The sky was bright and the breeze gentle. The air quality on the Capital Star really was extraordinary, though it wasn't quite as exaggerated as those sensational tabloids claimed—there wasn't exactly a sweet scent in the air.
Vivienne wandered the streets alone.
"Extra weekend training? Out of the question. Not in this life."
She knew her own body best. Hoping to turn into one of those A-level or even S-level physical powerhouses through basic workouts was simply a pipe dream.
"What's the point of suffering like that?" Vivienne muttered to herself. "Miss Milo, your kindness is appreciated."
Last night, she messaged Squinty-Eyed Doctor to rat someone out. Doctor Ian Yale replied with a vague and ambiguous "maybe," and a "good luck."
That was when Vivienne knew: yeah, no. Some "backer" he was—totally unreliable.
Sigh. Oh heavens, why did you drag her here? What for?
She had no lofty ambitions, was harboring a secret, had no desire for fame and fortune, and absolutely no intention of serving the Empire.
Find her brother?
That was just a story she used to fool Leo Vaughn. Her actual 20-year life plan didn't include anything remotely like "find my brother."
Currently, Vivienne's only remotely long-term plan was to find a male Guide with B-level spiritual power or above, start a small family, and once and for all solve the problem of her eternally-on-the-verge-of-collapse mental landscape.
But this was the Capital Star.
What were the chances she'd find her destined Guide here? And even if she did—miracle of miracles—what were the odds a Capital Star native would be willing to follow her to some distant, unknown place?
No matter how she thought about it, it felt like she was wasting time here.
Larry was a freelance artist. He often sat on park benches sketching, observing the flow of people in search of inspiration.
On Saturday morning, he had just finished preparing his paints and set his sketchpad across his knees. He yawned, sleep-deprived from staying up late watching a mecha match. Just as he turned his head, he found an unexpected delight.
A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman stood near a bush in the distance.
Sunlight streamed through sparse leaves, casting mottled light on her black hair. She gazed wistfully at the sparrows on the autumn branches, a trace of melancholy between her brows.
What was she thinking about with such sorrow? Was she mourning the loneliness of falling leaves? Or missing someone far away?
Her gentle and enigmatic gaze caused a flood of inspiration to pour into Larry's mind. He grabbed his brush and began sketching the woman's silhouette on his pad, fully immersed in his artistic creation.
Meanwhile, Vivienne—the very muse of Larry's artistic soul—was gazing at the round little sparrows, but her thoughts were flying in a completely different direction: "Is it illegal to catch birds on the Capital Star?"
Since she was wasting time anyway, might as well waste it to the fullest.
…
Vivienne was far too idle.
An hour later, she wandered the streets holding a pencil sketch.
God knew how excited she was when the curly-haired man in the round hat excitedly ran up to her—she thought he was there to pay her a copyright fee for using her image.
Turned out, the guy just wanted to give her the drawing.
Under acceptable circumstances, Vivienne still prided herself on being a decent person.
She could only accept the drawing with both hands, offering a gentle smile: "Thank you, sir. Receiving an artist's favor in such a lonely autumn is truly a delightful surprise."
It was… decent.
Vivienne didn't have much artistic sensibility and couldn't judge the quality. She just thought, hey—it actually looks like me. Not bad.
Only—
"Still boring in the park, boring." To make it easier to carry, she folded the sketch and slipped it into her coat pocket. "Where can I find some new free entertainment?"
Turns out, Vivienne was still too young and naïve.
Once she stumbled upon a magical place called the "Matchmaking Corner," and was invited in solely because of her beautiful face, Vivienne had no choice but to admit: She had been reckless.
—Turns out the park wasn't boring at all. It was full of uncles and aunties battling it out with their cyber-cricket children.
After making one round through the Matchmaking Corner and enduring a barrage of questions from the crowd of elders, Vivienne's world turned gray.
Too soul-crushing.
A penniless, houseless, carless nobody from a remote star system—how was a Sentinel like her supposed to find a partner on the Capital Star?
Having fled the park in defeat, Vivienne wandered into the commercial district. Its prosperity was like a flowing painting—vividly colored and brimming with energy. The ever-evolving fashion scene flowed endlessly like a fountain, constantly refreshing itself. Stylish men and women, old and young, bustled through the crowds in a stream of elegance and flair.
The streets were lined with towering skyscrapers, shopping malls, and shops offering all sorts of interesting, useful, and aesthetically pleasing items.
Vivienne's fingers twitched slightly.
Her wallet had been looted by those despicable pirates, and now the balance in her terminal was just enough to let her eat cheaply at the campus cafeteria. She couldn't even afford to treat Tony Zane to a meal at Obsidian Restaurant, the one he had once used to apologize.
Damn it. How was she supposed to enjoy the weekend with no money?
…
Inside the VIP room of "Heaven's Grace."
The decor used soft champagne gold and elegant beige as its primary palette. The floor was covered in plush cashmere carpet. The walls were adorned with exquisite reliefs. Every detail showcased masterful craftsmanship.
"This fragrance, 'Phantom,' is renowned for its unique woody tones and mysterious Oriental spices. It's especially suited for refined gentlemen like yourself. Sir, what do you think?"
The sales associate patiently and respectfully introduced the features, top, middle, and base notes of the luxurious perfume, all while discreetly watching the noble young man slouched lazily on the sofa. His attire was impeccable, and his manner graceful.
The young man gave no reply.
The associate couldn't read his mood. The young man's lips were full, with a natural upward curve. His platinum-blond hair fell neatly over his ears, and his fair complexion made his golden-green eyes appear even more sacred and aloof.
At the moment, those eyes were gazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows, listlessly watching the bustling street below. His expression held a trace of aloof detachment, as though none of this worldly noise concerned him.
He exuded an innate elegance, radiating a magnetic charm even in moments of idleness.
"If 'Phantom' doesn't suit your taste, perhaps you'd be more interested in another of our offerings—'Dawn's Dew.'"
"'Dawn's Dew' is designed for those who prefer a fresh, natural scent. The top notes are citrus and green leaves, followed by a middle of jasmine and white tea, with a warm musk and amber base. The concept is to capture the moment the first ray of sunlight pierces the morning mist…"
As she spoke, the associate gently picked up the perfume bottle from a crystal display stand. The sleek design and hand-polished crystal bottle shimmered in the sunlight, and the delicate scent began to diffuse softly in the air.
Still, the young man said nothing.
The associate finally dared to take a closer look—and only then realized that the noble's attention had long drifted elsewhere.
Holding firmly to the principle that "the customer is always right"—especially when the customer was this dangerously beautiful—she didn't dare do anything out of line to regain his attention. Instead, she deliberately lowered her voice, careful not to disturb his daydreaming.
"This scent is great for daily use—it's understated, never plain…"
Out of curiosity, she snuck a glance out the window too.
—So that's what he was watching. A couple was arguing downstairs.
The associate snarked to herself: Even the rich and fancy can't resist watching drama, huh…
"In addition to 'Dawn's Dew,' the same perfumer also designed a nighttime variant called 'Moonlit Secrets.' Its top notes feature bergamot and blackcurrant, while the middle notes blend in—"
The young man's lips curled upward ever so slightly.
Contrary to the associate's assumption, he wasn't watching the feuding couple. His attention was fixed on a dark-haired woman in white.
—She had now circled the arguing pair four times, pretending to be a passerby.
And from his high vantage point, he had taken in her entire subtle, roundabout route to eavesdrop on the drama below.