Kirine was taken aback by Ares’s unexpected words. She had assumed he would delegate all the cleaning to her since he was the one cooking. Catching her surprised expression, Ares smirked slightly.
“It’s just because kind-hearted me is being considerate,” he said.
Kirine blinked in confusion, her red eyes widening. She thought she must have misheard. Ares simply stared back, as if puzzled by her reaction. The thought, If you’re going to go crazy, at least do it gracefully, flashed through her mind, but she swallowed it down. Dealing with a madman was foolish.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied absently, her tone lacking sincerity. Ignoring him was the best course of action at this point.
As she turned to leave for her lab, Ares grabbed her sleeve. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
His gloved hand only touched the edge of her sleeve, a clear attempt to minimize physical contact. Oh right, he mentioned having OCD, Kirine reminded herself. His aversion to touch and his general disdain for people were two of the many reasons she disliked him.
“To my lab. Why?” Kirine replied.
“We can’t keep forgetting things forever,” Ares stated.
“And?” Kirine prompted.
When she gently shook her arm, signaling him to let go, Ares released her hand as if he’d been waiting for the cue.
“Make a potion to restore my memory,” he demanded.
A sigh escaped Kirine’s lips, though she suppressed it. She’d considered the possibility herself. “It’s easier said than done,” she began.
“What’s so difficult about it?” Ares countered.
“There’s no such thing as a potion that can restore lost memories,” she explained. “Essentially, you’re asking me to create something that doesn’t exist. Besides, recovering eight years’ worth of memories is incredibly complex. Do you have any idea how intricate the formulas related to time are?” A headache began to form as she spoke, and she massaged her temples. “We’d probably need countless rare ingredients due to the extensive experimentation and research required.”
“I’ll find the ingredients myself,” Ares declared.
Kirine hesitated. “Well, that’s true, but…” She hated to admit it, but Ares was exceptionally skilled as a royal knight. With a frustrated sigh, she reluctantly conceded. “Fine. Let’s say I make it. Who’s going to drink it?”
A heavy silence fell between them as neither dared to volunteer.
But it was short-lived.
“You should drink it since you made it,” Ares suggested nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. Kirine’s teeth ground together in irritation at his shameless attitude.
“That’s ridiculous. What if something goes wrong after I drink it? Who will make the potion then?” she retorted.
“Why would you make a potion that could go wrong?” Ares countered.
“It’s a possibility, a possibility!” Kirine insisted, her voice rising. As their voices grew louder, they became aware of curious onlookers. She forced a smile, but it was too late to quell the growing attention.
A royal mage, passing by, approached cautiously. “Is everything alright? You don’t seem yourselves today,” he inquired, his tone laced with concern.
Kirine’s heart sank. The emperor’s stern warning echoed in her mind: “For the past eight years, you’ve been acting like a loving couple, so you must continue to appear that way.” After a moment of internal struggle, she managed a strained smile. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s no big deal,” she replied.
Ares, uncooperative as ever, dismissed her efforts with a wave of his hand. “Isn’t potions your specialty? How can you be giving up already?” he scoffed. Her forced smile began to crack.