Chapter 692 - Translation

<h1>Chaoter 692 155.3 - Case Of A Breakfast</h1><p>Chaoter 692 155.3 - Case of a breakfast</p><p>Astron began setting down the rest of the dishes he had prepared, his movements calm and efficient despite the chaos they had caused earlier. Plates of fried herb patties, crispy potatoes, Emberboar bacon, and the vibrant eggs with tomato sauce filled the table.</p><p>Irina watched silently, her fork halfway to her mouth as she observed him. It struck her that despite their impromptu "battle" in the kitchen, not a single dish had been ruined or spilled. The chairs might have tipped over, a few utensils littered the floor, but every plate remained pristine, as if the chaos had been carefully choreographed. She glanced down at her own plate, then back at Astron, her lips pressing into a thin line. She hated to admit it, but she was impressed. "How did you...?" she began, her voice trailing off.</p><p>Astron glanced at her, one brow arched. "How did I what?" he asked, placing a cup of tea in front of her.</p><p>"Nothing," she muttered, quickly stuffing another bite of food into her mouth.</p><p>But her thoughts didn't stop. She replayed the earlier scene in her mind-the way he had moved, dodging her lunges with ease, holding onto the food without spilling a single drop. His movements had been so fluid, so precise. She'd never seen anyone so nimble, not even in combat. It wasn't just his speed or reflexes-it was the way he seemed to always be in control of his body, even in a chaotic situation.</p><p>Her gaze flickered to him again as he settled into a chair across from her, taking a sip of his tea. His sharp features were relaxed, his expression calm as if the earlier chaos hadn't happened.</p><p>"Like a cat..." she mumbled absentmindedly, her fork tapping lightly against her plate. Astron glanced up, his purple eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "What was that?" Irina blinked, realizing she had spoken aloud. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly shook her head. "Nothing," she said quickly, though her mind lingered on the thought. She remembered a particular cat she'd encountered at the academy-a sleek, black creature that had a habit of leading her to places she hadn't intended to go, including the library that day. It had moved with the same kind of grace Astron did, its steps silent and deliberate, its gaze sharp and knowing.</p><p>That cat... and him... she thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. The resemblance was uncanny.</p><p>Astron leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he studied her. "You've been staring," he said, his tone teasing. "Do I have something on my face?"</p><p>Irina's fork clattered against her plate as she quickly shook her head. "No!" she said, her voice higher than she intended. She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself.</p><p>"I was just... thinking about something"</p><p>"About me?"</p><p>Irina scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. "Don't flatter yourself," she muttered, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.</p><p>"Hmm..."</p><p>Astron hummed softly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he returned to his tea. "If you say so," he said lightly, his tone leaving her bristling.</p><p>She huffed, turning her attention back to her plate. Like a cat... she thought again, stealing another glance at him. The idea refused to leave her mind, and she couldn't decide whether it annoyed her or amused her. Probably both.</p><p>The two of them dined quietly, the earlier chaos of the kitchen melting into a surprisingly comfortable calm. Irina poked at the fried herb patties on her plate, the golden crust catching the light, before taking a cautious bite. Her eyes widened slightly as the flavors hit her-a perfect balance of crispy exterior and savory filling, the herbs and spices enhancing the simplicity of the dish.</p><p>She glanced across the table at Astron, who ate with his usual unhurried grace. His expression betrayed nothing, but Irina could tell he was aware of her reaction. She huffed softly, unwilling to admit out loud that the food was, in fact, good.</p><p>The eggs and tomato sauce were next, the spices melding with the natural tanginess of the tomatoes to create a satisfying bite. The Emberboar bacon, with its rich, smoky flavor, practically melted in her mouth. Everything on the table was simple yet executed with care, the kind of meal that didn't need to be flashy to be satisfying.</p><p>"Not bad," she muttered under her breath, spearing another piece of potato with her fork.</p><p>Astron's gaze flicked to her, his purple eyes glinting with amusement. "What was that?" he asked, though his tone made it clear he'd heard her perfectly.</p><p>Irina glared at him, her cheeks flushing faintly. "I said it's not bad," she repeated, louder this time, her tone defensive.</p><p>"Hmm," Astron hummed, taking another bite of his food. "I'll take that as high praise from you."</p><p>Irina rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched slightly, almost betraying a smile. She returned her attention to her plate, determined not to let him see how much she was enjoying the meal.</p><p>It wasn't as if she was a gourmet or anything. Her standards for food weren't particularly high-as long as it was edible and didn't taste like ash, she'd be satisfied. But even so, she couldn't deny that Astron's cooking had a certain... charm. Each dish was balanced, the flavors complementing one another without being overwhelming. It wasn't chef-level, but it was clearly made with skill and care.</p><p>Her thoughts wandered briefly to the meals she was used to-elaborate, meticulously prepared feasts served by the finest chefs in the Emberheart household. They were impressive, certainly, but there was something about the simplicity of this meal that felt more genuine. It reminded her of the rare times she'd eaten something made by hand, without the layers of expectation and ceremony that usually accompanied her meals.</p><p>She stole another glance at Astron, who was calmly sipping his tea as though he hadn't. just orchestrated a chaotic yet perfectly executed breakfast. His composure was as steady as ever, his expression unreadable but oddly reassuring.</p><p>"Humph," she muttered, returning to her food.</p><p>They ate in companionable silence, the tension from earlier replaced by an unspoken understanding. Irina didn't want to admit it, but she felt strangely at ease, a rare feeling she wasn't entirely sure what to do with. The food, the quiet, the company-it all came together in a way that felt... right.</p><p>As she finished the last bite of her patty, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she watched Astron clear his plate. "You're annoyingly good at this," she said,</p><p>her tone begrudging.</p><p>Astron glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Good at what?"</p><p>"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at the table. "Cooking. Being irritating. Acting like you're perfect."</p><p>"I never said I was perfect," he replied, his tone calm. "But I'll take the compliment."</p><p>Irina scoffed, but the faint blush on her cheeks didn't go unnoticed. She turned her head, staring out the window as if to hide her expression. "Whatever," she muttered, though the corners of her lips tugged upward despite herself.</p><p>As Irina leaned back in her chair, a thought struck her, sharp and sudden. The herb patties. She glanced at the empty plate in front of her, the lingering taste still fresh on her tongue. It wasn't just that they were good-they were familiar. Strangely familiar.</p><p>Her brows furrowed as she tapped a finger against her arm, the gears in her mind turning. The flavor of the herbs he had used-it was almost identical to the ones she had tasted in the past. And that past wasn't something random or recent. It was a distant memory, tied to specific moments she'd long tucked away.</p><p>The sheer improbability of it made her chest tighten. There were countless herbs that could have been used to make these patties. Astron could have chosen any combination, and yet, he had picked these. The exact herbs that she happened to like. Her lips pressed into a thin line as the realization began to settle.</p><p>This isn't a coincidence, she thought, her fiery gaze darting toward Astron, who was now casually stacking their empty plates. His movements were calm and unhurried as if he were completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in her head.</p><p>But Irina wasn't convinced. There's no way he just stumbled into my home and decided to make herb patties with the exact ingredients I like by chance. That doesn't happen.</p><p>That can't happen.</p><p>Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table as she stared at him, her mind racing. Did he... plan this? The idea sent a small shiver down her spine, though she wasn't</p><p>sure if it was from unease or something else entirely.</p><p>"Astron," she said suddenly, her voice sharper than she intended.</p><p>He glanced at her, his sharp purple eyes locking onto hers. "What?" he asked, his tone calm as always, though his gaze carried a hint of curiosity.</p><p>Irina leaned forward slightly, her fiery gaze locked onto Astron. "Herb patties," she said again, her tone carrying the weight of her suspicion. "Why herb patties?" Astron paused for a moment, glancing at her before resuming his task of stacking utensils. His expression remained calm, unbothered, as if her question didn't faze him in the slightest. "Why not?" he replied casually. "Seemed like a good choice." Irina narrowed her eyes, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "You don't strike me as someone who'd eat herb patties," she said pointedly. "You look more like the 'meat and potatoes' type. Something simpler, less... intricate." Astron turned to face her fully, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. "And what makes you think that?" he asked, his tone laced with mild</p><p>amusement.</p><p>"Because," Irina said, gesturing toward the now-empty plate, "these aren't the kind of</p><p>thing you just decide to make. They're specific. The herbs, the balance of flavors-it's not your usual style. So why? Why did you make these?"</p><p>Astron shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I wanted to make something different,"</p><p>he said simply. "That's all."</p><p>"That's all?" Irina repeated, her skepticism clear. "You expect me to believe that?"</p><p>He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling faintly at the corners. "Why not? Do you think I</p><p>made them for some grand reason?"</p><p>Her eyes narrowed further. "Yes," she said bluntly. "Because there's no way you just happened to pick the exact herbs I like by chance.""</p><p>"What herbs?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.</p><p>Irina crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair as she listed them off. "Thymeleaf,</p><p>firemint, and shadow basil. The exact three you used for the patties. How did you</p><p>know to use those?"</p><p>Astron didn't respond immediately, his gaze steady as he watched her. For a moment,</p><p>the silence between them stretched, the tension palpable. Then he shrugged again, his tone as nonchalant as ever.</p><p>"I didn't know," he said. "I just picked what I had."</p>

**Chapitre 692 155.3 - Affaire de petit-déjeuner** Astron disposa méthodiquement les plats qu'il avait préparés, ses gestes empreints d'une sérénité déconcertante malgré le chaos qu'ils avaient provoqué plus tôt. Des assiettes fumantes de galettes aux herbes dorées, de pommes de terre croustillantes, de bacon d'Emberboar et d'œufs brouillés nappés d'une sauce tomate aromatique garnissaient désormais la table. Irina observait en silence, sa fourchette immobilisée à mi-chemin de sa bouche. Elle fut frappée de constater que malgré leur « bataille » improvisée dans la cuisine, aucun mets n'avait été renversé ou abîmé. Les chaises avaient peut-être basculé, quelques ustensiles jonchaient le sol, mais chaque plat était resté impeccable, comme si le désordre avait été méticuleusement chorégraphié. Elle baissa les yeux vers son assiette, puis les releva vers Astron, ses lèvres se pinçant imperceptiblement. À contrecœur, elle devait admettre son admiration. « Comment as-tu... ? » commença-t-elle, avant de laisser sa voix s'éteindre. Astron la dévisagea, un sourcil arqué avec une nuance d'amusement. « Comment j'ai fait quoi ? » demanda-t-il en déposant devant elle une tasse de thé dont la vapeur dansait en spirales. « Rien », marmonna-t-elle en enfournant une bouchée avec une hâte feinte. Mais ses pensées tourbillonnaient. Elle revoyait la scène précédente : ses esquivades gracieuses, les plats maintenus en équilibre comme par magie. Ses mouvements avaient eu la fluidité d'une danse, une précision presque surnaturelle. Elle n'avait jamais rencontré une telle maîtrise corporelle, même chez les meilleurs guerriers. Ce n'était pas seulement sa rapidité, mais cette harmonie totale avec son environnement, même dans le chaos. Son regard revint vers lui alors qu'il s'installait face à elle, portant à ses lèvres une gorgée de thé. Ses traits anguleux baignaient dans une quiétude trompeuse, comme si leurs ébats culinaires n'avaient été qu'une illusion. « Comme un chat... », murmura-t-elle distraitement, sa fourchette tintant contre la porcelaine. Astron leva les yeux, ses pupilles violettes se rétrécissant comme celles d'un félin sous la lumière. « Pardon ? » Irina cligna des yeux, réalisant qu'elle avait parlé à voix haute. Une vague de chaleur lui monta aux joues. « Rien ! » s'empressa-t-elle de répondre, bien que l'image persiste dans son esprit. Elle se souvint alors d'un chat noir croisé à l'académie, une créature énigmatique qui l'avait guidée vers des endroits insolites, dont cette fameuse bibliothèque. Ses pas feutrés, son regard pénétrant... une ressemblance troublante avec l'homme devant elle. *Ce chat... et lui...*, songea-t-elle en serrant les lèvres. La comparaison était dérangeante d'exactitude. Astron se pencha légèrement, le menton appuyé sur sa paume tandis qu'il l'étudiait avec une curiosité faussement nonchalante. « Tu me scrutes avec intensité », remarqua-t-il, un sourire en coin. « J'ai une tache de sauce ? » La fourchette d'Irina heurta bruyamment son assiette. « Non ! » s'exclama-t-elle, la voix étranglée. Elle se racla la gorge pour retrouver son ton habituel. « Je... réfléchissais juste. » « À moi ? » Elle émit un grognement, s'affalant contre le dossier de sa chaise. « Ne te monte pas la tête », gronda-t-elle, malgré le rose trahissant ses pommettes. « Hmm... » Astron laissa échapper ce son pensif, son regard insistant un instant avant de retourner à son thé. « Si tu le dis », répondit-il avec une légèreté calculée qui lui fit grincer des dents. Elle souffla, reportant son attention sur son assiette. *Comme un chat...*, persista la pensée tandis qu'elle lui lançait un regard furtif. L'idée s'incrustait, et elle ignorait si cela l'agaçait ou l'intriguait davantage. Probablement un mélange des deux. Le silence s'installa, ponctué seulement par le cliquetis des couverts. Irina coupa un morceau de galette aux herbes, sa croûte dorée scintillant sous la lumière, et en prit une bouchée mesurée. Ses yeux s'écarquillèrent face à l'explosion de saveurs : le croustillant parfait, les herbes fraîches sublimant la simplicité du plat. Elle observa Astron, qui mangeait avec cette élégance naturelle qui semblait lui être innée. Son expression neutre ne trahissait rien, mais Irina sentait qu'il avait perçu sa réaction. Elle soupira, refusant de vocaliser son approbation. Les œufs à la tomate suivirent, les épices épousant l'acidité vibrante des tomates. Le bacon d'Emberboar, riche et fumé, se délitait en bouche. Chaque plat, bien que rustique, témoignait d'un soin minutieux. « Pas mal », concéda-t-elle en transperçant une pomme de terre. Astron leva les yeux, ses iris violets pétillant d'une malice silencieuse. « Répète ? » demanda-t-il, feignant l'incompréhension. Irina plissa les yeux, ses joues s'enflammant. « J'ai dit que c'était correct », articula-t-elle avec emphase. « Hmm », fit-il en savourant une bouchée. « Venant de toi, je considère ça comme un éloge. » Elle roula des yeux, mais un sourire fugace trahit son amusement. Elle se concentra sur son assiette, déterminée à ne pas lui offrir le plaisir de sa satisfaction. Ce n'est pas qu'elle était difficile. Ses critères culinaires se résumaient à « comestible » et « ne ressemblant pas à de la cendre ». Pourtant, elle ne pouvait nier l'évidence : il y avait une forme d'art dans cette simplicité. Chaque saveur trouvait sa place, sans prétention mais avec justesse. Son esprit vagabonda vers les banquets des Emberheart, ces festins ostentatoires préparés par une armée de chefs. Impressionnants, certes, mais dépourvus de cette authenticité. Ces galettes lui rappelaient autre chose... quelque chose de rare et précieux. Elle observa à nouveau Astron, siroteur son thé avec cette tranquillité exaspérante. Son calme était une énigme, presque réconfortante malgré elle. « Humph », grommela-t-elle en attaquant son assiette avec une vigueur exagérée. Le repas se poursuivit dans une coexistence étrangement paisible. Irina refusait de l'admettre, mais cette quiétude partagée était... agréable. La nourriture, l'atmosphère, sa présence — tout s'imbriquait avec une justesse déconcertante. Alors qu'elle repoussait son assiette vide, elle croisa les bras. « T'es vraiment insupportablement doué », lança-t-elle, le ton chargé d'une rancune factice. Astron leva un sourcil interrogateur. « Pour ? » « Tout ça », dit-elle en désignant la table d'un geste vague. « Cuisiner. Être exaspérant. Donner l'illusion d'être parfait. » « Je n'ai jamais prétendu à la perfection », répondit-il avec calme. « Mais je note le compliment. » Irina ricana, mais son rougissement persista. Elle détourna le regard vers la fenêtre. « Peu importe », marmonna-t-elle, bien qu'un sourire obstiné jouât sur ses lèvres. Soudain, une révélation la frappa. Les galettes. Elle contempla son assiette vide, le goût encore vif sur sa langue. Cette familiarité... Ce n'était pas seulement leur qualité, mais leur composition. Ces herbes précises, cette combinaison particulière... Une tension lui étreignit la poitrine. Parmi toutes les variétés possibles, il avait choisi *celles-là*. Celles qu'elle affectionnait secrètement. Ses lèvres se serrèrent face à l'évidence. *Ce n'est pas une coïncidence*, réalisa-t-elle, son regard enflammé se braquant sur Astron, occupé à empiler les assiettes avec cette nonchalance calculée. Mais Irina n'était pas dupe. « Astron », appela-t-elle brusquement, plus âpre qu'elle ne l'aurait souhaité. Il releva la tête, ses yeux violets perçant comme des lames. « Oui ? » Elle se pencha légèrement, chaque mot chargé de suspicion. « Ces galettes... Pourquoi ces herbes en particulier ? » Astron marqua une pause théâtrale avant de ranger les couverts. « Pourquoi pas ? » rétorqua-t-il avec une désinvolture trop étudiée. « Ça m'a semblé approprié. » Irina plissa les yeux. « Tu ne sembles pas le type à apprécier ce genre de fioritures. Plutôt viande saignante et patates, non ? Quelque chose de... basique. » Astron croisa les bras, s'adossant à sa chaise avec une grâce féline. « Les apparences peuvent tromper », murmura-t-il, son sourire énigmatique en disant bien plus que ses paroles. Le silence qui suivit était lourd de questions non posées, d'une tension qui dépassait largement le cadre culinaire. Irina sentit un frisson lui parcourir l'échine — était-ce de l'inquiétude, ou quelque chose de plus complexe ? Une chose était certaine : ce petit-déjeuner n'était pas qu'un simple repas. C'était un mouvement dans leur partie d'échecs invisible, et elle venait seulement de réaliser qu'elle était peut-être en train de perdre.