stop you, and I can keep a secret."

"I don't need that kind of help!"

After shooting back a retort to El's teasing, Lifa gave up on her visit. They settled in to sleep, but having just woken from a long nap, Lifa found herself wide awake.

She spent hours tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position. Before she knew it, the sky was beginning to turn pale. As an inventor who often pulled all-nighters when absorbed in her work, it was a familiar sight.

Realizing sleep was a lost cause, she decided to change her pace and take a walk to breathe in the crisp dawn air. She slipped out of the room quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping El.

The experience of a morning walk was a novelty for Lifa. Her village was small and relied on farming and livestock, so everyone woke up incredibly early. People were often active before the sun even rose.

If she had wandered around back home at this hour, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Because she was so isolated in the village, Lifa had mostly limited her outings to after dark.

Here, she wasn't bound by those constraints. She wandered through the institute grounds at her own leisure.

Suddenly, her ears caught a faint whistling sound—the sharp cut of air. Drawn by the noise, she moved toward a secluded area behind the institute buildings.

There stood Harold, fluidly wielding two swords of different shapes.

Lifa found herself completely captivated. The way Harold swung his blades was like a refined dance, mesmerising to behold. When he had fought the Ice Dragons, the chaos and the sheer, overwhelming power he displayed had left her in a state of terror. But watching him now, she could appreciate the raw beauty of his technique.

It was the first time she had ever looked at martial prowess and found it beautiful.

She lost track of time as she watched him. Even though her primary goal had been to speak with him, she remained rooted to the spot, entranced.

It wasn't until Harold’s "dance" ended and he sheathed both swords with a synchronized click that Lifa finally snapped back to reality. She remembered why she was here.

It was early, and there was no one else around. This was the perfect time to have a private conversation.

The training session was over, so she wouldn't be interrupting. Just as Lifa gathered her courage to step forward, Harold reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, exposing his upper body. He wasn't trying to show off; he likely just found the sweat-soaked fabric uncomfortable. He clearly had no idea anyone was watching.

The sight caught Lifa completely off guard. Before she could avert her gaze, the image of his bare torso was seared into her mind.

Because of his height, Harold usually looked quite slender in his clothes, but his body was pure, functional muscle with no wasted fat—a perfect balance of strength and flexibility. His physique was striking, possessing the defined, powerful lines of a masterpiece sculpture.

For the innocent Lifa, who had zero romantic experience, the sight was overwhelmingly stimulating.

Her pulse skyrocketed. She could feel the heat rushing to her face; she knew she must be turning a vivid shade of crimson.

Harold, with his back to her, still hadn't noticed her. Every instinct told her she should leave immediately and come back later for both their sakes.

Yet, despite her logical brain screaming at her to run, she couldn't look away from his well-defined back. Her feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground.

Then, Harold turned around.

Their eyes locked. His deep crimson gaze pierced right through her. It was that same look of cold indifference she had seen a hundred times, but for some reason, she found herself mesmerized by it.

Words failed her. She had been so determined to talk to him just moments ago, but now she couldn't manage a simple "good morning," let alone an apology for peeking. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a drum, and she had to focus just to keep her breathing steady.

In contrast to Lifa’s paralysis, Harold’s movements were fluid and unbothered. He began walking toward her, his discarded shirt draped over his right shoulder.

Lifa’s brain was practically boiling. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't even wonder what he was going to do.

He stopped right in front of her. Without breaking his stride, he leaned down as he passed her, his mouth hovering just beside her ear. His voice, still thick with the heat of his exertion, vibrated against her earlobe.

"Is peeping your hobby now? Quite the noble pastime for a 'genius inventor.'"

The familiar sarcasm sent a sudden shiver down Lifa’s spine—a strange, unknown sensation that had nothing to do with fear.

Harold left her with those words, walking away as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Left behind, Lifa’s legs finally gave out, and she sank to the ground.

This was abnormal. Her body was reacting in a way she had never experienced, and she had no idea why.

But one thing was absolutely certain: she wasn't going to be able to look Harold in the eye for a very long time.

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The first "skin-showing" chapter of Ore-fura. Naturally, it’s the protagonist who strips.