There wasn't really any established conclusion to back this up, but Makoto was convinced there wouldn't be a problem.
For now, it was the only feasible method.
According to Shiroyasha's theory, the most optimal way would be to use true dragon's blood as the trigger for awakening.
But at present, Shiroyasha didn't have anything like that on hand.
So the only thing they could provide Stella was the image imprinted in Shiroyasha's mind—the figure of a real dragon dwelling in Little Garden.
-=-=-
"Haa… haa… haa—"
Nobody knew how much time had passed, but Stella suddenly awoke from where she was sitting in the chair.
The sweat that had congealed on her forehead slid down in rivulets, and she panted heavily like someone who had just surfaced from nearly drowning.
"How was it, Stella? Did you sense anything?"
Makoto quickly pushed the glass of water he had poured earlier toward Stella, then pulled a few tissues from the table and handed them over.
"Thank you so much."
Taking the tissues, Stella didn't immediately wipe the sweat from her neck and brow. Instead, she leaned back against the chair and covered her eyes with the tissues.
"It's nothing. This is what I should be doing. More importantly, did you gain anything?"
Makoto was certain Stella hadn't awakened the true power of the dragon.
If she had, there was no way her outward state would still appear this ordinary.
Even when he himself had awakened to the causal-space powers just two days ago, it had taken Shiroyasha's Gift Card to suppress the residual waves.
Otherwise, Kurono's office would have been swallowed into another dimension right along with his awakening symptoms.
That was why he had to ask Stella if she had felt anything unusual—he needed to know if his method was actually working.
"…I think… I did…"
Stella's tone wasn't entirely certain, laced with hesitation.
She sat upright again, removed the tissue from her forehead, wiped off the remaining sweat, then met Makoto's eyes directly.
Slowly, she placed her hand over her full chest. Her pale lips trembled as she whispered:
"I could feel it… my blood boiling just now. That scorching heat, as if I was submerged in magma. I felt like I could grasp something… but couldn't quite hold it…"
Her words were vague, almost nonsensical.
But Makoto's eyes lit up immediately—he understood what she meant.
"That must mean it's working. I think your dragon blood really is starting to boil. The reason it hasn't awakened yet must be because it hasn't reached its threshold. If you could break past that limit right away, you'd probably already be a little dragon girl."
Half-joking, Makoto stood and refilled Stella's empty cup with water.
She accepted it at once and downed it in a single breath.
"So, I just need to keep visualizing this video afterwards?"
After replenishing herself twice, Stella's lips regained their healthy color, and her eyes glimmered with excitement.
She hadn't expected to see hope of success so soon in what seemed like a hopeless endeavor.
"No. Once you've seen it once, watching it again won't bring the same impact. Tomorrow night I'll show you a new image for visualization."
Makoto shook his head, pushed his chair back, and stood up.
"Eh? You mean you still have more of those?"
Stella's pink lips parted in surprise.
Even now, she still couldn't put into words what she had seen.
Majestic… overwhelming…
She had known it was only an image, yet when that crimson dragon soared through the skies, her heart had been struck with indescribable awe.
Even though the dragon never once looked her way…
It felt as though its terrifying presence had gripped her heart in its claws, making even breathing a luxury.
It had only been a projection—yet she had felt its fiery breath, inescapable and searing.
That was why she believed it.
Believed that the image was real.
But she had never once asked Makoto where such a precious vision had come from.
Everyone had their own secrets.
The fact that Makoto would entrust something so significant to her, when they weren't related and had only met less than a day ago—how could she possibly do something to put him on the spot?
What she hadn't expected was that there were more of such priceless images.
"There are some, yes, but not that many."
Makoto walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and began placing ingredients onto the counter.
"So Stella, you need to succeed before I run out of them. Otherwise, we may have to fall back on the first method to help you find the right feeling."
"I understand."
Stella nodded firmly, but her attention was quickly drawn to what Makoto was doing. She pushed herself up on still-aching legs and walked over.
"Makoto, are you cooking?"
"Mm. Another trait of dragons is their massive appetite. You must be starving after consuming so much energy just now, right?"
He twirled the kitchen knife in his hand with a playful flourish before grinning at her.
"Besides, I haven't had dinner yet myself. Let me show you what I can do here."
"Haha, then I'll look forward to it."
Watching his practiced knife work as he prepped the ingredients, Stella's eyes shone with anticipation.
"But… before that, don't you want to take a bath, Stella? You must feel sticky and uncomfortable like that."
Makoto's gaze flicked briefly across her body.
"Eh?"
Only then did Stella glance down at herself.
She was wearing a plain white nightgown, a conservative style since she was living with a man—she had tucked away her more revealing ones.
But now the loose fabric clung to her body, soaked through with sweat, turning translucent.
Her delicate figure was faintly visible through it, and at this angle Makoto could even glimpse the strap of a black bra beneath.
"…I'll go shower right now."
Splash—
Suddenly, the sound of running water came from the bathroom, and mist billowed out.
Makoto paused mid-flip of the pan and instinctively turned around.
Stella peeked her head out from behind the glass door, hiding her body but letting her crimson hair cascade down in wet strands, droplets sliding into her collarbone.
Her small nose twitched as if sniffing for something, making her look adorably mischievous.
"Wow, it smells amazing! What are you making, Makoto?"
Makoto quickly turned back to the stove, keeping his hands moving.
"Fried rice and tempura. If you're done, get dressed and come out. Dinner will be ready soon."
"Got it!"
She disappeared in a flash, and the rustle of clothes being put on soon followed, sounds that teased the imagination.
Makoto placed the fried rice on the table, then switched to a frying pan and poured in oil. He dipped the marinated shrimp into batter and dropped them into the hot oil.
Within seconds, the tempura coating turned a beautiful golden color, the fragrance filling the air.
Using chopsticks, he flipped them expertly. Tempura was best enjoyed when the outside was crisp but the shrimp inside still tender.
With years of practice, he lifted the shrimp from the pan one by one.
Just then, a pale hand darted into view, snatched one up, and retreated.
"Mm!"
The hand's owner let out a playful squeal.
Smack—
Makoto swatted her next attempt away, glaring at her.
"Go sit at the table. Even if you're not afraid of getting burned, at least follow basic table manners."
Honestly, only she would dare to do that. Anyone else would've blistered their fingers instantly touching food fresh out of the oil.
"Okay!"
Without protest, Stella scampered off like an obedient schoolgirl, sitting primly at the table.
Makoto couldn't help chuckling, then took out utensils and poured two glasses of water, setting them down for both of them.
"I'll start then."
He clasped his hands together solemnly, picked up his chopsticks, and took a small bite of fried rice.
"Then I'll start too."
Stella imitated him, then immediately aimed for the tempura she'd been eyeing.
"Mmm!"
The crisp batter and juicy, tender shrimp made her eyes go wide.
In that instant, she felt as though she had dived into the ocean, swimming among countless marine creatures in a mysterious undersea world.
"Haah—"
She exhaled a blissful sigh before going for the fried rice.
Abandoning table manners, she grabbed the spoon and dug into the golden mound.
"Ah—"
Another breathy sound slipped from her lips as if she were lost in a dream.
Suddenly she was in a sun-dappled forest, birds bursting from the underbrush with powerful wingbeats.
"What is this!? How can it taste this good!?"
Shaking her head in disbelief, she cried out.
If it weren't for her trust in Makoto, she might have thought he had laced the food with some unspeakable additive.
"Well, I've been cooking for myself since I was a kid. Over ten years of practice—I had to improve a little, right?"
Makoto spoke casually, showing none of Stella's exaggerated reaction, as if the incredible flavors were nothing unusual for him.
"No way, this is far beyond 'a little improvement'…"
She slumped in mock despair.
She was the second princess of the Kingdom of Vermillion, after all. Though not the strongest nation of Mage-Knights, it was hardly poor.
She had tasted every delicacy imaginable, yet never had food transported her like this—so immersive, so dreamlike.
"You're overreacting."
Makoto chuckled and slid the bowl of fried rice closer to her.
"But if you like it that much, then eat as much as you want. An empty stomach won't just sap your energy, it might even hinder your awakening as a Blazer."
"I'll definitely finish it all!"
Stella's eyes sparkled.
A heaping bowl of fried rice and half a plate of tempura—enough to feed five or six people normally—was nothing for her prodigious appetite.
"Haah, I'm so full. After eating your cooking, Makoto, I don't think I'll be able to stomach anything else anymore."
In barely ten minutes, every last bite was gone. She leaned back in her chair, completely unladylike, even letting out a small burp.
"It's fine. As long as I have time, I can always cook for you."
Makoto didn't mind at all—it made no difference cooking for one or two.
"But if I eat like this, I'll definitely gain weight. Tomorrow I'll need to train hard to burn it off."
There was a saying: the joy of eating equals the pain of dieting.
Stella, with her curvy figure, was prone to putting on weight—her current shape was the result of relentless training.
"In that case… why don't you join me for morning training tomorrow?"