Outside the city gates, Eula hadn't gone far.
She merely turned into a quiet, deserted side path and leaned her back against a tree still damp with morning dew. Only then did she finally allow the tightly worn "Lawrence mask" to completely shatter.
Her cheeks burned like a sky ignited by sunset, the heat spreading uncontrollably until even the tips of her ears were tinged with pink.
Inside her chest, her heart betrayed her utterly—pounding against her ribs like a war drum, each beat echoing far too clearly in the stillness of the alley.
Eula lowered her head.
Her gaze fell upon the bundle of pristine white Cecilias cradled in her arms. Morning dew rolled across the petals, refracting scattered light—just like the chaos swirling through her thoughts.
Her fingertips brushed over the soft petals, tenderly, with a care she herself hadn't noticed.
Then her eyes shifted to her other hand—
to the lunchbox Yichen had pressed into it, still carrying the warmth of his body.
She took a deep breath, as if drawing courage from the air itself, and carefully lifted the lid.
Soft morning light spilled inside.
What greeted her wasn't merely food arranged for convenience—but food shaped with intent.
A perfectly golden pan-fried cod fillet had been rolled into the outline of a heart. Beside it lay a salad mixed with raspberry vinaigrette—her favorite—scattered like fragments of a broken heart.
Several plump raspberries had been carved into tiny roses, resting quietly in one corner.
The aroma of warm food blended with the crisp fragrance of Cecilias, gently enveloping her.
"…Honestly… that idiot…"
A quiet sigh slipped from between Eula's tightly pressed lips—
a sigh laced with embarrassment, helplessness… and sweetness.
She snapped the lid shut as if the heart-shaped meal might burn her fingers. The flush on her face deepened.
"It's already… the ninety-ninth time…"
"How have you still not learned your lesson? Every time—every time you choose the city gate!"
She recalled the guards' barely restrained smiles, the subtle murmurs from passersby, and a deeper wave of shame surged up.
"With so many eyes watching… how am I supposed to agree in a place like that…?"
Her voice grew smaller, tinged with grievance.
"I've hinted so many times already…
You blockhead. Idiot. Completely clueless about atmosphere!"
Her fingers unconsciously traced the smooth grain of the lunchbox's wood—
those roundabout, carefully buried "hints" she had dropped.
Like casually mentioning that the lake behind the Knights' headquarters was peaceful at dusk.
Or complaining that the pigeons in Mondstadt Square were too noisy.
Or "offhandedly" saying that moonlight was especially bright in the abandoned Lawrence manor garden.
Those awkward, unmistakably Eula-style invitations—
all perfectly ignored by a man whose mind was apparently focused only on "clocking in."
Her thoughts drifted back to the beginning.
When Yichen had first appeared on her patrol route with flowers and said, "I like you,"
anger had surged straight to her head.
The Lawrence name was a shackle heavier than iron.
Any sudden kindness felt like a test, a mockery, or a hidden blade.
She had struck back mercilessly—with the coldest words, the sharpest glare—
even readying herself to draw her sword.
Yet that man… was like an immovable rock.
The second day.
The third day.
An entire week.
Rain or shine, he appeared on time. And rather than being extinguished by her frost, the determination in his eyes only grew brighter—like steel tempered in ice.
Just as the first crack formed in her wall of ice, her close friend Amber brought crucial information.
Yichen—Mondstadt's newly crowned "No.1 Handsome."
Zero scandals.
Hard-working like a tireless pack mule, juggling three jobs a day.
Reliable. Upright.
And most importantly, Amber swore on her own chest—
"His feelings for you are genuine!"
What truly shattered Eula's iceberg came after the seventy-eighth confession.
On a whim she couldn't explain, she secretly followed him.
She watched him enter the bustling Good Hunter, greeting customers with a smile, weaving briskly between tables.
She watched him trudge into the blacksmith's workshop, sleeves rolled up, swinging his hammer amid flying sparks, sweat soaking his hair.
She also heard them—again and again—
Regulars from the tavern.
Master Wagner from the forge.
Even passing Knights of Favonius.
All patting his shoulder with pity or confusion.
"Yichen, listen to your brother—just give it up. That Lawrence girl… her heart can't be warmed."
"Why bother? With your conditions, Mondstadt's good girls are lining up."
"Eula Lawrence? Hmph… that Lawrence…"
Every time, Yichen would stop.
He would lift his head.
On his soot-stained or sweat-drenched face—
there was no hesitation.
Only a stubborn, crystal-clear light.
Eula remembered it clearly.
Bathed in the red glow of the forge, he set down the heavy hammer. His voice wasn't loud—but it cut cleanly through the clamor.
"Gentlemen, forgive me—but I can't agree."
"The Eula Lawrence you speak of…
and the Eula Lawrence I see every day—
are not the same person."
"She fulfills her duties without fail. Her patrol routes never change, rain or storm."
"She's skilled with the sword. More than once, she's protected innocent merchants from monsters."
"She bears a heavy surname, yet never flaunts it—nor flees from it. She simply wipes away history's dust with her actions, one step at a time."
His gaze swept the room, then settled on the dancing flames.
"In the end, aren't your judgments far too shallow?"
"If the Lawrence name is destined to bear a thousand years of sin…
then what of the ancestors who once brought order and prosperity to Mondstadt?"
"Does the blood in this lineage carry only guilt—
and nothing more?"
At that moment—
Hidden in the alley's shadows, Eula felt as if she had been struck by lightning.
She clamped a hand over her mouth, choking back a sob.
The cold stone wall pressed against her spine, yet it couldn't stop the searing tide that surged through her limbs—melting the final shard of ice.
Her vision blurred.
Only one figure remained clear through the tears—
the tall silhouette standing before the forge fire, speaking for her.
It burned itself into her heart.
Perhaps… it was then.
In those unfamiliar words spoken on her behalf.
In that gaze that pierced through prejudice and rumor—
that truly saw her.
She, Eula Lawrence, fell hopelessly in love with this stubborn, gentle fool.
The blush on her cheeks hadn't fully faded.
Leaning against the cool tree, Eula felt the comforting warmth from the lunchbox in her arms, and the faint fragrance of Cecilias.
She inhaled deeply.
In her ice-blue eyes, hesitation and shyness were replaced by an unprecedented resolve.
This afternoon… when he comes to "ambush" her again…
This time, she would tell him properly.
Tell him to choose a place with only the two of them.
No more charging at the city gate like a single-minded, foolish battering ram.
She carefully stored the lunchbox, as if securing a weighty piece of affection. Her fingers brushed the petals once more.
Then she straightened her back, adjusted her uniform, and put on once again the calm mask of Reconnaissance Captain Eula Lawrence, resuming her patrol.
But at the moment she left the quiet path—
A crystal-clear thought, tinged with secret excitement, sprouted quietly in her heart:
When it comes to the 101st time…
in a quiet place belonging only to her and Yichen…
This time—
she, Eula Lawrence, will be the one to speak first.