Lillian stood outside, nervously clutching the hem of her skirt, clearly anxious about the effect of the second outfit.
Klein leaned against the counter, his gaze casually sweeping over the fabric samples hanging in the shop.
He wondered if he should take this opportunity to order autumn and winter clothes as well.
After all, in Ophelia's meager luggage, there were only a few spare shirts besides her formal knight's uniform.
The door to the changing room opened again.
This time, Ophelia stepped out wearing a light grey long-sleeved shirt paired with a dark brown knee-length skirt.
The cuffs were slightly gathered, and a simple silver button was fastened at the collar of the shirt.
The cut of the skirt was clean and sharp, without complex pleats, and the hem settled firmly just below her knees.
Unlike the softness of the first outfit, this set made her look heroically sharp; her back was straight and her stride was steady.
Even after changing clothes, she couldn't lose that knightly air.
"It looks great!" Lillian's eyes lit up, her voice holding a rare hint of excitement.
"This set is more suitable for daily activities. Look at the design of these cuffs; they're very easy to roll up—"
Klein was about to nod when his gaze caught the black leather boots on Ophelia's feet.
The leather of the boots had worn thin enough to turn white in places, and there were several shallow scratches along the edges of the shafts.
Even the heels were worn unevenly.
Against the backdrop of these new clothes, those old boots looked completely out of place, like a piece of rag suddenly framed in an exquisite picture frame.
"Wait," Klein said, raising his hand to interrupt whatever Lillian was about to say next. "The shoes."
Ophelia looked down at her boots, her brow furrowing slightly. "What's wrong?"
"They need to be replaced," Klein said directly, his tone carrying a note that brooked no argument. "How long have you been wearing these boots?"
Ophelia was silent for a few seconds, a flicker of complex emotion passing through her golden eyes. "Three years."
Klein raised an eyebrow. Three years.
That meant these boots were the ones she had worn while fighting on the coast.
He suddenly understood why Ophelia would continue wearing a pair of worn-out boots until now.
But understanding was one thing.
"Let's go buy a new pair of shoes," Klein said, turning toward the door.
"There's no need." Ophelia pursed her lips, her fingers unconsciously clutching the fabric of her skirt. "These can still be worn."
"Being wearable is one thing; being suitable is another." Klein looked back at her, his tone becoming unusually firm. "Do you plan on wearing those boots with a new skirt? What was the point of me buying these clothes then?"
Ophelia opened her mouth but ultimately didn't argue.
She lowered her eyelashes, masking the faint, undetectable wavering in her eyes.
Lillian whispered a suggestion, "Um... the shoemaker's shop in town is just on the next street over.
Old Hans makes very sturdy shoes. Everyone in my family gets their shoes made by him."
Klein nodded and pushed the door open. "Let's go. We might as well settle the shoe matter while we're at it."
Ophelia looked at the clothes she was wearing and hesitated. "Should I change back first?"
"No, just wear that," Klein said with a wave of his hand. "They're your clothes anyway.
And—" He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I'm curious to see Old Hans's expression when he sees those boots of yours."
Ophelia was stunned for a moment before realizing what he meant.
She remained silent for a bit but followed him out.
Lillian's soft voice came from behind them: "Um... the money for the clothes..."
"We'll settle it all together later," Klein called back without turning around. "Make a few more sets for autumn and winter; I'll come by in a couple of days to pick them up."
Lillian's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously. "Understood! I'll do my absolute best!"
The shop door closed behind them, the bell ringing twice with a crisp sound.
Lillian bit her nail and watched their departing backs, a hint of envy flashing in her eyes.
She leaned on the counter and whispered to herself, "How nice..."
...
Old Hans's shoemaker's shop was at the corner of the next street.
The storefront wasn't large, and the writing on the sign had faded quite a bit, but the scent of leather coming from inside was rich and solid.
Mixed with the smells of wood shavings and shoe polish, it was the kind of scent that told anyone immediately that this was an old, established shop.
Klein pushed the door open, and the bell rang twice.
The lighting inside was dim, with shelves along the walls filled with various shoe lasts and semi-finished products.
A white-haired old man sat behind the counter.
Old Hans had his head down, using an awl to punch holes in a sole with steady, skillful movements.
Hearing the bell, he looked up, squinting his eyes to look at Klein and then at Ophelia behind him.
Old Hans's gaze lingered on Ophelia for a moment—first noticing her decent new clothes, then shifting his gaze down to the obviously mismatched old boots on her feet.
His eyebrows twitched, and a flash of realization appeared in his eyes.
"Oh, Master Klein." Old Hans set down his work and stood up, a meaningful smile on his face. "A rare guest. Did you bring your wife?"
Klein nodded, not denying the address. "Old Hans, help me make a pair of shoes."
Old Hans's gaze fell once more on the heavily worn boots on Ophelia's feet, this time looking even more closely.
He took two steps closer, leaned over slightly, and clicked his tongue.
"These boots..." He pointed to the scratches on the edge of the shaft. "They've been around for at least three years, haven't they? And—" He paused, looking up at Ophelia with a searching gaze, "This isn't ordinary wear and tear. Are you a... knight?"
Ophelia's body stiffened slightly.
Klein took over, his tone relaxed. "She used to be. That's why they need to be replaced; she can't keep living her life in boots from the battlefield."
"They definitely need to be replaced." Old Hans straightened up, walked around the counter, and glanced at the boots again.
"These are good quality, likely military issue. They're just worn down too much." He looked at Ophelia, a hint of respect entering his tone. "Do you walk long distances often?"
Ophelia paused, her voice low. "In a way."
Old Hans nodded and didn't ask further.
However, the look he gave Klein became even more meaningful—someone who could get a former Knightess to take off her combat boots was no simple person.
Ophelia looked at Klein, her eyes seemingly asking what to do next.
Her fingers unconsciously began to pinch her skirt again, clearly uncomfortable in this unfamiliar environment.
Klein pointed to a stool in the corner of the shop. "Sit there."
Ophelia walked over to the stool and sat down.
She reached out to unbuckle the boots, her movements somewhat stiff.
The skirt was fitted quite closely above the knees; as she bent over, the fabric pulled even tighter, forming a shallow crease.
Ophelia's fingers paused on the buckle.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, as if she realized this posture was somewhat unladylike.
Klein saw her discomfort and walked over, crouching down.
"Let me do it," he said, his tone calm, as if he were stating something perfectly ordinary.
Ophelia's fingers retracted, and she looked up at Klein, a complex emotion flickering in her golden eyes—a bit of embarrassment, some confusion, and a hint of... something indefinable.
Klein reached out, gripped the buckle at her ankle, and gave a gentle tug to loosen it.
His fingertips brushed the leather at the edge of the boot, and warmth traveled through the thin fabric.
The boots were very old; the surface of the leather had lost its original luster and felt a bit rough, but the stitching was still sturdy.
Klein unfastened the second buckle and then gently pulled downward.
The boot caught at the ankle.
He applied a bit of force, and the boot came off.
Ophelia was wearing only a pair of thin beige socks.
The texture of the socks was fine, and there was an elastic band at the ankle that left a shallow mark.
The bones on the top of her feet were well-defined, her lines were straight, and even the outline of her toes was faintly visible through the socks.
Klein set the boot aside and looked up at Ophelia.
Her face was turned slightly away, her gaze fixed intently on the shoe lasts hanging on the wall, but the tips of her ears had quietly turned red.
Klein suppressed a smile and reached out to hold her right ankle.
The moment his fingers touched the sock, Ophelia's body tensed slightly, and even her calf muscles instinctively contracted.
Her toes curled inside the sock, seemingly wanting to hide from this unfamiliar touch.
Klein pretended not to notice her reaction, simply supporting her ankle as he unfastened the other boot.
His movements were slow and light, as if he were handling some fragile treasure.
By the time Klein finished, Old Hans had just come over with samples.
"These styles would all be suitable." He laid the samples on the floor, his gaze sweeping between Klein and Ophelia, his smile deepening. "Take a look."
Klein crouched down and looked through them one by one.
The first pair was dark brown short boots with a smooth surface and a low heel, suitable for daily wear.
The second was black lace-up boots with a slightly pointed toe and a simple design, carrying an air of efficiency.
The third was burgundy ankle boots with fine textures on the surface, looking even more exquisite.
Klein picked up the black lace-up boots and weighed them.
The boots weren't heavy, but the soles were thick and sturdy, clearly very durable.
"These ones," he said, then looked up at Ophelia. "What do you think?"
Ophelia's gaze fell on the black boots, lingering for a few seconds.
"Yes," she whispered, nodding slightly. "These are good."
Old Hans took the boots, turned them over to check the soles, and pressed his finger against the heel.
"I'll thicken the soles on these a bit to make them more durable," he said, then looked at Ophelia's feet again.
"And I'll add a layer of padding inside the heel so they won't chafe during long walks. They'll be ready in about three days."
Klein nodded.
Old Hans put the boots back on the shelf and turned to Ophelia.
"Try this pair first to see if the size is right." He picked up another finished pair of a similar style and handed them to Klein. "This is stock I made earlier; the size should be about the same."
Klein took the boots and walked over to Ophelia.
She was still sitting on the stool, her feet together and her toes lightly touching the floor.
The beige socks had a soft luster in the dim light, and the shallow marks at her ankles hadn't completely disappeared.
Klein crouched down and opened the mouth of the boot.
"Lift your foot," he said, his voice low and gentle.
Ophelia lifted her right foot, her movement somewhat stiff.
Klein held her ankle and slid the boot on.
The leather of the boot was much softer than her original pair, and the opening fit the lines of her calf perfectly.
He could feel the muscles in her calf still tense, like a young deer ready to bolt at any moment.
Klein tied the laces, wrapping them twice and making a knot.
His movements were skillful, as if he had done this countless times.
He looked up at Ophelia. "Is it too tight?"
Ophelia moved her toes, testing the feel of the new boot.
"It's not tight," she said, her voice still very small but steadier than before.
Klein nodded and picked up the other boot.
He held her left ankle, repeating the same process.
The bone of her ankle was in his palm, and warmth traveled through the sock, bringing a subtle sense of reality.
Klein suddenly realized that this was likely the first time he had been in such close contact with Ophelia.
Not during a battle, not during training, but on a quiet afternoon in an old shoemaker's shop, putting a new pair of boots on her.
He slid the boot on and tightened the laces loop by loop.
The boot wrapped around her ankle securely, and the height of the heel happened to make the lines of her instep look more slender.
Klein stood up and took a step back.
"Stand up and try them out," he said.
Ophelia braced herself against the armrests of the stool and stood up.
She looked down at the boots on her feet and then took a couple of steps forward.
The sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden floor of the shop, low and steady, but much lighter than when she wore the old boots.
"How are they?" Klein asked.
Ophelia stopped and turned around.
She looked at Klein, a rare hint of softness flickering in her golden eyes.
"Lighter than the ones before," she said, then paused, her voice growing even smaller, "And more comfortable."
Klein smiled and turned to Old Hans. "Make them according to this size."
Old Hans made a few more notes in his ledger, then looked up at Klein with a playful smile.
"The color?" he asked. "Black or dark brown?"
Klein thought for a moment. "Black." He glanced at Ophelia. "Black suits her."
Old Hans nodded, closed his ledger, and his smile deepened. "Alright, I understand. Come pick them up in three days. I guarantee your wife will be satisfied."
Ophelia's cheeks instantly flushed.
Klein pulled a coin purse from his pocket, counted out a few silver coins, and placed them on the counter. "A deposit."
Old Hans took the silver coins and put them in a drawer, the smile in his eyes almost overflowing.
"Rest assured, I'll make them sturdy," he said, then added another line, "For a guest like your wife, I'll put in extra effort."
Klein nodded and turned toward Ophelia.
She was still standing there, her gaze on the boots she was wearing, the tips of her ears still red.
"Let's go," Klein said. "We'll head back first."
Ophelia looked up at him, a trace of embarrassment still lingering in her eyes.
She didn't speak, simply following him toward the door, her pace slightly faster than usual as if she were trying to escape something.
The bell rang again as the two stepped out of the shop.
Old Hans's soft laughter followed them out.
The light on the street was much brighter than inside the shop, and Klein squinted his eyes.
Ophelia walked beside him, her steps lighter than before, the new boots making a crisp sound on the stone pavement.
Klein glanced at her sideways.
Her gaze was still fixed straight ahead, her back as straight as ever, but her skirt swayed slightly as she moved, and the heels of the boots tapped rhythmically against the stones.
The afterglow of the setting sun spilled over her golden hair, coating it in a layer of warm yellow light.
"Are you getting used to it?" Klein asked.
Ophelia paused.
"To what?" she asked, her voice still carrying a hint of the lingering embarrassment.
"The skirt and the boots," Klein said. "Are you getting used to wearing them?"
Ophelia was silent for a few seconds, seemingly considering the question seriously.
"They're fine," she said, then added another sentence, "It's just that the skirt isn't very convenient for crouching."
Klein gave a short laugh. "It's not like you need to roll around on a battlefield; what does it matter if you can't crouch?"
Ophelia pursed her lips and didn't argue, but her ears turned a bit redder.
The two continued walking, passing through the town's main street.
The shops along the way were closing one by one, and the sunset light slanted across the stone pavement, dyeing the entire street a warm yellow.
Klein's shadow was stretched very long, overlapping with Ophelia's shadow as they moved across the stones, like a silent dance.
Ophelia suddenly spoke. "Klein."
"Yes?"
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "For the boots."
Klein turned to look at her, and Ophelia was looking back at him.
The light of the sunset fell on her face, making her golden eyes appear even brighter.
"You're welcome," Klein said, his lips curving into a smile.
Ophelia was stunned for a moment, and then she smiled softly.
It was the first time Klein had seen her smile.
The smile was faint, with only the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, but the coldness in her eyes melted significantly.
Their shadows continued to overlap on the stone pavement, extending all the way to the end of the street.
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