Chapter 07
As promised, Lord Roland’s vanity had been moved from his room to the small, sunlit antechamber next to the laboratory.
The light from the window fell across the polished wooden surface, glimmering faintly over the rows of brushes, combs, and glass bottles.
I spread open a fresh observation sheet.
— Beauty Routine Observation Log: Sunlight Edition —
Items:
① Hydration (cups)
② Stretch (shoulders, neck)
③ Skincare (number of steps)
④ Bang formation angle (degrees)
⑤ Smile preparation (facial muscles)
⑥ Scent layers (base / middle / top)
⑦ Final check (“Turn around a little, please”)
“ ‘Turn around a little’ — that’s a pretty cute name for a category.”
A voice from behind.
Lord Roland deftly pulled out the chair at the vanity.
He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the morning light tracing the line of his neck.
“It’s accurate. Then, let’s begin. Step one: hydration.”
“All right.”
Even the wrist holding his glass was graceful.
The calm rhythm of his fingers hardly disturbed the water’s surface.
(Observation: stillness of hand movements = positively correlated with the comfort index)
“Next, shoulder and neck stretches. Please count out loud.”
“One, two…”
Our eyes met in the mirror. He laughed, a little shyly, and sped up his count.
(Observation: shyness = cute)
“Skincare routine — today’s steps?”
“Toner, emulsion, moisturizing serum — three steps. It’s a dry day, so I’m adding extra ‘honey.’”
“Honey. That’s cute.”
“You realize your vocabulary’s been hijacked by that word lately?”
“It’s entirely sufficient. Step four, forming the bangs. Measuring the angle.”
I held up a tiny protractor. He snorted with laughter through the mirror.
“You actually brought that?”
“Of course. The angles will be rated as ‘cute,’ ‘very cute,’ and ‘extremely cute.’”
“So, not in degrees?”
“My motto is: indicators useful for daily life.”
He combed through his bangs, lifted them lightly with his fingers, then let them fall just a fraction.
(Cute.)
I marked a circle immediately.
“Step five, smile preparation.”
“Calling it ‘preparation’ sounds kind of…”
“It’s the process of loosening facial tension, adjusting the outer corners of the eyes, and optimizing likability and the ‘comfort meter.’”
“Very specific.”
In front of the mirror, he raised one corner of his lips for just an instant before letting it drop again.
He stopped precisely one degree before it could become his “unfairly charming small smile.”
(Observation: just before unfair — cute.)
“Step six, scent layering. Today’s?”
“A hint of sandalwood for the base. Citrus in the middle. And for the top — something transparent, a water note, so it won’t clash with the herbs in your lab.”
“That’s cute. Especially how you took me into consideration.”
“…Mm.”
A faint blush colored his cheeks.
On my observation sheet, I scribbled ‘Scent layer = Thinking of you,’ then quickly enclosed it in a neat little box. Such unscientific phrasing was embarrassing for a researcher.
“Finally, final check — ‘Turn around a little.’”
He rose from his chair and turned once on the spot.
The line from his shoulders down to his hem settled softly in the sunlight.
I reached out to smooth a single fold at his collar and brushed away a wrinkle at his shoulder.
Close.
The layers of his scent touched something unmeasurable inside me, stitching it gently in place.
“— Overall evaluation: Cute.”
“That was fast.”
“Indicators must be practical for daily use.”
He chuckled, then picked up a small cloth-wrapped bundle from the vanity and offered it to me.
“For you. A hand mirror for sunny places. I thought you might not have one.”
Tiny stars lined the edge of the embroidery.
(Observation: the cuteness of a gift = delicacy of its border)
“It’s adorable… Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
“Good. When you smile in the sunlight, something inside me unravels.”
Smile preparation, complete.
I circled “Conversation warmth: warm” on the observation sheet — and my pen, on its own, drew a double circle labeled “extra warm.”
On our way through the garden toward the main house, the wind began to pick up.
The angle of his bangs approached a critical level.
“Lord Roland, wind direction: three o’clock. Can you maintain the angle?”
“I’ll try— no, it’s falling apart.”
“Plan B. Emergency pin deployment.”
From my sleeve cuff, I drew out a small brass hairpin and reached toward his hairline.
Our fingers brushed, and his breath caught for a moment.
“Excuse me. The pin goes here — invisible placement. Fixing: one second.”
Click. A tiny sound.
His bangs survived, floating softly back into the ideal line across his eyes.
(Observation: joint response = cute)
“…Saved me.”
“Overall evaluation: cute.”
“Iris, this time, you were the cute one.”
“I only state facts.”
We couldn’t help but laugh together.
The wind subsided, and the sunlight’s warmth returned.
