After taking another lap around the empty Ægir City, Steven not only scouted the area but also started making rough plans on how to turn this city into his personal agricultural base.
Satisfied, he placed down a Waystone, ensuring he could return whenever he wanted. Then, without hesitation, he teleported back to Iberia Town.
He wasn't the least bit worried about Seaborns or any other creatures coming over to destroy his Waystone. After all, his minimap already had the coordinates saved—if anything happened, he could easily return in no time.
Not to mention, if someone did mess with his teleportation marker, he would receive a notification. That way, it wouldn't just be an inconvenience—it'd also serve as a sign that something interesting was going on.
And if there was a spectacle to witness, he absolutely had to be there.
Even though he still didn't know who this incomplete trap was meant for, one thing was certain:
If chaos was about to unfold, he had to be part of it—anything less wouldn't match his love for watching drama.
Besides, this whole thing seemed deeply connected to some kind of ancient god hidden within the ocean.
That alone was enough to spark his curiosity.
Having concluded his underwater church expedition, Steven returned with plenty of rewards.
But the moment he teleported back, he immediately realized that something was wrong.
Instead of appearing inside the church, he found himself in a dimly lit room.
The room was simple and plain, with no extravagant decorations.
However, the air carried a light, delicate fragrance—a feminine scent that Steven immediately recognized.
After all, it was that sweet, milky scent that belonged to a certain adorable little bird.
There was no way he could mistake it.
And sure enough, sitting on the bed in cozy sleepwear, staring straight at him… was Irene.
"…Why did you move my Waystone into your room?"
Steven scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"Good thing you were only sleeping. Imagine if you were, I don't know, taking a bath or something. That would've been awkward as hell."
It wasn't his fault for suddenly appearing in a girl's bedroom unannounced.
How was he supposed to know that Irene would move the Waystone into her own room?
Luckily, just as he had pointed out, Irene was fully covered in a cute pink pajama set, leaving nothing questionable in sight.
If anything, with the way she was sitting on her bed, still looking half-asleep, she looked more like a grumpy child who had just woken up.
"Hmph! Isn't this your fault in the first place?"
Irene hugged her blanket defensively, her expression annoyed yet flustered.
"You were the one who asked me to be your spokesperson! Of course Saint Carmen ended up entrusting the Waystone to me for safekeeping! How was I supposed to know you'd suddenly teleport back at this hour?!"
As she spoke, she subtly tried to hide something behind her back.
Steven raised an eyebrow.
"Hey, how is that my fault? This is how teleportation works!"
"The only other option would've been teleporting straight onto you—and trust me, that would've been way worse."
"What, you want me to call ahead before teleporting to make sure you're available? That's ridiculous."
Technically, Steven could do something like that, but why would he go through the trouble?
"Tch! If it's not your fault, then whose is it?!"
Irene pouted.
"Tell me, who's the real victim here—me or you?"
She glared at him, clearly eager to argue.
For some reason, whenever she was around this guy, she couldn't help but want to bicker with him.
No matter how calm and composed she was in front of others, her "Inquisitor" persona completely collapsed the moment she was alone with him.
Some might call it fate.
Steven simply smirked.
"Well, if we're talking pure results, I didn't see anything interesting, did I?"
His eyes lazily glanced her up and down before he continued in a teasing tone:
"I mean, with that flat, childlike figure of yours, I could probably stand at a distance and not even tell which side is the front and which is the back."
Steven shrugged and held back a grin as he teased her.
According to Irene, she was technically an adult, but with her petite, childlike frame and signature youthful voice, she always felt more like a middle school girl to him.
"Go to hell, you jerk!"
Enraged by his remark, Irene flung the object in her hand straight at Steven.
Was it her fault that she had a permanently youthful appearance? It was just her natural physique—there was nothing she could do about it! And yet, this annoying man dared to joke about it? That was too much!
But the moment it left her hand, she immediately regretted it.
Only after throwing it did she realize what exactly she had been holding.
Steven instinctively dodged her lightweight projectile and, with practiced reflexes, caught it mid-air.
It was a simple, handmade doll—crudely stitched, but clearly resembling a specific person.
Black hair. Black eyes.
Steven knew exactly who it was supposed to be.
But what stood out the most was the smug grin stitched onto its face, shaped like a checkmark (√)—a trademark expression of someone with a particularly punchable aura.
The moment Steven registered its familiar features, his smile stiffened.
Because there was no doubt—this was a doll of him.
His eye twitched as he slowly looked back at Irene, who was fidgeting awkwardly.
"Well, well, well... so this is what you've been up to, huh?"
He let out a low chuckle, tossing the doll lightly in his palm.
"Making a little voodoo doll of me in secret? No wonder my arms and waist have been feeling sore lately… So it was your doing all along?"
Irene's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her reaction.
"Give it back!"
She leaped forward from her bed, reaching out to snatch the doll back.
But against Steven's agility and reflexes, she didn't stand a chance.
With a smooth sidestep, he easily dodged her lunge, lifting the doll high above her reach.
"You do realize this is a blatant violation of my image rights, right?"
His tone was playful, but his grin was wicked.
"I mean, this doll is clearly modeled after me. Who knows what kind of weird stuff you've been doing with it?"
"Who's doing weird stuff with it?!"
Irene's face suddenly flushed pink, and she avoided his gaze as she reached for the doll again.
"I was just using it as a punching bag, okay?!"
Her voice was full of righteous indignation, as if she were the true victim in this situation.
"It's not my fault that someone is so damn annoying! I can't beat him in a fight, so what's wrong with beating up his doll instead?!"
She huffed, crossing her arms, as if this was the most reasonable argument in the world.
Steven's jaw dropped in exaggerated offense.
"Wow. Unbelievable."
He dramatically drooped his shoulders, his expression suddenly full of sorrow.
"After everything I've done for you… How many times have I saved your life now? And yet, here you are, taking your frustrations out on a doll of me? That's just cruel…"
But Irene wasn't falling for it.
She rolled her eyes at his fake heartbreak and used the opportunity to make her move—
With a quick snatch, she finally reclaimed the crude cloth doll from his hands.
Irene quickly shoved the doll behind her, sitting on it to keep it out of sight. Only then did she lift her gaze to look at Steven, who was still fully immersed in his dramatic performance.
"I haven't used it to curse you yet, have I?" she huffed, tilting her chin up proudly. "But if you ever piss me off, I'll stab this doll with needles, turn it into a target dummy, and blow it to pieces with my rifle."
She let out a smug "hmph", declaring the future fate of the poor doll.
Steven, however, could only smile indulgently.
This was textbook tsundere behavior.
He already knew Irene wasn't actually using this doll for voodoo revenge—just looking at its slightly clumsy but well-crafted stitching, he could tell it was made with care.
And considering how it was lying so close to her bed, its real importance was pretty obvious.
"Well, that's a relief. For a second there, I thought someone might have a huge crush on me. That scared me."
Steven patted his chest in mock relief.
But as soon as Irene heard his teasing remark, her mood took a sudden nosedive.
She wasn't sure why, but hearing him say that made her feel strangely annoyed.
Her eyes darted around the room for a moment before she grabbed a small pillow and threw it straight at his face.
"Who in their right mind would ever like you?! Stop being so full of yourself!" she snapped. "So what if you saved me twice? I'm not some little girl who idolizes heroes, alright? If you think that's enough to impress me, you're dreaming!"
Even as she denied it, she continued swinging her pillow at him.
But to Steven, she looked exactly like the kind of little girl she was insisting she wasn't.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," Steven replied lazily, letting her vent her frustrations with her harmless pillow attacks.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his expression turned serious.
"Alright, enough messing around. I need to talk to you about something important."
With that, he reached out and ruffled Irene's head.
"Ugh! What 'important thing'?! And stop touching my head! I'm not a little kid!"
Irene immediately jerked her head away, trying to escape his grasp. But to Steven, her struggle was too weak—he easily caught her small head and messed up her hair even more, making it look completely disheveled.
"You are a little kid," he chuckled.
"Anyway, I raided one of the Church of the Deep's hidden bases near here. Found a bunch of documents inside. I'll copy them for you later. They'll probably lay low for a while, but they won't stop targeting you altogether."
His voice softened as he looked at her.
"So if something happens, don't be reckless. If you're in trouble, call me. I'll be there right away, got it?"
He gave her a gentle smile.
"After all, you're my first friend. Of course I'm gonna look out for you. So just stay alive, alright?"
He flicked her forehead lightly.
"You still have a long way to go if you wanna be a High Inquisitor like your teacher."
As he gazed at the flustered girl in front of him, Steven found himself liking this little bird even more.
<+>
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