"Classic fancy backseat dweller, huh? Used to being driven around by chauffeurs in cars that cost more than my entire apartment building?"

Classic fancy backseat dweller.

Driven around by chauffeurs.

What fascinating sentences.

Cecilia chuckled, even though she did not understand half of what he was saying. The vocabulary of this world was a foreign language wrapped in familiar sounds, and she was navigating it by instinct and guesswork.

But his tone was universal.

Yes, she did not look used to sitting here since she had never entered a truck before. She had never sat in a seat like this before, never looked through the glass of this kind of vehicle before, never felt the low, rumbling hum of an engine vibrating through her bones.

She was itching to touch everything. The dashboard, the screens, the strange circular wheel that Eastiel was turning with such casual expertise. She wanted to press every button, flip every switch, ask a thousand questions about how it all worked.

But in front of this man, she did not want to look like an idiot. At least more than her wide-eyed staring and her awkward, mimicking movements had already betrayed.

"So." Eastiel suddenly asked cheerfully, curious. "Dior?"

Cecilia blinked.

"No, you are not a Dior type, I am sure." He was musing now, half to himself, his golden eyes flicking between the road and her gown. "Who... are you wearing? Armani? That looks like an Armani piece."

Again, Cecilia didn’t know what this man was saying. Why would he ask ’who’ was she wearing, not ’what’ was she wearing? Even a ’where’ question would fit the context more. ’Where’ did she get what she was wearing, for example?

Also... Dior. Armani. The words were meaningless to her. Names? Brands, perhaps? Like how the dresses the nobles were buying were usually labeled with the luxury boutique’s name?

Since she could only assume they were the designers of this world, the equivalent of custom seamstresses who had clothed her in the real world, she would go with it.

"I just noticed that this one looks too stand out to wear casually." She gestured vaguely at her emerald gown. "I also want to stay at your place from now on, so just pick out something simple."

She tried to sound normal, like someone who knew what she was doing. And, well, at least, had a plan. Completely not someone who was completely adrift in a world she didn’t understand.

"That can’t do." Eastiel chuckled, turning the steering wheel with a smooth, practiced motion that made the truck glide around a corner.

Cecilia found herself watching his hands. The way they gripped the wheel. The way the tendons flexed beneath his sun-bronzed skin. The way he made the entire machine respond to his slightest touch.

She quietly gulped.

Ah, Lion. Hot like the sun.

"You are used to designers. I don’t want you to lower your standards like this." He glanced at her. "Also, despite looking like this," he gestured at his grease-stained overalls and his messy bun, "ya boy actually makes a lot."

Pfft.

She would not be surprised by his wealth, of course. This man was rich in every universe. In the real world, he was the Golden Lion King, strongest ruler of the southern territory.

In the academy romance trope’s world, he had been the heir to a magic estate, his pockets deep and his future secure. If this world followed the same pattern, then Eastiel Edengold was doing just fine for himself, overalls or no overalls.

"I have not told you about it yet, huh?" His voice was proud now, his chest puffing slightly. "I am not just your normal welder, you see. Well," he tilted his head, conceding the point, "I am, sometimes. When the jobs come in. But most of the time, I am an underwater welder. We make bank."

Underwater...? Cecilia didn’t quite know what a welder was yet. But underwater?

Cecilia had seen the news and watched the footage of rifts tearing open in the fabric of reality, spilling monsters onto land. The outbreaks had been reported across continents, across nations and every piece of dry land the news anchor had named.

But the ocean? Other bodies of water? Places where no reporters reported and no Hunter’s Association could respond quickly enough to make a difference?

She could not imagine the risks, descending into the dark, cold depths of the sea or other body of water, surrounded by pressure and the constant possibility that something might tear through from the other side.

"You take such a dangerous job." She said quietly, looking at his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the golden stubble catching the afternoon light, and the way his eyes stayed fixed on the road even as his attention flickered toward her. "Do not you have... inheritance...?"

"AHAHAH!" Eastiel burst into a short, barking laugh, his head tilting back against the seat for just a moment before he caught himself and returned his focus to driving. "You know not everyone has a large inheritance in this world, right, Princess?"

Princess. The pet name slipped out like it was natural. Cecilia narrowed her eyes, but there was no heat in it. Even though she had married a billionaire, if the news was to be believed, she was sure that she was of another, unknown origin in this world, just like in the previous romance trope scenario and in the real world.

She was never the one with the money. She was always the one who married into it, climbed into it, earned it through wit and will.

But Eastiel would not know that in this world. Perhaps, they were not close here. Not the way they were in the real world, at least. The way he laughed off her question about inheritance earlier, and how he explained more about his job too, suggested that they weren’t that close yet.

"Well," his voice dropped conspiratorially. His golden eyes peeked toward her, teasing. "I do actually have quite a large inheritance. But one of my parents is still alive, and I don’t want to urge her to die."

Cecilia coughed, a burst of startled laughter catching in her throat.

"Well, safe to say," he shrugged, "if my earnings are not sufficient, I still have some trust fund to spend. Not that I dip into it often. A man has his pride."

He was quiet for a moment, navigating the truck through a busier intersection. Then he glanced at her again, and his smile was smaller now. A bit shy. "Is that why you asked me to buy you clothes? Because you somehow found out I am a trust fund baby?"

Again, it was teasing, but beneath the teasing was... something vulnerable. He wanted to know why she had chosen him. Why she had looked at him, grease-stained, tired, ordinary, and decided he was the one she wanted to stay with.

Cecilia smiled and shrugged back. "I just know that you can’t be broke in any universe."

"I mean, look at you. Golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes, gold in your name. You are just a walking gold bar."

"AHAH—"

Eastiel’s laugh burst out of him. "A walking gold bar, huh? I’m going to put that on my gravestone. ’Here lies Eastiel Edengold. He was a walking gold bar.’"

"Don’t talk about death."

"Ooooh, scary. You’re glaring at me."

When they arrived, Eastiel parallel-parked casually. Again, something that Cecilia found... hot. He looked like someone who had been driving this truck for years and could probably do it blindfolded.

He killed the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and was around the truck and opening her door before Cecilia had finished fumbling with her own restraint.

She was still learning after all. The door handle, for instance, was different from the ones she had seen in the hospital. A different mechanism, surely. She had to pause, study it, figure out the angle of the pull before it released.

By the time she had it open, Eastiel was already there, his hand extended to help her down.

People had been looking at them since the hospital. Since the lobby and the pickup zone. And now here, on the fashion street, where the contrast was even more stark.

Cecilia was sure now that it was not merely her dress drawing the stares. It was Eastiel too. The striking, golden handsomeness of him, the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers and billboards, paired with the functional, unglamorous attire of a working man.

And the truck(!) too, added another layer of incongruity.

Were they truly a mismatched couple? In the academy romance world, they had also been mismatched. She was the studious, overlooked nerd, and he was the aggressive, popular bully. Was the System trying to fit them into the same mold again, across universes, across genres?