Welcomed into the home, Glenn took a seat by the square table in the living room.

  Mrs. Hills immediately poured him a glass of water. "I still remember how highly Hopdo spoke of you—he said your stories filled him with inspiration. I know little of art myself; I only know that your tales have brought color into my rather monotonous life. I read them to my children every night, and I’m certain they bring them the sweetest dreams..."

  She was wonderfully talkative; Glenn merely needed to nod or offer a brief word now and then, and she would seamlessly continue, speaking at length with inexhaustible enthusiasm.

  She asked Glenn to call her Mrs. Hills; she was already the mother of two children.

  Besides the timid little boy who had opened the door, an even younger girl hid in the inner room, too shy to come out.

  Only when it was nearly time to prepare dinner did Mrs. Hills finally conclude her monologue, telling Glenn to sit and rest while she went to the kitchen.

  Sitting idly felt like a mild torment, but fortunately, the little boy inched toward him, clearly wanting to ask something.

  "Your name is Amy, isn't it?" Glenn asked with a gentle smile.

  The boy nodded obediently.

  "I heard you’re very fond of my stories?"

  Another earnest nod.

  "Then which one do you like best?"

  "I... like all of them."

  "I’ll be writing many more fairy tales. Are you looking forward to them?"

  "Really!?" Amy’s eyes lit up.

  "Of course it’s true. After I meet with your father, I’ll begin writing at once. When I finish, you may read them first."

  Thus Glenn very easily won the boy’s trust, and soon the two were chatting animatedly.

  They exchanged whimsical thoughts about various scenes and characters from the fairy tales.

  Just as the conversation reached its most spirited point, the turning of a key sounded—Hopdo returned exactly at mealtime.

  Amy had no choice but to stop, though he lingered wistfully.

  Hopdo seemed in excellent spirits; he entered with a smile and was about to call for his wife when he suddenly saw Glenn sitting inside.

  His barely-contained delight bloomed into a full grin. "Oh! Look at this! Isn’t this Mr. Glenn himself!? I never expected you to arrive so soon!"

  The two embraced warmly.

  "You seem in a good mood today, Mr. Hopdo. Did something fortunate happen?" Glenn asked with the ease of an old friend.

  "Heh... a fortunate thing for you as well. I just came from the club—I was there to settle the matter of your membership..."

  Hopdo then summarized what had transpired at the meeting.

  Glenn was deeply moved. Though they had met only once, the man had taken his affairs so seriously. At the same time, he felt a faint twinge of guilt.

  During dinner, the couple chatted with Glenn endlessly. Such warm enthusiasm was something Glenn had not experienced in a very long time.

  He did, however, eat with less satisfaction than usual.

  He also met their daughter—a small girl of six or seven. She nestled in her mother’s arms, peeking shyly at the stranger. Whenever Glenn glanced her way, she immediately buried her head in her mother’s chest. Adorably timid.

  Originally, Glenn planned to settle all the procedures quickly and return immediately.

  But plans rarely keep pace with change; the hour was already too late. Glenn had no choice but to stay the night at Hopdo’s home and handle everything the next day.

  This delighted Amy to no end—he imagined hearing a brand-new fairy tale by nightfall.

  And Glenn did not disappoint. He requested paper and ink and wrote The Little Mermaid, handing it to Mrs. Hills so she might read it to the children that evening.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She accepted the freshly written pages with a smile and immediately began reading them with rapt attention.

  Amy pulled anxiously at her skirt, his little sister in tow, desperate to hear it.

  Glenn left them to it and retired early to the guest room.

  The Little Mermaid was a poignant love story—perhaps too sorrowful to read to small children, he thought.

  "Using sunlight as her eyeshadow, the little mermaid sank gently into the embrace of the foam..." he hummed softly from Fairy Tale Town, closing his eyes.

  Perhaps it was due to unfamiliar surroundings, but Glenn awoke very early the next morning.

  He feared Hopdo might still be asleep, in which case he would have to wait before handling his procedures.

  Fortunately, Hopdo rose only minutes later.

  After breakfast, at Glenn’s urging, the two set out early—under Mrs. Hills’s strangely reproachful gaze.

  Since Glenn had his own Great Stag carriage, they did not need to hire a coach.

  With Hopdo guiding the way, they soon arrived at the club’s headquarters—a grand building reminiscent of a cathedral.

  Two soldiers guarded the large doors. Hopdo exchanged a few words with them, and they were allowed inside.

  "The formalities are not complicated," Hopdo explained as they walked down the spacious corridor. "You’ll receive a document to fill out. Once submitted, it will be reviewed by Her Highness the Third Princess, and then you’ll be officially admitted."

  But upon reaching what appeared to be an administrative office, one of the staff members addressed Hopdo:

  "Honored Mr. Hopdo, Her Highness specifically instructed that this gentleman’s application be handled directly at her office on the fourth floor."

  "Her Highness said this herself?" Hopdo asked, incredulous.

  "Yes," the staff confirmed.

  Hopdo and Glenn exchanged a look—each seeing the same confusion reflected in the other.

  They had no choice but to proceed to the fourth floor, where Hopdo knocked upon a special door.

  Knock, knock—

  "Come in."

  A voice answered—gentle, melodious, and exquisitely composed.

  When they opened the door, Glenn’s eyes widened slightly.

  The room before him hardly resembled an office at all. It was vast, adorned with the classical elegance of noble décor—more akin to an expansive private study.

  In one corner stood a desk, and behind it sat a strikingly beautiful young lady. Though she wore no crown, one could almost imagine it resting naturally upon her head—her bearing alone proclaimed her royalty.

  Flanking her stood two handsome knights, each radiating a razor-sharp aura that only Glenn seemed able to perceive, like unsheathed blades standing vigilant.

  "Your Highness," Hopdo led the bow; Glenn followed suit.

  "No need for ceremony, Mr. Hopdo. I already know why you’re here."

  Her voice possessed a gentle magic—one that eased tension rather than imposing distance.

  "This is Mr. Glenn," Hopdo said, stepping aside. "The creator of the fairy tales. I hoped to bring him into our club, though I never imagined he would draw such special attention from Your Highness."

  Glenn bowed once more. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness."

  "I have long admired your name, Mr. Glenn. And there’s no need to stand so far away. Come closer—do I truly look so frightening?"

  She spoke with a playful warmth.

  The two stepped forward.

  Yet Glenn’s attention was not on the Princess—it was fixed on one of the knights at her side.

  Was that not the strange youth he had seen in the refugee camp at Duder? How had he become a knight in the service of a princess...?

  The question lingered sharply in his mind.