After finishing their discussion about Melusine's expanding employment opportunities, Aeron Zacharias returned to his office to tackle the day's pile of paperwork.
In the Fontaine Palace, no one lived idly. There was the famous saying about Clorinde: "She's like a brick—wherever you need her, you move her." Then there was Neuvillette, forever in court or on his way to court.
And Aeron… Aeron handled everything else.
Negotiations, public statements, trade contracts, and more.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that his position was like that of a grand chamberlain in the court dramas of his previous life. In Fontaine, every matter somehow ended up involving him.
That was why, despite his office being wide, it always felt cramped—buried in paperwork.
Looking at the mountain of documents on his desk, Aeron wanted to tidy things up but didn't know where to start. All his thoughts condensed into a single sigh.
"Better get back to work… I still have to make Furina an extra cake for her afternoon tea."
He picked up his quill and smoothly began correcting documents.
After all, he'd been at this job for nearly five hundred years. If anyone knew how to manage affairs, it was him.
---
As the hours ticked by, the stacks of papers dwindled. Melusines from the "House of the Hearth" came by occasionally to collect finished documents.
Three or four hours later, with noon approaching, Aeron finally set his quill aside, stretched, and leaned back in his chair.
"Thankfully, Fontaine's legal system is well-structured. If it were as freewheeling as Mondstadt, I would've worked myself to death long ago—even immortality wouldn't have saved me."
After a short break, he rose and walked slowly toward the kitchen, ready to "make amends" to his god.
He knew perfectly well that Furina didn't really care about the strictness of laws. She simply wanted an excuse to demand a little cake.
And yes, Aeron could have refused with a simple "too busy with work."
But how could he say that—knowing the crushing, inhuman responsibility hidden behind the cheerful, sometimes scatterbrained girl's smile?
It was just a cake. Just an hour or two of baking. And Aeron wasn't incapable.
Even if he wanted to comfort her with words, he couldn't. Words might undo everything Focalors had sacrificed. Worse, it would make Furina's years of solitude and pain meaningless.
He couldn't let that happen.
So, for over four centuries, he had done the only thing he could—manage her affairs, lighten her burdens, and give the "superstar of Fontaine" a little more time for herself.
Lost in thought, Aeron set aside his ornate robes, put on a simple apron, and began baking the cake that Furina had loved for nearly five hundred years.
---
As Aeron worked, a small head peeked in from the doorway.
Furina's mismatched blue eyes lingered on the sight of him bustling in the kitchen. Her emotions tangled.
She knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew Aeron was indulging her.
If Focalors ever asked her again, through the mirror, "What keeps you going?"—
She would answer without hesitation:
Responsibility. And kindness.
Responsibility came from Focalors.
Kindness came from Aeron Zacharias.
For more than four hundred years, he had never once rejected even her most unreasonable demands. Always smiling, always answering with:
"This is what Lady Furina, Fontaine's brightest star and the God of Water's chosen successor, deserves."
A simple line—but one that had sustained her for centuries.
Even now, he instinctively stepped in to shield her from the things she wasn't good at—documents, negotiations, politics. So long as Aeron was here, she would never be burdened with what she hated.
Her cheeks warmed. Memories of their past made her think of the operas about love she'd once seen.
He was like the unwavering male lead. She—the heroine.
Covering her face with both hands, Furina quietly slipped away from the kitchen.
"Once the future, where I sit alone on the throne weeping, finally ends… then I'll be able to show him my true self, won't I?"
---
Aeron had no idea that a certain "blue kitten" had peeked at him while he was baking. He only knew that the girl carrying the weight of fate needed cake for comfort.
Ding—
The oven timer chimed. Aeron, practiced and precise, slipped on oven mitts and drew out the cake. His centuries in Fontaine had honed not just his mind and political skills, but also his cooking.
With cream and cherries carefully arranged, Aeron nodded in satisfaction. He picked up the plate and headed, without hesitation, toward Furina's room.
The kitchen was only a few steps away. And at this hour—lunchtime—no officials would enter the Palace of Mermonia.
He knew. Why? Because when he first became vice-regent, as a former corporate slave from another life, the very first law he passed was—
Ban overtime.
Overtime brought no extra pay. In fact, it deducted pay, unless there was an official decree.
Private enterprises, too—no worker could exceed 100 overtime hours per month. Violate it, and wages were cut, with taxes raised on the company.
At first, people didn't take the law seriously. But once the first punishment was handed down, everyone realized—
This law was no joke.