Despite the blaze roaring inside him, Aamon did not act.
The allure of Furina's divine beauty and the maddening haze of Baptism by Flame pressed hard—but his instinct for restraint held stronger.
He bowed his head respectfully.
"Thank you. I'm fine," he whispered.
No drama. No bold gesture.
Just quiet endurance in the face of overwhelming desire.
The performance carried on.
At sunset, the opera concluded. The crowd applauded. Furina retreated offstage beneath a cascade of praise, wrapped in admiration like silk.
Aamon remained in place, dazed and distant.
He didn't follow.
She didn't glance back.
And like a cracked portrait, the contrast burned into him:
She, radiant, beloved, surrounded.
He, alone, forgotten, unfinished.
"She's too far from me," he thought.
"Maybe this dream… was never really mine."
The system softly logged:
[Emotional rupture recorded.]
[Simulated resolve weakening.]
For the first time, Aamon considered giving up. Not on Furina, but on the illusion that effort alone could bridge the divine.
Watching from above, Furina's eyes lingered.
She had no words.
But maybe… she had questions.
As the simulation dimmed its emotional fever, Aamon felt the weight of retreat.
His simulated self had bowed to logic—avoided disgrace—yet the aftermath tasted bitter.
"So that's what would've happened," he thought, "had I let impulse win."
In the real room, his chest ached. Not from desire, but from being reminded of his place.
His simulated fall wasn't physical—it was emotional.
And even in sparing Furina from disrespect, he wasn't spared himself.
Across Tayvet's broadcast lounge, reactions stirred again:
Lumine: [He really gave up? I didn't even finish swooning yet!]
Furina: [At least he knows his limits. Had he stepped out of line, I would've judged him myself.]
Yae Miko: [But who's to say the real Aamon is like that? Maybe the simulation exaggerated his flaws.]
Keqing: [That's it? I was expecting more chaos… Did the divine legs lose their power already?]
Nahida: [He might leave Fontaine next. I wonder what journey awaits.]
Keqing: [If he comes to Liyue, tell him we're fresh out of divine legs. Ningguang's switching to trousers.](Sometimes she talks too much)
Ningguang: [....]
In truth, not everyone celebrated the fall.
Some mourned the drama.
Others celebrated restraint.
But Aamon...
He sat quietly, the last ember of desire fading from his screen.
"Maybe next time… the simulation will give me a different kind of test."
Aamon stepped out of the opera hall, shadow dragging behind him. The excitement had faded, replaced with a dull ache of reality—he was not chosen, not remembered, and perhaps never would be.
He wandered, eyes dim and lost, until suddenly...
There she was.
Furina.
Bathed in soft moonlight and crowding fans, her elegance danced among mortals.
The same leg—the divine temptation—caught his gaze again, unbidden. It stirred the flame he thought had fizzled.
But this time, something changed.
She turned.
She saw him.
And she smiled—sweet, crescent-eyed, effortlessly disarming.
That smile didn't just burn him—it unraveled him.
His Baptism by Flame surged. His body radiated heat, and he knew sleep wouldn't come tonight.
In the rental room, he lay on his rickety bed, staring at the ceiling.
Moonlight pressed against his cheek.
His eyes gleamed blood red.
His mind played the moment on a loop:
The leg.
The smile.
The gap between heaven and earth.
He didn't care about work tomorrow.
Didn't care about fatigue.
Because in that smile… something had lived.
Something alive.
Something personal.
That smile broke him.
It didn't just ignite his obsession—it challenged his last slivers of restraint.
And as he lay sleepless, bathed in moonlight, the question clawed at his mind:
"What would it take to reach her? To be worthy of her? To claim a moment in her orbit?"
He wanted to say something.
Do something.
So he stood—decidedly, dangerously—and declared:
"To hell with it. I'll go to her directly."
Brash Spirit: Fully Activated
Reason lost. Logic drowned.
He set course for Palais Mermonia, heading straight for the top—where she resided.
But reality laughed in his face.
Security guards blocked his way. Their eyes sharp, their stance sharper.
"This isn't a place for your kind. Leave."
They saw his intention. Felt the heat rising from his body.
They didn't just stop him—they scorned him.
But Aamon didn't fight.
He didn't argue.
His mind—still ablaze, still flooded—didn't care about shame.
Didn't care about reason.
He just lingered nearby, waiting… hoping Furina might step outside, even once.
She never did.
Not that night.
His vigil, like his obsession, was a one-sided flame burning into silence.
Across the divine stream:
Navia: [This poor soul's really stuck deep. I almost pity him.]
Keqing: [Bold? Definitely. Smart? Absolutely not.]
Yae Miko: [All this... just for a leg. What a uniquely tragic man.]
Nahida: [There's something poetic about his madness. Maybe it's not just lust—maybe it's longing for meaning in the divine.]
The night was ink-dark, but opportunity—like madness—finds cracks in even the thickest silence.
Aamon wandered, driven by obsession and fantasy, circling the Palais Mermonia with no plan, just hunger in his eyes.
[It's not just infatuation anymore]
the system logged.
[This is self-deception in motion.]
And then…
By divine irony or cosmic cruelty, fate slipped him a scene.
12:00 AM, down a quiet alley…
She was there.
Not in pomp, not in power—but with a simple snack in her hand, feeding stray cats under a faded streetlamp.
Furina.
Her smile bloomed like spring, gentle and radiant.
And for a moment, it wasn't the leg—it was her heart.
Kind. Unassuming. Divine.
Aamon approached.
To his surprise, she remembered him—warmly, even. There was no malice, no suspicion. Just shared small talk about animals… and wandering minds.
But beneath that calm?
His obsessions flared again.
And then… he crossed the line.
"Furina… help me have a child."
No poetry.
No restraint.
The simulation shook.
In the divine stream:
Yae Miko: [WHAAAAT—I'm speechless… and I never am!]
Keqing: [What is this man thinking?!]
Nahida: [This is bad. This simulation might trigger divine judgment soon.]
And Furina?
No one knew how she'd react.
Because this wasn't passion anymore.
It was desperation wrapped in fantasy.
And somewhere deep inside Aamon… a crack widened.
---