Chapter 123: How to Enjoy the Founding Festival (2)
Damian followed Aracila’s lead in silence, his steps matching hers. True to her words, the streets brimmed with an abundance of food, sights, and games. As he took in the vibrant surroundings, Aracila darted to a nearby stall and returned with a skewer of grilled meat, holding it out to him.
“Do you eat street food?” she asked. “I used to eat this kind of thing with my sister during the festival, so I’m fine with it. But if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to.”
Many nobles turned their noses up at commoner food, deeming it beneath them. If Damian refused, Aracila was fully prepared to eat both skewers herself.
“I’m used to it,” Damian said calmly, accepting the skewer. “On knightly missions, you don’t always get refined meals.”
Truth be told, he’d likely eaten more commoner food than she had. In tougher times, he’d even made do with less. The skewer, threaded with onions and fruit between chunks of perfectly grilled meat, glistened with savory juices. It was delicious.
Aracila munched on her skewer, her eyes darting around, already searching for their next adventure. Damian, keeping pace beside her, stole a glance. A faint smudge of brown sauce clung to the corner of her full lips. The sight tugged at him, impossible to ignore.
“My lady, one moment,” he said, stopping her.
“Hm?” she replied, puzzled.
Unable to resist, Damian reached out. His large hand moved swiftly, and Aracila blinked in confusion. His firm fingers gently tilted her chin, his thumb brushing softly across the corner of her mouth. For a fleeting moment, her soft lips grazed the warmth of his fingertip.
“You had some sauce,” he said.
“Oh…” Aracila’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she rummaged through her bag for a handkerchief. It was normal to get food on your face, but for some reason, it felt mortifying. Even after wiping away the sauce, she kept rubbing her lips with the handkerchief, then hurriedly finished her skewer and wiped her mouth again for good measure.
Damian, meanwhile, quickly polished off his own skewer and held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll throw them away.”
“Thanks,” Aracila said, handing him the empty stick. As she did, she glanced up at him. Even with the mask covering his eyes and nose, his face still radiated a captivating brilliance. Her gaze lingered, and impulsively, she tugged at the hem of his coat.
Caught off guard, Damian didn’t resist as she pulled him closer, bending down slightly. Their faces drew near, and he flinched. “What—”
“You’ve got a little something too,” Aracila said, briskly wiping his mouth with her handkerchief. Satisfied with the now-spotless result, she smiled brightly and released his coat.
Damian touched the skin around his lips, then walked to a nearby alley corner to toss the skewers into a trash bin. It was such a small moment, yet his heart trembled. He pressed a hand to his mask, letting out a wry chuckle. Am I too far gone? Or is this what it’s like to care for someone so much that even the smallest things make your heart race?
With a light sigh, he returned to find Aracila waiting, her expression oddly flushed. “Mimi! Hurry up, I found some fun stuff to do!” she called, waving eagerly.
Damian quickened his pace. “What’s that?”
“Darts, knocking over pins with a ball, and a treasure hunt,” she said proudly. “I heard those are the most popular games.”
She’d done some eavesdropping while waiting, conducting her own little market research, and her pleased smile showed it. The ideas sounded good to Damian, and he nodded in approval.
Seeing his positive response, Aracila made a proposal. “Want to make a bet?”
“How so?” he asked.
“Let’s compete. Whoever wins two out of three games gets their wish granted. What do you say?”
“Sounds good,” Damian agreed readily.
They headed to the nearest dart stall, where a sign declared that hitting five bullseyes in a row would earn a special prize. “Welcome!” the stall owner greeted with a friendly smile. “Here to try your hand at darts?”
“How do we join?” Damian asked.
“Just pay the fee and wait your turn. Only two silver coins.”
Damian pulled the money from his jacket pocket and handed it to the owner. They joined the line of people waiting to play, standing side by side as they chatted.
“So, Mimi, are you good at darts?” Aracila asked.
“It’s not so different from shooting arrows,” Damian replied with a relaxed confidence.
Aracila crossed her arms, her brow furrowing in thought. “Hmm, I’ve never shot a bow. It’s probably different from casting magic, right?”
“You’re not throwing something tangible with magic,” he pointed out.
“Then isn’t this a bit unfair?” she said, pouting slightly. “You’ve got an advantage. I’ve never thrown anything except magic.”
She hadn’t thought it through when she suggested darts, and now she worried she’d picked something too lopsided. Her lips pursed as she sank into thought. Damian looked down at her, a soft laugh escaping him. His smile brimmed with affection, though Aracila, lost in her musings, didn’t notice.
“I’ll teach you, then,” he offered. “Quickly, before our turn.”
“Really?” she said, brightening.
“Yes. Get into position.”
Aracila picked up a dart and mimed a throwing motion. Damian watched her closely, then stepped behind her. His large hands gently gripped her forearms, adjusting her stance with care.
As Damian’s solid frame leaned in close, enveloping her, Aracila felt a sensation akin to being wrapped in a warm embrace from behind.
“Raise your arms a bit higher,” he instructed in a low voice, his breath grazing her ear. “And don’t swing too low when you throw, or the dart will hit the ground.”
The soft rumble of his voice so close made Aracila flinch involuntarily, a strange, ticklish warmth spreading through her. Whether Damian noticed or not, he continued his explanation with a calm demeanor. “You need to aim precisely at the target and throw with controlled force. It’s not about hurling it as hard as you can.”
“Got it. Thanks,” Aracila said, slipping out of his hold. It wasn’t that she disliked his closeness, but the odd, fluttery feeling made it hard to stay still.
Damian felt a pang of reluctance as he let her go, stepping back. He didn’t want to betray even a sliver of his feelings, fearing that a small moment of greed might push her away for good. Instead, he clenched the hand that had just held her, suppressing the emptiness that lingered.
After a long wait, their turn finally arrived. The couple positioned themselves before their respective dartboards, carefully selecting five darts each from the basket offered by the stall worker.
“The one with the higher total score wins. Got it?” Aracila said.
“Yes,” Damian replied, his tone light and easy.
At first, he planned to go easy on her. Winning by too wide a margin might discourage or frustrate Aracila, and he wanted to protect her pride. But an unexpected variable threw off his plan.
“Ten points! Ten points!” the stall worker announced.
“Did you see that, Mimi? I hit ten points!” Aracila exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement.
To his surprise, Aracila proved to be a remarkably quick learner. She absorbed his instructions perfectly, displaying impressive skill with the darts. She hit ten points on her first throw, then again on her second.
This could be trouble, Damian thought, a flicker of concern crossing his mind. Abandoning his casual approach, he focused intently.
Even with their masks, their striking appearances drew attention, and as the couple’s dart-throwing duel heated up, a small crowd began to gather. The onlookers picked up the nicknames they used for each other and started cheering.
“Go, Mimi! You’ve got this, Mimi!”
“Come on, my lady! You’re the best!”
Caught up in the moment, each with their own cheering section, Aracila and Damian threw themselves into the fierce competition.
At last, the final round arrived. Both Aracila and Damian hit the bullseye dead-on, earning perfectly clean ten-point shots that drew equal cheers from the crowd. The stall owner, tallying the scores, approached with a solemn expression.
“Here are the final scores,” he declared. “The lady scored 48 out of 50, and Mimi scored a perfect 50.”
The victory went to Damian.
“Congrats, Mimi!” Aracila said, clapping her hands. She’d sensed the outcome when Damian started landing consecutive ten-point shots. The stall owner and the crowd joined in, applauding his win.
“Oh! For Mimi, we have a special prize!” the owner said, hurrying to the back of the stall. He returned with a small gift box wrapped with a delicate ribbon.
Aracila watched curiously as Damian opened it. Inside was a dazzling badge emblazoned with the words “Dart King” in bold letters.
“Pfft!” Aracila couldn’t help but burst into laughter, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.
Damian stared at the badge, his expression deflating.
“Come on, Mimi, put it on!” Aracila urged.
“…”
“No backing out now!”
With a grin, Aracila took the badge from the box and pinned it to Damian’s chest. The dainty mask, the cutesy nickname, and now the flamboyant badge—his entire look was a spectacle. Aracila scanned him from head to toe and erupted into laughter again. They’d come out dressed as plainly as possible to avoid attention, yet here he was, sparkling brighter than anyone else. She couldn’t hold back her amusement.
“Hah…” Damian sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. He’d earned medals and honors before, but nothing like this. It was absurd, yet somehow it struck him as funny too, and he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed or toss the badge aside.
“Dart King! Let’s move on to the next game!” Aracila teased.
“Don’t mock me, my lady,” he said, feigning exasperation.
“Oh, come on, Dart King. Have some pride in your title!” Aracila placed her hands on her hips, putting on a mock-stern expression, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.
“Let’s go, Dart King Mimi,” she declared.
“Do whatever you want,” Damian muttered, his face resigned as she dragged him along. Her gleeful expression, shining through her mask, softened his own, and a faint smile curved his lips.
***
The pair moved on to a game where they’d throw balls to knock over gourds. The area was packed with people, just as lively as the dart stall. As they lined up to wait their turn, Aracila spoke up. “Okay, but honestly, considering the strength difference, you’ve got to let me use magic for this one.”
“Fine,” Damian agreed. “But you can’t directly burst the gourds with magic.”
“Obviously,” she said. “I’m just going to put a little extra power into my throws.”
Aracila, who honed her strength through magic rather than muscle, needed a boost to throw with enough force. Damian nodded, finding the compromise fair.
When their turn came, the balls Aracila infused with magic shook the gourds with ferocious impact. Her precise aim amplified the effect, each throw landing squarely on target without a single miss. Moments later, with a mere five-second gap, their gourds burst one after the other.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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