Chapter 343 Ferris Wheel Diner
Kyla felt a sudden wave of dread. She hurried into her en-suite bathroom. Clutching her hair, she stared in horror. “W–why… why am I going bald?" “Ahhhh!!!” For a girl, baldness means a brutal hit to looks, no doubt about it! And those dark circles… That sunken face… How did she end up like this?!
The next morning. Tilda drifted awake in her room. She yawned lazily. Knock, knock— A rap sounded at the door. “Ms. Tilda, are you awake?” It was Buck. Tilda went down and opened the door. “I’m up. Buck, where’s Mystro?” Last night, she’d come back to the villa with Mystro; they burned a lot of time sketching portraits of each other. It got late. Tilda figured she’d never slept at Mystro’s place before, so she made do for the night. “Mr. Kerrigan is waiting in the dining room to have breakfast with you. “He also said he’s prepared a surprise for you.” “Okay. Tell Mystro I’ll wash up and be right down.” Soon, Tilda came into the dining room, smiling brightly. There, she saw Mystro—standing at six foot three—seated with a napkin at his collar, looking perfectly like a Lucien noble on the white bench. Those pale, clean, long fingers were laced on the tabletop. His lips, cool and thin, pressed together slightly, and his deep brown eyes rippled with a hint of emotion. He looked lost in thought. “Morning, Mystro!” The princess’s joyful cry rang out like a trumpet blast, awakening a prince from his frozen slumber. Mystro snapped back to the moment. His whole vibe softened. “Tilda, you’re up?” “Mm. Buck said you got up early and even a surprise, so I ran over.” He was caught off guard by that. Mystro glanced at Buck, puzzled. “Buck, you told her that?” “Mr. Kerrigan… isn’t that right? You said Ms. Tilda’s always the one planning the fun, and you haven’t properly played host. “So, today you’d arrange the best places to take Ms. Tilda, am I right?” Buck was thrown, too. He’d taken Mystro’s words to mean a “surprise” for Tilda… right? For once, Buck—who always prided himself on reading Mystro’s orders—felt a rare twinge of doubt. Crap, did I get it wrong? “That’s not much of a surprise to her. It can’t beat your coffee, Buck.” Mystro lifted a helpless shoulder. For anyone else, having Myst personally craft a day out would be a dream. But with Tilda’s abilities, she’d long since seen grander vistas… It was routine. Tilda puffed her cheeks. “Says who! Mystro, don’t slack just because you think I won’t care. I’m looking forward to going out with you today!” “Okay, okay. When it comes to you, I never slack—always all in. “Buck, the Ferris Wheel Diner for tonight is booked, right?” “Of course, Mr. Kerrigan. As soon as you mentioned it, I called them right away. With your name and the VIP card, everything’s set.” Tilda pieced together the Yvorian he’d used. “Ferris Wheel Diner?” “It’s a Michelin three-star in Fairville. The chef-owner came from Valkyria, and the menu is vegetable-forward—stunning stuff. “I tried it once—unforgettable. Without connections, the waitlist is six months.” Mystro gently ruffled Tilda’s hair. “If it earns your praise, I’m all eyes.” Tilda touched her chin. For someone from Valkyria to carve out a lane in a place like Fairville—hostile to outsiders—purely on skill, and win three stars? Those signature vegetable dishes had to be incredible.
Night settled, slow and soft. Mystro took Tilda through everything worth seeing in Fairville, and at last they reached the reserved Ferris Wheel Diner. After confirming their names and IDs, the host, respectful, waved them through. They were led inside to a window table. From there, Tilda could see Fairville’s largest Ferris wheel up close, washing the night in seven colors as it turned. Tilda’s mouth curved. “Now the name makes sense. Nice ambiance.” For a Michelin three-star, the décor was simple and unadorned, not showy; the floor was Draxia style—you swapped into slippers. Each step gave a faint creaking sound. It felt really cozy. Tilda didn’t mind. If anything, it made her curious… Just because Tilda liked this style didn’t mean everyone else would.