Chapter 110

The season of autumn was one filled with vibrant falling leaves and winds that carried a rich, nutty scent. It was a time when walking along the road naturally made you more observant of your surroundings.

You become more mindful of your breathing, quietly watching as crisp, dry air flows in and out. The taste autumn brings is something I personally cherish above all other seasons.

Back on Earth, it had become difficult to distinguish between autumn and summer, leaving me somewhat wistful. But here in the Valley of Starwind, the four seasons are perfectly divided. Each day that passes feels like an instant transition from one season to the next. As part of this game-like world, the clear distinction of time is rather convenient—and quite delightful.

Warmth, heat, coolness, cold—it’s all part of the clarity that makes each season eagerly anticipated.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Evangelin approached me with a glass clinking with ice, extending it my way. Her steps were light, almost silent. She wore an apron adorned with rabbits (according to Anne’s insistence), neatly tied, which brought a smile to my face.

“What kind of beverage is this?”

A red-hued blob. Pink swirls atop white created a refreshing strawberry-laden drink. Despite it being autumn, the beverage smelled distinctly of spring—a fragrant contradiction.

“It’s a strawberry latte. I saw it in the ‘Cafe Drinks Compilation’ guide you organized last time.”

While Anne has been diving headfirst into making clothes lately, Evangelin has been equally absorbed in crafting beverages.

It’s not that she’s neglecting cooking or meals; her focus has simply shifted toward drinks. From cocktails to cafe beverages, teas, and coffees—her passion knows no bounds. Since I’m the one who created most of the recipes, she often turns to me for feedback on flavors and details, even though I’ve already told her countless times how delicious everything is.

Perhaps she just enjoys feeding me. Whenever I sip something she’s made, her gaze lingers softly on me, full of quiet satisfaction.

“Should we chop the strawberry a bit smaller next time?”

“Sure, let’s try that.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit too big for one bite. Not that it’s not tasty—it always is.”

Only then does Evangelin’s expression fully bloom into a radiant smile. The impact of such warmth breaking through her usually stoic demeanor is nothing short of powerful. The flutter in my chest tells me how deeply I care for her.

She appreciates solid feedback more than mere compliments. While she enjoys praise, there’s a visible effort to improve her craft, seeking advice whenever possible.

Though I should avoid being overly harsh, occasionally tossing in a couple of gentle critiques keeps her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“The rabbit apron suits you.”

As I say this while sipping the latte, Evangelin awkwardly grabs the edges of her apron with both hands.

“Does it look like a rabbit?”

“Hmm…”

“Tsk. Don’t say that around Anne.”

With that, Evangelin delicately places a finger over my lips in a shushing gesture.

Feeling playful, I flick my tongue against her finger.

Unlike before, where she would have immediately withdrawn her hand, Evangelin merely widens her eyes slightly—a sign of growing confidence. This newfound ease isn’t limited to Anne; Evangelin herself radiates a similar calm maturity. Living together truly shapes us in many ways.

“You’re starting to sound like Anne.”

That calm remark is unmistakably reminiscent of her. Though Anne seems nothing like Evangelin’s composed nature, their influence on each other creates an amusing dynamic.

“Strawberry fingers now.”

Such casual comments are purely Anne-inspired. Despite appearances, Evangelin’s tranquil presence remains distinctively hers.

“Strawberries do taste good.”

At that, Evangelin leans closer until our breaths nearly touch.

Her eyes close as she inches even nearer. A soft *chck* echoes briefly, stretching the moment longer than expected.

When she pulls back, traces of pink linger at the corner of her mouth from my drink.

“Sweet.”

Though confident in tone, her actions betray lingering shyness. Her cheeks, matching her hair color, confirm it. That gap between boldness and bashfulness only adds to her charm.

“Did you want a kiss?”

“But… isn’t it fine between spouses?”

I gently turn her head back when she tries to glance away. Her gaze falters, darting downward.

Facing her shy reluctance, I slowly lean in for another kiss.

Yeah. Between spouses, it’s alright.

Even without an official wedding ceremony, titles aren’t everything.

This time, the exchange lasts a little longer, the sweetness of strawberries lingering. Her softened gaze invites me to pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her. The slightly crooked rabbit ears of her apron bring a chuckle to my lips.

“Between spouses, it’s fine.”

“…”

Her cheeks deepen in color. Touching her cheek with my hand, I feel the unmistakable warmth spreading.

Why so flustered when you made the first move?

Evangelin clings to me like a small child. This reminds me of a recent conversation with Anne.

“Evangelin.”

“Yes?”

“Anne says she’ll make clothes for our future baby herself.”

“…!”

“She’s practicing by dressing the fairies.”

“A…”

“What kind of mother do you want to be?”

The thought suddenly struck me. It’s something I’d also ask Anne eventually—what kind of mother would she wish to be if we had a child? Naturally, I need to consider what kind of father I want to be too. It’s a significant life question after all.

“Mother…”

“Yes?”

“I am here, aren’t I?”

Her distant gaze drifts somewhere far away. The wind cutting through her outstretched hand feels cold and dry.

“I want to be a mother who’s always there for her child.”

Her determined words carry a hint of stubbornness. Perhaps it’s her vow to herself—or a silent cry to overcome past hardships.

“So when the child looks for their mother, they’ll remember exactly what she looks like…”

Holding her tighter, I listen silently as she whispers softly, barely audible but full of resolve.

“You’ll be a great mother.”

“Of course. Every day, I’ll cook delicious meals too.”

Her cheerful smile, untainted by bitterness, prompts me to place a small kiss on her forehead. Watching her grow stronger and unwavering fills me with pride.

Everyone carries stories. No one lives without them.

Whatever those stories may be, we are all protagonists of our own lives.

In novels, trials lead to brighter futures. The pain we endure now is part of overcoming adversity. We believe hope will come because we hold onto our personal narratives.

Because Evangelin has faced such pain…

She strives not to pass it down to her child. Though the incident might have been accidental, experiencing it as a child made it a classic tragedy.

Thus, tightly embracing Evangelin, time passes quietly. Fairies passing by glance at us but respect our moment, understanding the unspoken atmosphere.

A single tear rolls down.

She isn’t sobbing loudly, but the occasional sniffle escapes her. Trying to suppress her tears, they only fall harder, her eyes turning red.

The complex emotions stirred by the word “mother.”

Regretting bringing it up, I see her resolute expression and know it was necessary.

“Shall we take a walk?”

“…”

Following my lead, we traverse the golden fields, wiping away her tears as we go. Slowly, step by step, we arrive at the forest—an instinctive return to familiar ground. Our aimless journey ends in the heart of the woods, where colors gently cascade around us.

“Do you remember this?”

“Hm?”

“That time you got lost in the dark and took the lantern I gave you.”

“That was our first meeting.”

“That’s right.”

“You looked like a crimson angel to me back then.”

“Aha.”

“Really.”

Her laughter deepens at the memory. What started as receiving kindness grew into something unexpected.

“Then…”

“Hm?”

“What kind of father do you want to be, Minho?”

That question slows my pace slightly. The lack of immediate response stems from the multitude of thoughts swirling within. While I anticipated such a question, finding the answer proves challenging.

My desire to be a good father complicates things. Wanting to give everything to my child clouds judgment.

Sometimes less is more. Emptying unnecessary burdens allows focus on what truly matters.

Family bound by blood. Cherished connections. How can anyone remain entirely objective about such precious ties?

I’m human. Just another person navigating life.

Ultimately, none of us escape these boundaries. All these desires stem from wanting the best for our child.

“A good father.”

That’s my honest reply. I want to be a good father.

“A good father?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of good father?”

“When our child grows up and asks what their father was like, I want them to say ‘a good father.'”

“A good father… That sounds hard.”

“Is there any easy parent in this world?”

At that, Evangelin smiles faintly. Indeed, nothing in life comes easy.

“Shall we head back?”

“Yeah.”

Crunching fallen leaves underfoot, we return home. Anne’s earlier comment becomes a reminder to strengthen our resolve as parents.

“You two went off secretly!”

“We just went for a short stroll.”

“I should’ve come too!”

Caught by Anne, Evangelin easily restrains her antics. Slumped in Evangelin’s arms, Anne pouts at me.

“Screaming won’t help if you want to be a good mother.”

Evangelin gently chides her, prompting Anne to blink rapidly.

“A good mother?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Right.”

Perhaps the word “mother” serves as Anne’s universal calming phrase.

Chuckling softly, she returns to her sewing, adjusting fabrics with care. What expectations does she harbor regarding motherhood? Both of them carry complicated pasts, making it harder to gauge.

Yet, they choose to overcome challenges positively, striving forward. For that, I’m grateful. That’s why we’re able to meet like this now.

Humming softly, Anne’s tune resonates familiarly.

It mirrors parts of my own humming, showing how love shapes us alike. Subtle habits, gestures, values—we naturally align when sharing lives.

It’s not unpleasant. Coloring someone else with your essence brings a subtle sense of stability.

Turning gold and red into my colors. Or perhaps, since I’m known as Meolone, a shade closer to lime green.

—

(Translation ends here.)

---