Rantesti City Commercial Street, 3:00 PM.
Wei walked in front.
Today she wore a long, cream-white trench coat.
The belt was tied loosely at her waist, the hem swaying gently with each step.
The coat fabric was crisp, the tailoring exquisite—clearly not the work of a local tailor in Rantesti City.
More like imported goods from the Federation.
A pair of dark sunglasses covered most of her face, leaving only a delicate chin and the slightly upturned corners of her lips visible.
Her short white hair was pinned under a light gray beret.
The dark red tips peeked out from under the brim, like an accidental splash of paint.
From head to toe, she looked like an aristocratic young lady who had spent too long in an ivory tower and was stepping out into the real world for the first time.
Beneath the sunglasses, the corners of her lips carried a faint, reserved smile—one that showed a mild curiosity about everything around her without losing her poise.
“What’s that person?”
“Must be from Urske, look at that hair.”
“Shh, keep your voice down.”
Wei’s pace didn’t falter.
The curve of her lips deepened ever so slightly.
But what truly drew the gaze of the entire street wasn’t her.
It was the maid walking half a step behind her.
Long, dark brown hair hung to her shoulders, the ends curled into soft waves that swayed gently with each step.
A lace headband sat neatly on top of her head.
The white apron was tied to perfection, the hem of the skirt just above the knee—slightly shorter than the standard maid uniform, which only made her legs look longer.
Black flats stepped lightly on the cobblestones, her gait so soft it seemed she was treading on cotton.
The maid was tall for a woman, but the uniform softened the lines of her shoulders, the apron’s cinching waist accentuated her curves perfectly.
The swell of her chest wasn’t exaggerated, but it filled out the black-and-white top with a natural fullness.
The calves revealed beneath the skirt were sleek, the skin so smooth that even the pores were invisible.
Zijiang’s craft was professional.
Her originally sharp cheekbones had been softened with contour powder.
The straight line of her jaw had been reshaped with highlights and shadows, making it round and delicate.
Her eyebrows had been thinned, arched at just the right angle.
The eyeliner swept upward at the outer corners, making her eyes look big and bright.
Her lashes were curled and coated with a thin layer of mascara.
When she blinked, they fluttered like tiny fans.
The weight of the fake chest was incredibly uncomfortable.
She had no idea what material it was made of—the feel and heft were disturbingly realistic.
Once stuffed into the uniform, every step she took made the two mounds on her chest jiggle slightly.
And Zijiang had shaved every possible spot on her body.
Arms, calves, armpits—even the fine hairs on her finger joints hadn’t been spared.
After shaving, she had applied some kind of lotion.
It felt cool, and her skin was so slippery that even she got goosebumps.
While she was pinned to the chair and unable to move, Prunier had pinched her chin and poured an entire bottle of voice-changing potion down her throat.
“Perfect.”
Now, on the cobblestone street of Rantesti City’s commercial district, Orlando kept her head down, her gaze fixed on a spot a foot in front of her toes.
She could feel the gazes of passersby buzzing against her like bees.
“Look at that maid. She’s really pretty.”
“Must be accompanying some noble lady. Look at that one in the trench coat—clearly from a wealthy family.”
“Isn’t she a bit tall?”
“Tall maids look more dignified. What do you know?”
To her right, three young men—judging by their clothes, apprentices from some trading house—were staring at her without any restraint.
One of them had his mouth hanging open until his companion nudged him to close it.
Another pretended to browse the goods at a street stall, but his gaze was glued to Orlando’s legs.
Orlando tugged the hem of her skirt downward.
It wouldn’t budge.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the apron.
Wei, walking ahead, suddenly slowed down and fell into step beside her.
“What’s wrong?”
Her voice was very low, her lips barely moving.
The red pupils behind her sunglasses slanted toward her, scanning her.
“Xiao Lina.”
Orlando’s lips twitched.
“…It’s nothing.”
The clear, feminine voice came out of her throat, carrying a fragile quality that didn’t belong to her.
“Good.”
Wei withdrew her gaze and looked forward again.
The brim of her beret cast a small shadow under the sunlight, hiding the faint curl of her lips.
“Stay close. Don’t get lost.”
Orlando gritted her teeth and followed.
At the end of the commercial street, around a corner.
A café.
The storefront was small.
A dark green awning extended from the doorway, printed with a line of cursive letters.
Several customers sat at the outdoor tables, some reading newspapers, others chatting quietly.
The aroma of coffee and the sweetness of baked bread drifted out from the door, mingling with the street noise.
Wei stopped in front of the café.
She took off her sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them into her trench coat pocket.
Her red pupils rose to scan the customers at the outdoor tables.
Then she pushed the door open.
The interior space was larger than it appeared from outside.
Warm yellow walls, dark brown wooden floors.
Each table was covered with a checkered tablecloth.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man in glasses, wiping a cup.
A few tables by the window were occupied.
In the corner, a person in a cloak was drinking coffee alone.
At the far end, in the row of booths against the wall, sat three or four people.
Large builds.
Broad shoulders.
Sturdy frames.
Not Eldron’s physique.
People from further north.
From cold places.
On the table in front of them sat a few cups of black coffee.
No one added sugar.
No one added milk.
No one spoke.
The air carried a silent, spine-tingling tension.
Wei glanced in that direction.
Then she took a step.
The hem of her trench coat swayed gently with her stride.
Her flats tapped against the wooden floor, emitting a soft, rhythmic sound.
She walked over to the group and stopped at an empty table.
That table was right next to their booth, separated only by an aisle.
“Hello there, gentlemen.”
“Could you make some room,”
“…Please?”