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"Though I think this suit suits you well, if you don't like it—"
Hilda's murmuring was cut off as Allen looked up, meeting her gaze with earnest sincerity.
"No, I love it. The color, the fabric, the design—thank you."
Her eyes crinkled with warmth. "Good, that's good."
Then, slowly, her gaze drifted past him to Sylphie, who stood frozen, watching their exchange.
"Your gown is lovely too, Sylphie. Though the fit from waist to thigh might restrict your steps a bit. Be careful when dancing."
Sylphie nodded absently, then flicked a glance at Allen's shoulder before stammering:
"R-Right, I'll be careful—! N-Not that anyone would ask me to dance—"
"Why wouldn't they?"
Her breath hitched.
She looked up at Hilda—only to find the woman smiling at her as if she hadn't spoken those words.
But she hadn't.
Because—
Sylphie's pupils trembled as she turned.
Allen was watching her.
He repeated, softer:
"Why wouldn't they?"
Her pulse stuttered. Panic tangled her tongue.
"I-I'm not good at it! N-No one would want to—"
"I would."
Silence.
Somewhere nearby, Rudeus pumped his fist. Hell yes, Allen! That's my student!
"Practice!" he blurted. "Sylphie hasn't practiced enough! She should try now—while wearing the dress! Allen, you'll help, right?"
Sylphie whipped her head toward him, brain short-circuiting.
All she could see was Allen's steady gaze—and, inexplicably, Hilda's sewing machine.
(Why the machine? Because she wanted to stitch Rudeus's mouth shut.)
Then—fingers brushed hers.
Allen tugged her forward, into the cleared space of the parlor.
Hilda watched, smiling.
——
They faced each other.
Allen studied Sylphie's face.
Sylphie studied her shoes—white, low-heeled, picked by Hilda.
A gentle pull brought her closer.
Now his collarbone filled her vision.
"Your stride's 15cm shorter than usual barefoot, another 5cm with these. Does it feel restrictive?"
He guided her through a few steps.
"N-No," she whispered.
"Good. Then I'll adjust mine—"
A sidestep. The opening stance of a foxtrot.
She scrambled to follow.
"Your rhythm's uneven. Sure you're okay?"
"Y-Yes!"
He retreated, toe skimming the carpet, then drew her back in.
One cautious step. Perfect alignment.
"There. Better."
"We'll speed up now. Ready?"
"...Okay."
Suddenly, he yanked her flush against him.
His hand settled on her waist.
She stiffened—
Then his breath grazed her ear, softer than the rustle of fabric:
"The wardrobe. Thank you."
A blink. Had she imagined it?
"...You're welcome."
The words vanished beneath their footfalls.
Step.
Step.
A dance synced to heartbeats.
——
The others observed.
"Allen's a natural teacher," Hilda mused. "Sylphie's already steadied. Remarkable—like how quickly you learned, Eris."
"Mhm! He uses the Flow Secret Technique!"
"The… what?"
"When I mess up, he uses it to stabilize me! Three correct measures in a row, and he stops! Look—he just let go!"
Hilda patted her head, amused.
Out on the floor, Sylphie moved fluidly now.
The dance neared its end.
Allen's hand left her waist.
A final pose.
Silence.
Sylphie inhaled, steadying her pulse—then noticed.
No one spoke. No applause.
Did I… do poorly?
Then—
Her fingers.
Still clasped in Allen's.
The dance wasn't over.
The pose was just—
A prelude.
Her eyes flew wide.
Blue light flickered in her periphery.
Allen's necklace.
The sapphire pendant, cold against his throat.
She wrenched her hand back like she'd been burned.
"I-It's over! I'm still not good—s-sorry!"
"Tch—!"
Rudeus groaned, dragging hands through his hair. So close!
Hilda sighed.
Sylphie peeked at Allen.
He showed no reaction—just studied his empty palm, then met her eyes.
Smiled.
"It's not over."
"We have time."
"Success needs acknowledgment… but not always right away."
She blinked. The words were simple, yet—
Something lingered beneath them.
Something important.
But the thought slipped like silk through her fingers.
So she just nodded.
"...Yeah."
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Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 265 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 80 power stones I will publish the next chapter.