In the world of Type-Moon, it all begins with becoming Morgan's husband!

"But--"

Ophelia's eyes were filled with confusion.

"If one doesn't have the identity of a magician, becoming a Master candidate would seem illegitimate."

Does such an effect really exist?

Ian looked directly at Ophelia.

"I'm still standing right in front of you now, aren't I?"

"..."

It's still an undeniable reason.

Ophelia became increasingly skeptical of Ian's statement that he "had not yet become a magician."

She thought for a while and then had an idea.

"That--"

"What if I told you I had a way to take your magic skills to the next level?"

"..."

Ian licked his lips.

"For example?"

"No examples."

Ophelia knew she had found a topic that Ian was interested in.

"Everyone's path to improvement is different; you have to follow my lead."

"is it?"

Ian put on a seemingly friendly smile.

"I see."

"It seems I have no choice but to go to this room."

Ten minutes later.

Led by Ophelia, Ian walked through several corridors and arrived at the door of a room.

It was a room that, from the outside, looked almost identical to Ian's residence.

There is a kindness sign on the door that reads "016".

Without saying much, Ophelia simply opened the door.

If anyone saw this scene at this moment, they would definitely feel that she had brought a man back to her room late at night.

but--

Even if entering the room is just one step, I would never have such a thought.

Because behind the door is simply another world.

Apart from the necessary resting space, all the remaining space in the room was used to place items related to magicians.

Like some ancient books with many obscure words written in them;

Or perhaps some scattered items that seem to have some mysterious purpose.

In short, this is a completely different style of decoration from Ian's room.

If Ophelia herself wasn't lying—then there must be a reason for all of this.

Ian had already vaguely sensed this reason.

"How about it? You've never seen decorations like this before, have you?"

"If you're interested—"

When Ophelia turned around, ready to bargain with Ian, she was suddenly doused with cold water.

Because what she saw was a face that didn't seem to care much.

She was a little unhappy.

"Ian, aren't you even a little curious as to why my room is decorated like this?"

"Not curious."

Ian answered directly.

This wasn't because he was deliberately trying to pick a fight with Ophelia.

Rather, he understood that this was a magician's "workshop".

When his memories were still fresh in Camelot, Morgan had taken him to her “workshop”—a room deep within Camelot Castle.

That was a place only she knew how to get in.

Although magic may theoretically change over time, its essence remains the same.

So--

The room beneath your feet must be Ophelia's "workshop".

Are you trying to be mysterious?

Ophelia looked at Ian.

“You can certainly interpret it that way,” Ian shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

"But before that, Miss Ophelia, could you please make what you've said a reality?"

"You really do have a clear purpose."

Ophelia couldn't help but say something.

Fortunately, she knew she had follow-up actions planned.

"Just sit there."

Ophelia pointed to a spot in the room.

Seeing Ian hesitate, she added, somewhat displeased:

"Now that you're here, are you still worried that I might do something underhanded to you?"

“No.” Ian shook his head.

"I just wanted to say... it's not a good thing to reveal your bra size to others, is it?"

"To reveal your bra size to others?"

Ophelia was puzzled at first, then suddenly realized something.

She followed Ian's gaze and confirmed her suspicions.

It was a black lace bra placed there, with lotus-like petals along its rounded edges.

With the back clasp undone, it lay there loosely, like a waterlogged rope.

Ophelia realized that these were clothes that hadn't been properly dried because she was busy studying magic.

"You definitely have a problem!"

After the top student magician finished shouting, he hurriedly ran over and put it away.

"You're so indecent!" she muttered, clutching her chest.

"Miss Ophelia, this is not my fault at all!"

"Fine, I won't hold it against you—"

Ian's gaze swept around.

"But I think it would be best to clean your room before doing anything else?"

"I really can't stand this environment anymore."

"……Row."

then.

Late at night, Ian and Ophelia began cleaning the "workshop".

Ten minutes later.

Looking at the neat and tidy room in front of her, Ophelia could hardly believe her eyes.

"To think it's been tidied up to this extent, is this even considered my room anymore?"

“If you’re willing to keep it up,” came Ian’s reply, “then it’s yours, of course.”

"But you're basically the one giving the orders, right? How do you know so much about this kind of thing?" Ophelia asked, full of doubt.

"..."

Ian paused for a moment before slowly speaking:

"Because someone needs me to take care of them like this."

"someone?"

Ophelia turned her head, about to ask if it was Mash, when she witnessed an extremely unexpected scene.

Ian was facing away from me, his eyes fixed on the empty space in front of him.

His hand touched his collar, pulling it up slightly—an instinctive reaction to the heat and the need for some fresh air.

It was just for a fleeting moment.

Ophelia felt her heart beat a little faster—it was the first time she had ever seen a man like this.

However, it only lasted for a fleeting moment.

Because Ian quickly turned his head and looked at her, his eyes filled with indescribable sadness.

"Yes...it is indeed because of someone."

"..."