Zephyr's thoughts kept drifting back to Septh's warning from last night. "We have to leave… leave… we have to… leave!" He shivered at the memory, his hands tightening around the wooden sword.
"Focus," Clayman's voice echoed in his mind. He swung the sword up and down, each strike deliberate, but the words in his head kept repeating. He sighed and shook his head, finally letting his arms rest.
After a shower, Zephyr changed into his new clothes. He caught his reflection in the mirror and chuckled. Gone was the delinquent look of before; now he looked noble, elegant, even respectable. "Maybe I'm secretly a prince?" he joked under his breath, smirking at the reflection.
Leaving his room, Zephyr wandered down the hallway. He almost didn't notice Sophie until he bumped into her, sending the book in her hands to the floor. "Oh!" he exclaimed, quickly picking it up. "Here, let me help."
Sophie smiled warmly and accepted the book. "Thank you," she said softly before continuing down the hall. Zephyr watched her walk away, a small blush rising to his cheeks.
He muttered to himself, "Lucky… no training today. But what should I do with all this free time?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Should I help in the garden? Or… maybe try cooking?" Sophie's smile flashed through his mind. Zephyr grinned. "Right… cooking it is."
He marched into the kitchen and flung the door open. The chef froze mid-motion. "What are you doing!? This is staff-only!" the chef shouted.
"Relax! I just want to cook something," Zephyr said, covering his ears.
The chef's skeptical gaze swept over him. "You? Cook? Ha! Noble-looking like you only hold swords. Never seen a knife in your life, I bet."
Zephyr bristled. "Second-rate chef like you has no right to judge someone by appearances!"
The chef's eyes flared. "What did you say? Second-rate?!"
Maids rushed in, trying to intervene, but Zephyr waved them off. "Fine! I challenge you to a cooking contest. If I win, you acknowledge my skills."
The chef's grin widened. "You're on," he said, rolling up his sleeves.
The battle began. On the chopping board, onions and garlic flew under both their knives. Zephyr pulled out a chicken and sliced it with precision, his movements swift and sure. The chef watched, impressed despite himself. "Hmm… so you do know your stuff," he muttered.
Zephyr smirked. "As I said, don't judge a person by their looks."
The chef narrowed his eyes. "Don't get cocky. We're just getting started."
Minutes passed as they worked, the kitchen filled with sizzling sounds, smells of garlic and cooking meat, and the rhythmic chopping of knives. Finally, the chef plated his dish with a proud nod, but Zephyr had already stepped back, half-way to the door.
"I'm not here to participate in your meaningless challenge," Zephyr called over his shoulder, carrying the freshly cooked dish. "I'm here to cook for Sophie."
The chef fumed, pointing a finger. "You little rascal! Get back here!!"
Zephyr ignored him, his determination unwavering. "Sorry, chef. I respect you, but this is important."