They didn't waste time. The angel crouched, her movements brisk, slipping rings off fingers, unhooking belts heavy with coin pouches, and yanking necklaces free with a practiced snap.
"Pockets, quick," she ordered. The protagonist obeyed, heart still racing from the fight, fumbling with clasps and knots. Within minutes, the street was quiet again, the men groaning faintly but otherwise motionless.
They left before any curious eyes appeared. The angel led her down a narrow path toward Milishion, the Holy Milis Kingdom's proud capital, its white walls gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The streets were busy, merchants hawking their wares, pilgrims in polished armor brushing past ragged travelers.
The angel stopped before a modest but well-kept storefront. The carved wooden sign above read Saint's Curios & Charms. Through the open door drifted the faint scent of polished wood and lavender. Inside, behind a counter, stood a woman—tall, with dark hair pinned up and a white blouse that strained slightly at the chest. She looked up from her ledger, her lips curling into a smile.
"This," the angel whispered in the protagonist's ear, "is your first test."
"My what?" she whispered back.
The angel smirked. "You're going to flirt with her."
Her stomach dropped. "I— I can't—"
"That's the point," the angel cut in. "You don't know how. So you'll learn. Buy something… sell something… but make her look at you like she wants to see you again."
The woman behind the counter tilted her head, expectant. "Are you coming in, or are you just going to block the doorway?"
The protagonist stepped inside, feeling the weight of the angel's gaze from just behind her shoulder. She put the pouch of stolen coins on the counter, trying to think of something charming to say. Her throat felt dry.
The woman leaned forward slightly. "Well, what do we have here?" Her voice was low, warm. "Looking to sell… or perhaps buy a gift?"
The angel's voice brushed against her ear, so close it made her shiver. "This is where you stop thinking like a virgin… and start thinking like someone who can make her heart race."
Elinalise leaned on the counter, trying her best to look casual, which for her meant an odd half-squint and a tilt of the head that made her look more like she was diagnosing a suspicious piece of cheese than flirting.
"So… do you, uh… sell pillows? Because I, uh… need something soft to… sleep on. Preferably with you on it."
The shopkeeper blinked. Once. Twice. "...Miss, I think you should leave."
The angel beside me, who had been idly examining a rack of canteens, glanced up with a faint smirk.
We were already halfway to the door when she leaned closer to my ear and whispered, "You know, I can rewind time whenever I want."
I froze mid-step. "What?"
She smiled, as if I'd just asked her if the sun was hot. "I can rewind. Minutes. Hours. Sometimes days. If you mess something up—" her eyes flicked toward Elinalise "—you can try again."
Before I could protest, the air shimmered faintly, like heat over stone. The scene snapped back—the smell of dried herbs, the creak of the floorboards, the shopkeeper still standing with his arms folded behind the counter.
The angel looked at me expectantly. "Try again."