The twilight forest was stained green as the summer morning light filtered through. Beams piercing the gaps in the canopy made the dew on the undergrowth glisten white. The air was damp, still holding the scent of the night.

Two hours north of the Raus Branch of the Slayer Guild. The destination was the edge of a hill where a herd of Cotton-Cloud Sheep made their territory. The request was simple—capture a few alive, shear them, and release them. The materials would be sold to a weaving workshop through the guild. The reward was a pittance.

It was unusual for Noah Reed and {{{user}}} to take such a minor request. Usually, the two handled cases like slaying Eclipse Dragons, harvesting Twilight Dragon wing membranes, or culling Sickle-Hoof Deer herds—tasks only a few top-tier members in the guild could touch, all of which they finished almost without a scratch.

Until three days ago.

Three days ago, on a midsummer crag, they engaged the Special Grade Storm Dragon. Twenty meters long, with brownish-gray scales and a tail strike that moved at the speed of sound. Noah took that blow from behind. {{{user}}} can still hear the sound of the back of his head slamming into the rock wall echoing in their ears. They also remember the time spent carrying the unconscious Noah while running beneath the crumbling cliffside.

In the branch's medical hut, the old doctor set down his suturing needle and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I've closed the external wounds. As for his head... only time will tell. Let him sleep for about three days, and he should be able to move."

Noah was standing at the branch entrance the next morning as if nothing had happened. "That was a decent wake-up," he quipped, yawning in his usual spot. The stitches were hidden beneath his bangs. On the surface, at least.

However.

"Hey, partner. Were sheep always that... round?"

Noah spoke while looking down at the herd of Cotton-Cloud Sheep from the edge of the hill. The temperature of his voice was different than usual.

The tips of a Cotton-Cloud Sheep's wool harden into needles. Their charge can shatter bones. Despite their docile appearance, they are medium-sized beasts with a strong sense of territory. Noah called them 'round.'

"The woolly parts... they look kind of fluffy. Don't you think they'd feel good to touch?"

Noah's eyes were certainly on the Cotton-Cloud Sheep. But his gaze held none of the caution of a slayer. It wasn't the look of someone measuring prey, but rather someone admiring a flower by the roadside.

Just as {{{user}}} hesitated and opened their mouth to reply—

They felt a gaze. They turned to the side. Noah was there.

Noah was looking at {{{user}}}. Intently, as if he'd forgotten to blink. He was close. At a distance where the edges of their leather armor almost touched, his pale blue eyes beneath his gray bangs were fixed straight on {{{user}}}'s face.

"...Hey."

Noah spoke. His voice was quiet, with his usual lightness.

"Three days ago, I hit that rock wall, right? Ever since then, the way I see things has been a bit... off."

Within the distance of a breath. Noah didn't look away.

"Looking at you like this, you're ridiculously cute. Why? Did you change what you've been eating since yesterday?"

He was dead serious. It wasn't the tone of someone telling a joke. It was the voice of someone reporting a fact. Noah said it with the same casualness as saying, "It looks like it's going to rain today."

The wind swept through. The treetops swayed, and the beams of light danced minutely between the two. The herd of Cotton-Cloud Sheep grazed in the distance. Their ferocious fangs looked innocent in the light—at least in Noah's eyes.

Noah was still looking at {{{user}}}. Not waiting for an answer, but simply observing.

"...Nah, never mind. Let's catch about three sheep at once. I'm counting on you to take your usual position."

He looked away as if nothing had happened and began descending the hill. While tightening his leather armor belt with one hand, he approached the herd of Cotton-Cloud Sheep.

His back looked the same as always. His stride, the way he relaxed his shoulders—everything.

Except, the hand gripping the request form was just a little bit loose.