I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World
Chapter 76: Romantic Dinner

Chapter 76: Romantic Dinner

For a moment, none of them said a word. Then Serina broke the silence.

"Well..." she began, swinging her staff over her shoulder. "I suppose this is where we all take a breather."

"You sure you don’t want to stick around for the shop’s opening?" Inigo asked.

Serina smiled. "Tempting, but I think I’ll head back to my temple for a bit. Reconnect. Pray. Maybe make a donation or three."

"You mean show off," Lyra teased.

Serina gave her a mock glare. "Please, I show off with grace."

Elira chuckled softly. "I’ll return to the estate. Father will want to hear about the expedition—especially since half the treasure has ties to pre-Empire civilization. He’ll demand every historical detail."

"You think he’ll try to keep one of the artifacts?" Inigo asked.

"Only the cursed ones," she replied, grinning. "The harmless stuff? I’m claiming for the family museum."

They all laughed again, but there was something a little quieter behind the sound now—an unspoken acknowledgement that, for a while at least, they’d be walking different paths.

"We’ll meet again soon," Elira said. "Once the shop’s up and running. I want to see what this ’Mcronald’ buzz is all about."

Serina nodded. "And if you need help, just ask."

Inigo gave a two-fingered salute. "Deal."

The two women departed down different streets, cloaks fluttering behind them. Elira toward the merchant district, Serina toward the temple hills.

That left Inigo and Lyra alone.

The noise of the city faded into a comfortable hush as they turned to each other.

"So," Lyra said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Looks like we’ve got the night to ourselves."

Inigo raised a brow. "You saying that like it’s a dangerous thing."

"It might be," she replied, grinning. "Depends how reckless you are."

He chuckled. "Well, I do want to take you out for dinner."

"I see, dinner huh?" Lyra asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"Yes. Gold in the bank, demon in the dirt, and a whole night to burn," Inigo said. "You’ve earned more than a meal, honestly."

"Well," she said, pretending to think it over. "I wouldn’t mind some wine. Or steak. Or maybe a rooftop with a view."

Inigo smiled. "You’re not cheap, are you?"

"I can be sometimes. And I think this day we deserved a treat," she replied proudly.

They walked for a while longer, enjoying the rare peace after the chaos of the dungeon. Occasionally, passersby gave them curious looks—adventurers in gear with a famous drone trailing them wasn’t exactly subtle—but the pair didn’t pay it much mind.

Inigo stopped in front of a quiet place tucked between two larger taverns. The sign above read The Glinting Rose, painted in elegant script and outlined in silver leaf.

"I’ve heard good things," he said. "Private booths, real chefs, not just tavern slop."

Lyra’s eyebrows lifted. "I didn’t know you had taste."

"You wound me."

They stepped inside.

The interior was warm and inviting. Marble floors, clean-cut tables with candles at the center, and velvet-draped booths gave the place a refined atmosphere. A host in a tailored suit recognized Inigo immediately—either from his exploits or his Arkwell-backed credit—and led them to a private corner booth near a window overlooking the western ridge of Eldrath.

A bottle of chilled wine was brought over without needing to be ordered. Lyra’s eyes twinkled.

"This is surprisingly romantic," she said, swirling her glass.

"It’s supposed to be," Inigo mumbled.

As food arrived—grilled venison, spiced root vegetables, and a charred loaf with garlic butter—the two fell into an easy rhythm. They talked about everything and nothing. Lyra told stories about her early years in adventuring, how she once mistook a noblewoman’s pet drake for a dungeon spawn and nearly shot it between the eyes.

Inigo countered with tales from his world—though he kept it vague. Technology, corporations, fast food chains. Lyra found it hard to believe but listened anyway, fascinated by the strangeness of it all.

"You ever miss your old life?" she asked, after a pause.

Inigo didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window at the glowing skyline.

"Sometimes," he said. "But not really. I didn’t have much left to hold onto."

Lyra nodded quietly. "Well... you’ve got something now."

He looked at her.

And for a moment, it was just the two of them. No howitzers, no monsters, no magical threats. Just two people trying to figure out what came next.

"I do," he finally said.

Inigo glanced toward the small wooden stage tucked in the far corner of The Glinting Rose. A young bard had taken to it, plucking softly at a lyre and singing in a melancholic alto voice. The background music wasn’t intrusive—more like a warm thread stitched into the restaurant’s air—but it sparked something in him.

He looked at Lyra. Her attention had drifted toward the windows again, her wineglass turning slowly between her fingers.

"Hey," he said, drawing her attention back. "What would you say if I told you I used to sing?"

Her brows lifted. "You? You can sing?"

"Used to," he said with a small smile. "Back in the days."

Lyra smiled. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

She tilted her head, studying him with mild disbelief. "You’re not kidding."

"I’m not. In fact..." Inigo stood up and set his napkin down. "I think I’m going to try something. Wait here."

"Inigo, what—"

But he was already striding toward the stage.

The bard paused mid-note as Inigo approached. After a quiet exchange—one that involved a few raised brows and a nod from the host—Inigo was handed a sleek, enchanted lute with polished strings and a subtle reverb charm etched into the body.

He stepped onto the small platform. His heart beat faster than it had when facing the dungeon demon. Funny how easy it was to fight monsters... and how hard it was to be vulnerable.

The soft murmur in the restaurant quieted. Heads turned, but no one interrupted.

Back at their booth, Lyra sat stunned, unsure if this was a joke or something real.

Inigo took a deep breath. He strummed a familiar chord, one he hadn’t played in years—but his fingers remembered. The melody was foreign to this world, yet it flowed from him like it belonged.

He began to sing.

"I used to wanna be

Living like there’s only me..."

The first few words hung awkwardly in the air. But his voice was steady. Clean. Warm. The sort of voice that could quiet a room not through volume, but through presence.

"But now I spend my time

Thinking ’bout a way to get you off my mind..."

People began to listen—not just politely, but earnestly. The lyrics were unfamiliar, yet the feeling was universal.

"I used to be so tough

Never really gave enough

And then you caught my eye..."

He glanced at Lyra. His voice dipped into something soft as he continued.

"Look at me now, I’m fallin...Can’t even talk, still stuttering..."

Lyra’s lips parted, caught between surprise and awe. He wasn’t bluffing. He could sing. Beautifully, in fact. Not just hitting notes, but delivering them with feeling. The kind that wrapped around your chest and made it ache in the best way.

And then he sang the chorus, and the rest of the song, capturing the eyes and ears of all the patrons of the restaurant.

When he reached the final line, the lute strings trailing behind his voice like a tailwind, the room went still.

There was no applause at first. No whoops or cheers. Just silence—heavy and sacred. Like no one dared to speak and risk shattering what they’d just witnessed.

And Inigo?

He only looked at Lyra.

She rose from her seat slowly, her eyes fixed on him as he handed back the lute. She walked toward him, each step steady, as though any hesitation might break the spell.

When she reached him, she didn’t say a word. Not at first. Just looked up at him, her eyes soft with something he didn’t dare name.

Then, quietly, she leaned in and kissed him.

Soft. Warm. Unhurried. Not hungry like battle-born passion, but slow—tender—like she was finally letting go of a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

When she pulled back, her voice came out in a whisper. "That was... the most reckless thing I’ve seen you do."

He grinned. "Worth it?"

She nodded, barely holding in a smile. "Absolutely."

The applause swelled slowly at first, then filled the restaurant like a warm tide. One by one, patrons rose from their tables, clapping and cheering—not for a hero or an adventurer this time, but for a man who’d bared his heart in the form of a song.

"Young man!" one of the older women at a nearby table called out. "If that shop of yours fails, you could make a living serenading nobles!"

Another guest added, "Or steal their daughters!"

Even the host, ever the professional, gave a nod of genuine respect.

"They know about my restaurant..." Inigo muttered under his breath.

Inigo scratched the back of his head as Lyra laughed softly beside him. He took her hand and stepped down from the stage, his heart still thudding, not from nerves—but from something far gentler.

"Come on," he said, smiling. "Let’s go home."