Sinseki Era — Year -21
Northern Nations
"Mm?"
Lying across the long carriage seat, Serie gave a soft murmur, her lashes fluttering slightly.
Gut paused from reading his spell book, expecting her to wake up. But instead of opening her eyes, the Archmage simply reached out, blindly groping around until she found the book she'd been reading last night. Without hesitation, she flipped it open and laid it over her face like a makeshift blindfold, shielding herself from the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Typical elf behavior, honestly.
With a small chuckle, Gut walked to the window and gently let down the curtain, darkening the interior. Then he turned back, carefully lifted the "blindfold" from her face, set the book aside, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders—a blanket he'd draped on her after she'd fallen asleep last night.
"Mm~"
Serie curled up with a content sigh, shifting slightly and settling deeper into her nap.
"You really are living the dream, aren't you, Master?"
Watching her peaceful expression, Gut couldn't help the twitch in his brow.
But then… his gaze drifted downward.
Now turned to her side, Serie's long, pointed ear was fully exposed.
"What do elf ears feel like, anyway…?"
The thought wasn't new—it had been lingering in Gut's mind for a while. But with his teacher now dozing away in such a vulnerable position, that suppressed curiosity thumped louder in his chest.
"Maybe… just once?"
He hesitated. This might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If she stayed asleep, maybe she wouldn't even notice.
After all, in one of those stories back in his previous life, wasn't there a guy who touched Frieren's face in her sleep? The elf just shivered, muttered something groggy like "Yamete yo," and went right back to sleep.
Serie should be the same, right?
They're both elves.
Convinced by his own logic, Gut slowly reached out and pinched the tip of her ear.
Soft.
Velvety.
Strangely satisfying.
Then—shiver. Serie flinched violently, her body twitching from the touch.
"Get lost."
Her cold voice cracked like a whip, sharp and immediate.
Unlike the gentle Frieren, Serie had no patience for games—especially not when she had sleep to catch up on.
Gut froze.
Don't assume group behavior from individual actions.
A classic lesson from one of his old sociology classes. He'd never felt it hit harder than now.
Thankfully, Serie didn't pursue the matter further. She simply settled again and dozed off, this time with soft snores filtering into the silence.
Gut let out a slow breath and returned to his seat.
With magic research out of the question due to the dim carriage lighting, and no space for physical training, the only practical option left was...
Meditation.
Not the euphoric, transcendental kind he'd achieved yesterday—but the ordinary, stamina-draining kind that slowly, steadily pushed the limits of his magic reservoir.
Today's session wouldn't refresh his mind like a deep dive might. In fact, it would likely leave him more tired.
But that wasn't a bad thing. Gut could afford to burn off some of his excess energy.
Settling his posture, he drew a breath and closed his eyes.
The carriage rocked gently as time slipped by, quiet and uninterrupted.
Midday.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a halt.
The jolt pulled Gut from his meditation and Serie from her sleep.
"Trouble?"
Gut leapt from his seat, instincts already coiling for combat, but a quick sweep of his magical senses told him otherwise—no hostile presences.
A knock on the cabin wall followed.
It was the coachman. "Sirs and madam, we've reached the next town. Would you like to stop at the inn, or should I proceed directly to the hotel?"
Gut pulled back the curtain.
Just as the old man said, they were beside a town gate. It had simply been a routine stop.
"Thanks, uncle," Gut replied, handing him a small pack of Strahl cigarettes. "Help us find a nice inn in town."
"With pleasure," the driver chuckled, tucking the gift away and urging the horses forward.
Gut ducked back into the carriage, dropping the curtain again.
Inside, Serie was now sitting upright with her legs crossed, a blanket draped over her shoulders, and her sleepy eyes fixed right on him.
"Awake already, Master," Gut greeted, a bit sheepishly.
"Mhm."
She nodded but said nothing more for a moment, letting the haze of sleep wear off. After a few breaths, her eyes sharpened, and she finally addressed him directly.
"In the future, don't disturb me when I'm trying to sleep. Understood?"
"Yes, Master. Won't happen again."
"Good."
But as she considered her own cranky behavior, she began to feel a little guilty. Was it really fair to scold him over something so small?
With a sigh, Serie beckoned him closer.
"I recall you wanted to touch my ears, didn't you?"
Gut blinked, stunned.
"In the time left before we reach the inn, do as you like," she said plainly. "Though personally, I don't find the idea particularly entertaining. Structurally, an elf's ear is no different from a human's—apart from—"
"Mm~?"
She was cut off as Gut's fingers gently landed on her ear.
Soft. Precise. Stroking, pressing, teasing the edges.
Serie's voice faltered.
Her breath hitched.
Then, from deep in her throat—an involuntary, blissful little hum.
She gripped the edge of the seat cushion like a cat in heat, resisting the urge to vocalize more.
Outside, the driver heard the muffled sound.
He exhaled through his nose and muttered, "Ah, youth."
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Powerstones?
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