Chapter 23: The Aftermath and the Affections
The morning after the competition dawned lazily over Tarenfall, golden light pooling across tiled roofs and wagons still loaded with half-eaten turnips and abandoned ribbons. Eren stood outside the farmstead, arms crossed, looking like someone who'd just survived a war made of vegetables and unwanted attention.
Mira was already up, humming as she swept the porch, clearly still riding the high from yesterday's chaos. "You're a local hero now," she teased, not even bothering to hide the proud grin tugging at her lips.
"I planted a glorified zucchini and smiled at the mayor. That's not heroism. That's PR," Eren muttered. "Also, my shoulders still hurt from all the back-patting. Do nobles have a training camp for that?"
Lira flickered into view beside him, arms folded, deadpan. "Analysis: your social discomfort level is at 87%. Impressive resilience."
"It's called shutting up and nodding. Very advanced skill."
Eren didn't expect much from winning second place—he was fine with the gold and the property, obviously—but he also hadn't expected the wave of attention. The girls from the competition had all taken turns dropping by to deliver congratulatory gifts that were just a bit too fragrant, soft-spoken, or suspiciously wrapped in lace.
Cael the Rootmaster had sent him a crate of glossy turnips that spelled Nice try in carrots.
Helena of Hearthglen had mailed him a glowing herb bouquet. They still pulsed at night like a cursed lava lamp.
And Mila of Suntrail? She sent a polite note and a basket of perfectly symmetrical strawberries. The note read: Let's dance again sometime—your rhythm was adorable.
Eren wanted to bury himself in compost.
Ciel, however, had been different.