"...I'm sorry."
The voice was low, even carrying a hint of raspiness.
Having said those two words, Tartaglia did not linger any longer.
He turned around, his back no longer looking high-spirited and ready to challenge the world, but instead exuding a heavy, almost desolate loneliness. He walked away slowly, step by step, disappearing into the morning mist of Fontaine that had yet to fully dissipate.
That departing figure caused even Arlecchino, who was accustomed to storms, to narrow her eyes slightly.
She watched the direction Tartaglia had vanished, a nearly imperceptible flicker passing through her blood-red pupils. She whispered to herself in a voice so soft only she could hear:
"Tartaglia has grown stronger."
Not in terms of power, but something much deeper.
A total, crushing defeat seemed to have allowed that martial fanatic, who only knew how to chase the joy of battle, to touch upon something he had never understood before, or perhaps had deliberately ignored—the "essence of combat."
The proud warrior had learned to bow his head; the impulsive youth had begun to think.
Such growth was far more precious than a simple increase in combat power.
Arlecchino withdrew her gaze and turned to Lilith, who was still slumped on the ground. She took a checkbook stamped with the Fatui emblem from her coat and quickly filled in a figure large enough for Lilith to rebuild three bakeries. After tearing it off, she handed it over.
"Take it. Within three days, a construction crew will come to repair your shop. Furthermore, during this period, the Fatui will also provide you with satisfactory compensation for all your losses."
Lilith took the check with trembling hands. Looking at the long string of zeros, tears welled up again—this time, they were tears of joy: "Th-thank you! Big sister from the Fatui!"
Arlecchino smiled slightly and nodded gently. Then, she looked away from her, her expression turning stern as she turned her gaze toward the uneasy Lyney and his sister.
"Lynette."
"Father."
Lynette responded immediately, her body tensing slightly.
Arlecchino's voice returned to its usual calm and majesty: "I have arranged a new job for you."
"Yes, Father!"
"The House of the Hearth paid a significant price to obtain a permit from the Iudex."
"Therefore, you are fired from the Fatui."
"From today onward, your job is to go to the Opera Epiclese and serve as Mr. King's exclusive maid."
"You will be responsible for all his daily living affairs during his stay at the Opera Epiclese."
...Silence.
A deathly silence.
The air froze at this moment.
Lyney suddenly looked up: "Father! This is too dangerous! Lynette, she..."
"This is an order."
Arlecchino interrupted Lyney, her tone brooks no argument.
Her gaze fell back on Lynette. Deep within those eyes, beneath the coldness, there seemed to be a hint of an inexpressible entrustment: "Take care of yourself, Lynette. Observe, learn, but most importantly... stay alive."
Arlecchino did not explain why she was sending Lynette to the side of that "fontaines strongest man."
Was it a concession?
Was it a gesture of goodwill?
Or was she entrusting her ward?
Perhaps it was a bit of all three.
In Arlecchino's view, in today's Fontaine, only the top floor of the Opera Epiclese, only by that man's side, was a safe position.
As long as Lynette did nothing out of line, absolutely no one would dare to trouble Lord Su Ze's maid.
This was also finding a solid reliance for her.
After all, the prophecy of Fontaine was drawing near.
The House of the Hearth was, in the end, a subordinate organization of the Fatui, and the protection it could provide was limited, whereas that man's power was unfathomable.
Lynette turned her head blankly, looking toward the Opera Epiclese, then at her brother's anxious face, and finally, her gaze turned vacantly toward Arlecchino.
Lynette: "..."
Lynette: "???"
On the cat-girl's usually expressionless face, a rare and obvious look of bewilderment appeared. The cat ears on her head even stood straight up from extreme shock, then twitched involuntarily.
Meow meow meow?
Serving that... Mr. King!!
That monster who broke Childe's martial heart with just two fingers?
That "fontaines strongest man" whose heartbeat could shatter the glass of an entire block?
I'm going to be his maid?!
Lynette opened her mouth but found she couldn't make a sound. She could only stare blankly at Arlecchino, hoping to see a hint on "Father's" face that this was a joke.
However, there was none.
This was a choice Arlecchino had made after calm deliberation.
Lynette stood frozen in place, processing this sudden "new job."
She was very uneasy, but the obedience formed through long-term training and her trust in Arlecchino made her finally just nod.
"...Yes, Father."
The girl's voice was faint, with a cat-like slight tremor.
And at this moment, the center of the storm that caused all this—
King was holding the still-dazed Paimon, walking briskly through the streets of Fontaine. His steps seemed steady, but in reality, his heart was in a state of utter panic.
"It's over, it's over... I've overdone it, I've overdone it..."
King's mind was filled with that bakery that had been shattered to pieces by the shockwaves of his "sparring" with Tartaglia.
He had no money to pay for it!
Although Neuvillette had seemingly mentioned that his salary as the Divine Guard was high, the money hadn't reached his hands yet!
In that situation just now, if he had been caught by the shop owner demanding compensation, would he, the "strongest man on earth," have to say, "Sorry, I didn't bring any money, just put it on the Opera Epiclese's tab"?
Ugh, that would be so embarrassing!
The fear of social death even temporarily suppressed the ego from his newly acquired power.
King just wanted to hurry back to the Opera Epiclese and ask Neuvillette for money.
Even though it was mainly Tartaglia who started it, the building had collapsed during his "warm-up" after all. As a well-educated youth from the modern era, King felt a bit guilty.
"I'm technically a 'public official' now; losses caused by self-defense should be reimbursable, right?"
King calculated in his mind: "Go find Neuvillette for some money first... No, first apply for a demolition fund to compensate that shop owner."
Having made up his mind, King's pace quickened—he had to hurry and compensate them.
Paimon was held securely by one of his arms. The little fellow didn't seem to have fully recovered from the series of frights and shocks just now, only blankly clinging to his neck, her small head resting on his shoulder, her large eyes staring vacantly at the receding street scenery.
Just as King saw the iconic grand gates of the Opera Epiclese, his footsteps paused slightly.
On a bench by the street ahead sat a familiar figure.
Short blonde hair, exotic-style clothing, and a dull blade on her back.
It was Lumine.
She wasn't exploring with her usual energy or rushing along. She just sat there quietly, her head slightly bowed, hands on her knees, fingers unconsciously interlaced. Her back, under the morning sun, looked a bit thin, even a bit lonely.