Bilk Town was considerably more bustling than Margarita had anticipated.
Looking down from a earthen mound at the edge of the woods, the town wasn’t large, with dozens of houses sprawling along both banks of a shallow stream. Most of the roofs were made of reddish-brown tiles, which took on a warm, inviting glow under the midday sun. A wooden gatehouse stood at the entrance of the town, adorned with a faded sign. The main street was teeming with people: farmers driving mule carts, merchants carrying crates of goods, and even a few adventurers clad in light armor with longswords hanging from their waists.
“It’s much more prosperous than I imagined...” Margarita stood on the mound, shielding her eyes with her hand as she peered down.
“Well, it is a mandatory stop on the way to the capital, after all,” Lovell said, squatting nearby as she munched on a wild fruit she’d “acquired.” “Caravans and adventurers all have to rest here. Last time I passed through, I couldn't even find a vacant spot in the inn.”
“Last time?” Joshua asked.
“Yeah, about three months ago. Right after I left Arlan City.” Lovell flicked the fruit pit into the distance. “I had to sleep in a stable and got kicked by a horse.”
She spoke with casual indifference, but Margarita noticed her right shoulder instinctively flinch. Margarita didn't point it out, merely brushing the grass clippings off her skirt and leading the way down the hill.
“Let’s go. We’ll check the inn first to ask about the road conditions ahead. Renard mentioned there’s a junction in Bilk Town; we should ask which way to take.”
Joshua shouldered his pack and followed, while Lovell tucked her dagger back into her waist and sauntered along at the rear. The three walked in a line, with Margarita in front, Joshua in the middle, and Lovell bringing up the rear.
The inn was a two-story wood-and-stone building with a tin sign featuring a carrier pigeon hanging by the door. The first floor served as a tavern. As they pushed open the door, a wave of alcohol, sweat, and the aroma of stewed meat washed over them. Margarita swept her gaze across the room.
There were a few hunters sitting in a corner, a table of merchants by the window, and a burly man drinking alone at the bar. It was a classic medieval tavern NPC layout—no demonic aura, no suspicious stares. Good, it was safe.
“Table for three?” A middle-aged woman wearing an apron peered out from behind the bar. “Eating or staying the night?”
“Eating, and... we’d like to ask for some information.” Margarita flashed her practiced, gentle smile. “Ma’am, we’re heading to Himlabacken. Which road is safer?”
“Take the main road to the north. It’s a five-day journey. There are two royal waystations along the way, so it’s safe. The southern path only takes two or three days, but there have been reports of large monsters lately.” The woman pointed to a map spread across the counter.
Margarita traced the route with her finger. “I see... we’ll take the northern road then. Thank you, ma’am.”
Behind Margarita, Lovell nudged Joshua with her elbow and whispered, “Is she always like this? It’s like she’s wearing a mask.”
Joshua’s hand paused mid-air as he set down his bag. He glanced at Margarita as she walked back toward them but said nothing.
The three of them sat at a square table toward the back. Margarita sat against the wall and poured herself a cup of barley tea. Lovell picked up the menu and flipped through it four or five times before finally sighing and putting it back. “Let’s just get the stew. I can’t read this.”
“You’re illiterate?” Joshua asked.
“I know my numbers,” Lovell replied candidly. “My master said my brain is already filled to capacity with fighting and stealing; there was no room left for literacy.”
Joshua fell silent for a moment before saying, “I can teach you on the road.”
As he said this, Joshua’s ears suddenly turned a bit red, likely because offering to teach someone to read was a rather strange thing for him to do. Lovell, however, didn't hold back at all and grinned immediately.
“Sure! Professor Joshua, teach me how to write ‘money’ first. I want to engrave that on my wallet~”
Joshua: “...”
Margarita nearly spat out her tea. She set down her cup and wiped the corner of her mouth, thinking to herself that the two of them were quite a match—one bold enough to teach and the other bold enough to learn. According to the original plot, Lovell was indeed Joshua’s earliest teammate and the heroine with the clearest romantic route. Even though she had appeared earlier than scheduled, her personality hadn’t changed one bit; she was still that over-familiar red-haired thief.
Maybe... I should play matchmaker?
The thought popped into Margarita’s head. Lovell was cheerful and direct, while Joshua was reserved and steady. Their personalities complemented each other perfectly, and they looked good together. In the original game, the developers pushed the “Hero × Thief” pairing; perhaps the heavens also favored this route. Since she had been a man in her previous life, she couldn't just let this game inexplicably sprout a childhood friend route.
The stew was served, and Lovell grabbed a spoon and started eating, her cheeks bulging.
“Slow down.” Margarita reached out instinctively and used her thumb to wipe a drop of stew from the corner of Lovell’s mouth.
Both she and Lovell froze at the same time. The movement had been too natural, identical to how she wiped sweat or food from Joshua’s face.
Lovell’s mouth slowly curled into a mischievous arc. “Little Mari is so gentle.”
“...Just eat.”
“Mhm~”
Joshua lowered his head to chew on his bread, pretending he hadn't seen a thing.
After lunch, as the three of them stepped out of the waystation, Lovell suddenly grabbed Margarita’s arm.
“Little Mari, come with me for a sec.”
“Huh? Where to?”
“That shop over there.” Lovell tilted her head toward a small stall across the street with a cloth curtain. “I noticed it when we walked past earlier. Come inside with me.”
Margarita glanced in the direction she was pointing. A few strings of colorful hair ribbons and a small bronze mirror hung by the entrance. Behind the curtain, she could vaguely see bottles and jars lined up on shelves. She instinctively took a step back.
“I... I don’t need any of that.”
“No, you do,” Lovell said firmly.
“I really don’t...”
“For the past few days, you’ve just splashed some cold water on your face every morning. You barely even use a comb, just tying your hair back haphazardly before we leave.” Lovell counted off on her fingers. “You don't even wipe the dust off your face, and when your clothes tear, you just lazily patch them up with a few stitches. Little Mari, you’re a girl.”
“What’s wrong with being a girl...” Margarita muttered. She couldn't exactly say, “I lived as a man for over twenty years in my past life; old habits die hard.”
Lovell decided not to give her a chance to argue and dragged her by the arm across the street. Margarita was pulled along, her feet scuffing against the cobblestones, but she ultimately couldn't break free. Lovell was much stronger than she looked.
The shop wasn’t large, but it was packed with items. Rows of small porcelain jars lined the shelves against one wall, while the other wall was adorned with ribbons of various colors and several bronze mirrors of different sizes. An elderly woman with silver hair sat behind the counter, her head bowed as she sewed. She only glanced up when she heard the curtain rustle.
“Browse as you like,” the old woman said before immediately returning to her work.
Lovell sat Margarita down in a chair in front of the counter and began rummaging through the shelves. She picked up a small porcelain jar, pulled out the stopper, sniffed it, and put it back with a wrinkled nose. She picked up another, sniffed it, and nodded with satisfaction.
“This one, and this one.” She placed two porcelain jars on the counter and then turned to pick out hair ribbons, eventually selecting a silver-gray satin one.
“I’m not saying anything...” Margarita muttered under her breath, feeling a bit nervous as if she were sitting in an electric chair.
“Don’t move.” Lovell moved behind her and untied Margarita’s loosely braided white hair. Margarita’s long hair spilled out, cascading over her shoulders and back. Lovell ran her hands through it a few times and let out a clicking sound.
“Your hair is all tangled. When was the last time you combed it properly?”
“...I forgot.”
Lovell sighed, pulled a wooden comb from the pouch at her waist, and began patiently combing through the hair from the ends up. Her movements were far gentler than Margarita had expected. Her fingers occasionally brushed against Margarita’s ears and the nape of her neck—refined and warm, unlike the hands of a thief.
Once the hair was smooth, Lovell skillfully divided Margarita’s hair into sections and wove a loose side braid that rested on her right shoulder. She tied the end of the braid with the silver-gray satin ribbon, fashioned into a small bow.
“What a dangerous hairstyle...” Margarita thought to herself.
“Alright, turn around.”
Margarita turned around reluctantly. Lovell tilted her head, studying her for a moment, then suddenly reached out to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind Margarita’s ear, revealing her entire face. She then picked up one of the small porcelain jars from the counter, uncorked it, and dabbed a bit of the cream onto her fingertip.
“Close your eyes.”
“What is that—”
“Just close them.”
Margarita sighed and closed her eyes. Lovell’s fingertip touched her face—cool, with a faint floral scent. The cream was spread over her cheeks in a thin layer. Lovell’s finger slid from her cheekbone to the corner of her eye, pausing just below.
“You have a mole here,” Lovell said.
“Yeah, I’ve had it since I was little.”
“It’s actually quite pretty.” Lovell dabbed a bit more cream, applying a thin layer to the other cheek before stepping back. “Alright, open your eyes.”
Margarita opened them. Lovell was staring at her, her face reflected in those amber eyes. The old woman behind the counter also looked up, staring at Margarita for a moment without immediately returning to her sewing.
“Hmm...” Lovell rubbed her chin, walking a half-circle around her.
“What?” Margarita felt a bit self-conscious.
Lovell didn't answer, instead shouting toward the door, “Joshua! Come in and take a look!”
Joshua had been waiting outside for a while. Hearing Lovell call his name, he poked his head inside. His gaze landed on Margarita’s face, and he froze instantly.
Margarita sat in the chair, her long white hair woven into a loose side braid over her right shoulder, tied with a silver-gray ribbon. The stray hairs on her forehead had been tucked behind her ears, revealing her full face. Because Margarita had always ignored her looks, simply washing with warm water and never grooming herself, her appearance had been overlooked. Now, with a thin layer of cream applied by Lovell, her skin appeared fair and delicate. The slight baby fat on her cheeks remained, but without the messy strands of hair covering them, it only served to emphasize her soft and exquisite features. Her blue eyes were exceptionally bright now, and the small tear mole beneath her eye acted like a perfect finishing touch, giving her entire face a captivating quality.
Joshua opened his mouth but couldn't find any words. His ears turned from pink to red, and then his entire face flushed.
“Well?” Lovell crossed her arms, looking triumphant.
“...” Joshua let the curtain fall and retracted his head.
Lovell laughed so hard she crouched on the ground.
“What are you laughing at?” Margarita stood up and reached for the bronze mirror on the counter. Lovell climbed up from the floor and handed it to her.
Margarita took the mirror and looked. The girl in the mirror was different from the blurry reflection she usually saw in the stream. Her hair was neat, her face was clean, and that tear mole she rarely noticed was now clearly visible beneath her eye, giving her face a focal point. She froze for two seconds, looked at Lovell, and then pointed at herself.
“...Is this me?”
Lovell crouched down laughing again.
“Little Mari, you’re a beauty! A natural beauty! Looking like you did before was a criminal waste!”
“...” I thought I didn't have character art?
“Joshua, you tell her!” Lovell yanked the curtain open. Joshua was standing by the street with his back to the door.
“Joshua!” Lovell called.
Joshua slowly turned around. His face had returned to its normal color, but his eyes still didn't quite dare to look at Margarita directly. He stared at the end of Margarita’s braid—at the silver-gray ribbon.
“...It looks good,” he said, followed by a couple of coughs as if trying to hide something.
“See!” Lovell patted Margarita’s back.
Margarita sighed and fished a few copper coins from her pocket, placing them on the counter. The old woman took the money and handed her a small, unopened jar of the beauty cream. Margarita tucked the jar into her tunic, feeling a rare blush creep onto her face.
This little thing saves me from both makeup and skincare. Otherworld items really are convenient... It’s not like I actually think I look good or anything.
“Let’s go, let’s go. It’ll be dark if we dawdle any longer.”
Lovell followed her out the door, still chattering away. “From now on, I’m helping you comb your hair every morning. Your hands are like blocks of wood; the braids you make look like hemp ropes...”
“You’re a thief; whose hands don't look like wood to you?” Margarita rolled her eyes. “And didn't you just braid my hair into a rope?”
“This is called art! Don’t you understand, Little Mari?!”
Joshua followed behind them, his gaze lingering on the side braid resting on Margarita’s right shoulder, which swayed gently with her steps. The ribbon caught a faint silvery glint in the sunset. He thought back to the moment he saw her just now. That tear mole—he had never noticed it before. It was probably because she always kept her head down, her face obscured by stray hairs, and when she smiled, her eyes would crinkle, hiding everything behind that gentle expression.
“Joshua, walk faster!” Lovell shouted from ahead.
“Don't rush the patient, you jerk.” Margarita nudged Lovell with her elbow.
Joshua walked at the rear, his eyes fixed on Margarita. Her white side braid swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the silver-gray ribbon tapped against her shoulder again and again. He suddenly felt that today’s evening breeze was a bit warm, making his cheeks feel a little hot.
Rate on N.U.
