Henry pulled back just enough to see her face.
Mia's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining with unshed tears. He raised a calloused hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb traced her jawline, wiping away a single tear that had escaped. The violence and danger of the forest and dungeon felt a million miles away.
"I missed you," Henry breathed into the quiet space between them.
"I prayed every day for you to come back," Mia whispered.
Henry leaned in. Their lips met. It was a soft, hesitant touch at first, testing the reality of the moment, before settling into a deep, grounding warmth. For a few seconds, the laundry room was the entire world.
Ahem.
The very deliberate, very fake cough cut through the silence like a dropped broadsword.
Henry and Mia broke apart instantly. Mia's face burned a brilliant crimson as she took a frantic step backward, her hands smoothing down her simple grey dress.
The Head Maid stood in the doorway. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her apron, and her expression was a mask of absolute, professional neutrality. Only the faintest glimmer of amusement danced in her eyes.
"My apologies for the interruption, Young master," the older woman said smoothly. "But your father is expecting you in his study. Immediately."
Henry let out a quiet sigh. The real world was already demanding his attention. He looked back at Mia and offered a soft, reassuring smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Mia offered a quick, flustered nod, refusing to meet the Head Maid's eyes as Henry stepped out into the corridor.
The walk to the Baron's study was brief. Henry stopped in front of the heavy oak door, taking a second to center himself. He raised his knuckles to the wood.
"Come in," Baron Arnold's voice barked from the other side before Henry's knuckles even made contact.
Henry pushed the door open. The study smelled of expensive tobacco and aged parchment. Arnold sat behind his massive mahogany desk, reviewing a stack of ledgers. He didn't look up. He didn't offer a 'welcome home.'
"Where is your Rank F progress bar currently sitting at?" Arnold asked bluntly.
Henry blinked, caught entirely off guard by the directness. "One hundred."
Arnold finally looked up. He didn't look shocked. He looked like a man whose suspicion had just been confirmed. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.
"Where, exactly, did they train you to achieve such otherworldly progress?"
The air in the study grew heavy. Henry suddenly felt as if he were being interrogated by an enemy commander. He kept his posture rigid, burying his unease behind a mask of calm confidence.
"The forest outside of Fort Hope," Henry answered. "I had a lot of near-death experiences. They actually extended the basic training by two months, keeping us in the field longer."
Arnold's expression didn't shift. "And what unit were you assigned to?"
"Border Defense, 1st Brigade, 12th Battalion, 12th Company, 1st Platoon, Squad 1," Henry recited.
It came out smooth. Flawless.
Too flawless.
Arnold leaned back in his leather chair. The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.
"If you can't tell me, then just say that," Arnold said, his voice dangerously low. "I don't want to hear those filthy lies come out of your mouth again."
Henry's jaw tightened.
"Are you seriously trying to convince me," Arnold continued, his tone cutting through Henry's excuses like a razor, "that you left this estate four months ago at Foundation Establishment Level 10, and returned at the absolute peak of Rank F?"
Arnold stood up. He walked around the massive desk, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the floor.
"It took your brother Howard from age eighteen to his current age of twenty-two to break out of Rank F through training. That is four years. And Howard has a B-plus knight aptitude."
Arnold stopped directly in front of Henry, his sharp eyes boring into his soul. "Even if they threw you to the wolves. Even if they had you fighting and killing real opponents instead of running drills... Howard's aptitude should more than bridge that gap. The fact that you reached the peak of Rank F in less than four months with a C-Rank aptitude makes zero sense."
Henry stared at his father. He ran the logic in his head. The math was absolute. His rehearsed excuses sounded incredibly stupid when spoken out loud to a veteran of his father's caliber. There was no lying his way out of this.
Henry let out a slow breath. His shoulders relaxed.
"You're right, Father," Henry admitted calmly, meeting Arnold's intense gaze without flinching. "I can't tell you."
The oppressive tension in the room instantly evaporated. Arnold's hardened expression softened just a fraction. He didn't seem angry at the attempted deception. He was simply a man who hated having his intelligence insulted. Now that Henry had owned up to the secrecy, the friction was gone.
"Either way," Arnold said quietly, the weight of his words carrying a rare warmth. "I'm proud of your progress."
Henry's eyes widened slightly. Praise from the Baron was a rare commodity.
"Tomorrow morning, I want you to spar against your brother," Arnold instructed, turning his back to walk toward his bookshelves. "I'll be there to watch it personally. Call it a day, Henry."
"Yes, Father."
Henry stepped out of the study and gently pulled the doors shut. The adrenaline from the interrogation slowly faded, but his mind was racing.
He didn't go straight to his bedroom. Instead, he navigated through the quiet estate and stepped out into the crisp night air of the back courtyard. This was his old training ground. The place where he used to swing a wooden sword until his hands bled like his life depended on it.
He walked to the center and pulled up the techniques from the green leather manual. He shifted his weight, his Swift Tale Boots gripping the packed earth flawlessly. He exploded into motion.
He pivoted, dashed, and cut angles across the courtyard with terrifying fluidity. The agility was intoxicating. After ten minutes of aggressive, silent footwork, he came to a sudden halt, not even breathing heavily.
Satisfied, Henry finally headed inside.
He stripped off his clothes and collapsed into his comfortable bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling.
He thought about the upcoming spar with Howard. He remembered how far ahead his brother felt in the past. Howard was a newly minted D-minus Rank knight. He was strong, disciplined, and relentless.
A confident smirk tugged at the corner of Henry's mouth.
'I wonder how he'll react,' Henry thought, his eyelids growing heavy. 'I've almost caught up to him.'