"Your battlefield is the wider world, not a tiny grill. It doesn't matter if you can't barbecue—I'll grill for you from now on." Emma's words flowed like warm water, easing the knot of frustration in his chest. Her gaze fell to the red welt at his waist. Concern creased her brows. "Your waist got burned. Does it hurt?" The simple question touched something in Calum. He glanced down at the fist-sized red patch and shook his head, forcing a smile. "Ms. Tibarn, I've got thick skin. It's nothing." His voice softened. No one had ever cared about his injuries. At ten, he had gone to war with his father, suffering injuries a thousand times worse—broken bones, pierced organs, shattered mech armor, even his mental power pushed to the brink of collapse—yet no one had ever cared. "It's not nothing. If you don't treat it, it could blister."She led him to the living room. "Sit still. I'll put some medicine on it." From her ring storage, she took Silas's leaves, crushed them, and applied the paste to his burn. "Lift your shirt a little." Some spots were still hidden under the fabric, and her hands were smeared with paste, making it inconvenient to touch his clothes directly. At her gentle touch brushing past his waist, Calum's heart skipped a beat. "Okay, Ms. Tibarn." His long fingers pinched the scorched edge of his shirt and slowly lifted it. The fabric rolled upward, revealing the angry red burn beneath—and above it, the firm lines of his abs and the unmistakable cut of his Adonis belt, stark and defined. Emma forced her gaze to the wound, leaning closer. Her warm fingertips, coated in cool salve, brushed carefully over the injured skin. The sensation soothed the sting immediately, yet to Calum, her touch burned hotter than any fire. She was close—close enough for him to see her lashes, to smell the faint fragrance of her hair. If he dipped his head slightly, he could touch her lips. His body went rigid, the muscles along his back tightening. His Adam's apple bobbed once—nervous, uncontrollable. He watched her focused profile. Her lashes cast a soft shadow against her fair skin as she lowered her gaze, applying the medicine with light, gentle movements. She was careful, tender—a kind of tenderness he had never been given in his life. His throat worked again. A bold, instinctive thought surged up, impossible to stop. He wanted to kiss her. Once the idea appeared, it spread like wildfire—impossible to put out. He tilted his head down slightly, inching closer without making a sound. At this distance, if Emma merely lifted her head, their lips would touch. "All done. Don't get it wet for a few days. It'll—" Emma looked up. Her unfinished words were smothered by warmth against her lips. For a heartbeat, her mind blanked. A soft buzz filled her ears. He actually kissed me? She was utterly stunned. … Two seconds of frozen stillness passed. Calum snapped back to himself first, jerking away like he'd been burned. "Ms… Ms. Tibarn…" His voice trembled. His entire face turned crimson—ears, neck, everything. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to check the wound, I… I didn't do it on purpose…" He kept his head lowered, too flustered and shy to meet her eyes. Emma stared at him, dazed. She honestly hadn't expected that the Empire's cold, fearsome marshal—the man who made Chitinids tremble on the battlefield—would be this pure. One accidental kiss, and he fell apart like this. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize," she said gently. He wasn't at fault. If anything, she had scared him. Her gaze dropped again to his waist. With the paste applied, the burn had already faded. She exhaled. "Stay here in the living room and rest for a bit." Calum really had no talent for cooking. Lack of talent wasn't the scary part—being a walking kitchen disaster was. "I'll go finish the grilling. When the meat's ready, I'll call you out."