Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking [70]

Venti could only give a playful tap to his own head and stick out his tongue, like a goofball caught red-handed.

"Oh no, looks like I've been spotted!"

"Hee hee. Sister Venti, what are you even doing? That looks so silly!"

Clara giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as her face lit up with a shy smile. She was clearly relieved to find Venti safe and sound, remembering now her and Svarog's whole purpose in coming up here.

Since arriving at the Overworld shelter last night, Clara had been searching for Venti everywhere. While she hadn't found her, she had heard many stories about her—a lot of them praises.

The admiration in these stories made Clara proud. Her idol was doing well in the Overworld, and people here looked up to her.

If her idol could shine here, maybe she too could someday be someone bright and admired!

With that hope in mind, Clara had gone to some of the Silvermane Guards she'd met before, telling them she wanted to help with the repairs.

Of course, no one believed a kid her age could fix an automaton. They handed her a toy robot, as if that would do.

Luckily, Svarog stepped in to clear things up. And from there, Clara had been tasked with gradually tougher repairs—swapping out basic parts, troubleshooting problems, and even restoring damaged components.

When the regular repair mechanic finally arrived, he was astonished to see that Clara had handled the entire fleet of automatons by herself.

In disbelief, he'd challenged her to a public showdown against his apprentice.

The outcome, naturally, was predictable: while the hapless apprentice was still scratching his head over missing screws, Clara had already completed repairs on a fully operational Cogwolf unit.

In that comparison, not only did she make the apprentice look bad, but the Guard who'd doubted her was ready to bury his embarrassment in the nearest Grizzly unit's belly.

Unaware of any of this, Venti noticed the mechanic sneaking grateful glances his way.

"By the way, where were you, Sister Venti? Svarog and I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Ah, I was at the Goethe Hotel, performing," Venti replied with a mischievous smile. "But I didn't expect the Wind Dragon to suddenly show up. It scared off all my audience, and then some Guards came by and hustled me off to the nearest shelter."

He chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Of course, I couldn't help but sneak out. A sight like this is a rare inspiration, you know. Perfect for my next big piece."

"Hmm… you're already so good at music, but you're still working hard like this? Svarog always says that's called dedication."

Innocent as ever, Clara beamed a smile as warm as the first light of spring.

"Well then, I'll work hard just like you, Sister Venti!"

"Aww… well, that's a little…"

Venti turned away, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt.

After all, he was the one behind this entire crisis. If people found out, he'd probably be banished from his bardic life altogether.

He'd go from celebrated performer to reviled criminal, maybe even end up in jail for life, with Clara visiting in her little shoes she hated wearing, her eyes full of pity.

The thought made him shiver. No, he'd rather not go to prison, and certainly not until Clara was all grown up… maybe in another ten years or so.

Having one of the kids who looked up to him despise him—

Venti sank into a momentary slump, lost in the spiraling thought.

Seeing his gloom, Clara trotted over. But just as she was about to reach him, she stumbled forward with a gasp.

It was only then that Venti noticed she was wearing shoes, likely a gift from some well-meaning adult in the Overworld who'd taken pity on her bare feet in such chilly weather.

Unfortunately, Clara had something of a… "curse" when it came to shoes.

Whenever she put them on, it inevitably led to a fall.

It might have just been a habit, but to her, nothing beat walking barefoot; it was how she felt closest to her family and their shared struggle to live on this land.

Or, as she'd put it in her own words:

"It's just the Clara way!"

His thoughts swirling, Venti instinctively caught her before she hit the ground. After all, a pretty face like hers was charming enough with or without a bruise, but pain should be avoided if possible.

Gently steadying her, he watched as Clara's expression softened from startled surprise to contented trust.

"Seems like these aren't your glass slippers, my little Cinderella."

"S-sister Venti"

Clara's face flushed bright red, her wide eyes tinged with a helpless shyness.

"Don't tease me at a time like this…"

"Hehe, if you don't mind, I could conjure up a pair of magical shoes for you. They'll be invisible but feel real, and one day, when your prince arrives, he can slip them on your feet himself—"

He murmured softly into her ear, and Clara relaxed, melting into his arms with a happy sigh, her breaths shallow as her slender legs trembled slightly.

Even in this moment of nervousness, her thoughts were crystal clear.

She felt a little shy about making a scene in front of everyone, but she was thrilled to be treated so kindly by Sister Venti. There was a warm, contented feeling in her heart, a feeling that she could always rely on and confide in Venti.

She realized with certainty that she adored Sister Venti, just like she did Svarog.

Having them as her family was one of Clara's greatest joys...

And yet—if she were to be pushed aside, left out…

She didn't want to imagine it.

"Clara doesn't need a fairy-tale prince," she whispered into his ear, standing on tiptoe. "As long as Sister Venti and Svarog are with me, that's all I want."

She darted away, her face flushed, retreating to Svarog's side and gazing back with an intense, unwavering look.

Under her earnest gaze, Venti felt a strange realization dawn on him: had she just made his heart skip a beat?

No, no—she was way too young! He'd have to be a perverted, corrupted adult to even entertain such a thought.

Silencing that line of thought, the poet firmly told himself:

Clara's like a sister to me, nothing more! So… if I bottle up this air she just breathed, I still have time, right?

In that instant, the poet of the wind completely forgot Seele's instructions!

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T/N: I know I don't translate titles but uhh here's the title for this chapter...

Chapter 70: Clara, Hehe, My Sweet Clara 😳

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!

Posture and water check! Remember this is a fan translation!

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