Fifth year in the Imperial Capital—
The third day after sending the letter to Serie, which also happened to be the Emperor's birthday—
In the small home of the Agusheed family, Frieren unusually woke up early.
She carefully folded the bedding, leaving a few restless wrinkles on the sheet with her fingers.
Then, tiptoeing, she changed her clothes and descended the stairs.
Having endured watching that couple's sweet breakfast moments for two days straight, the elf's patience had reached its limit.
"There's no way I can eat another breakfast at home."
Frieren muttered to herself, unwilling to witness another overly affectionate scene at breakfast like the previous days.
Gently opening the wooden door, Frieren was about to step outside—
But she halted instinctively.
Because at the moment the door creaked open, she felt a faint and nearly imperceptible magic.
"Interesting... you sensed me?"
"You've grown stronger, Frieren."
A voice, unfamiliar yet deeply familiar, echoed behind her.
Memories of the trauma Rivale recently inflicted surged in her mind.
Although she quickly recognized the source of the voice and her overwhelming magic—
And realized she had come because of Flamme's condition—
The psychological pressure alone left Frieren stiff and uneasy.
She barely turned her neck and looked back with a resentful gaze at Serie, who had suddenly appeared.
"You scared me, Serie—"
Meeting her gaze, Serie calmly raised a hand.
Ignoring Frieren's gritted teeth, she casually pinched her chin.
Looking at Frieren's noticeably more vibrant mana compared to a few years ago,
Serie recalled a certain spell and understood the reason.
"Using constant practice of Flight Magic to enhance mana control."
"Using the process of learning Murder Magic to improve focus and magic sensitivity…"
"You became that demon's disciple, Frieren—"
The golden eyes of the strongest archmage in history scrutinized her grand-disciple.
And with one sentence, she accurately identified Frieren's method and process of growth.
"Mind your own business… you old hag—"
Once again, the white-haired elf lost her good mood early in the morning.
"I was wrong, calling you an old hag was my fault…"
"I've sincerely apologized, boohoo…"
"Can you lift this Never-Ending Tear Magic, Serie?"
While Frieren sobbed and apologized with streaming tears,
She also chased after Serie, who was teleporting playfully around the living room, refusing to lift the spell.
This was the scene that greeted Agusheed and Flamme as they entered the living room after waking up.
"Finally awake, huh… Why are you two up later than Frieren?"
Looking at them, Serie flicked Frieren, who had leapt toward her, with a finger, sending her flying.
With delight, she gazed at the approaching "Little Flamme"—
But upon seeing Agusheed, her expression immediately switched to one that screamed "I could kill you now."
"You're the one who showed up too early…"
Little Flamme, still drowsy, rubbed her eyes and replied to Serie.
"Though… it's surprising to see Frieren waking up early."
Flamme spoke with a touch of genuine surprise.
Serie looked at her small figure and let out a gentle laugh before settling onto the living room couch.
She waved Flamme over, just like old times.
"Really now… even you're treating me like a kid?"
Flamme pouted, but walked over despite her reluctance.
Then Serie picked her up and sat her down on her lap like a doll.
Her pale golden hair brushed against Flamme's little face as Serie rested her chin on her head—
This was what Flamme felt in her master's embrace.
But what Agusheed felt was entirely the opposite—
The sheer killing intent and disdain in Serie's eyes locked onto him.
Calmly, she raised her gaze to him and said:
"I already know the gist from the letter—"
"I'm surprised you managed to track down such an obscure spell that even I barely remember…"
Unbothered by Serie's murderous stare or cold tone,
Agusheed simply patted Frieren's head—
And casually dispelled the magic Serie had cast on her.
Then, meeting Serie's eyes, he asked plainly:
"Since you understand the situation, do you have a way to return Flamme to normal?"
Flamme, nestled in Serie's arms, also looked up in anticipation of her master's answer.
With one hand propping her face and the other resting on Flamme's cheek,
Serie answered calmly:
"As an archmage from the Mythic Era, I of course know how to undo such a spell."
But before they could ask further, Serie continued—
Lifting Flamme's tiny face gently, she added nonchalantly:
"But why change her back?"
"Didn't you seek Eternal Youth Magic so that Flamme could remain young forever?"
"I don't care what form she takes," said Agusheed, "but Flamme herself doesn't want to stay ."
At that, Flamme poked Serie's cheek with a helpless expression.
"Just like Agusheed said—"
"This isn't the kind of 'youth' I wanted, Master…"
Hearing both their answers, Serie was unsurprised.
She had never really believed Flamme would want to stay .
Her earlier question had only been a selfish wish.
"I can change her back."
Serie looked calmly at them both.
"But we'll do it tomorrow."
As Agusheed raised an eyebrow and Flamme sighed, Serie said so matter-of-factly.