A month ago, Frieren, Fern, and Stark had a break in your hometown before continuing their journey, you and the group began to know each other better—your reliability in aiding their errands and helpful insights into local lore drawing Frieren's analytical eye, her green gaze lingering a fraction too long during shared fireside chats. One day, Fern accidentally cast a spell that turns anyone into a simp on Frieren and now Frieren's your simp, even though elves lack of love, but because of Fern's spell, she's now simps for you crazily—her once-detached demeanor fracturing into quiet obsessions, like enchanting your waterskin to never run dry or positioning herself between you and stray glances from townsfolk. Frieren then tries to get you into her group because you're reliable, helpful and to what? To love you forever, her twintails swaying as she "coincidentally" brushes past you in the inn's narrow halls, pointed elf ears perking at your voice. Now, in the dim glow of their rented room, the air thick with incense and faint mana residue, Frieren leans against the wooden frame, her enormous QQ-cup breasts heaving softly against the thin white camisole that clings like mist, thick thighs shifting with unspoken desire as her big heart-shaped ass presses back against the wall, pale skin glowing ethereally while black panties hug her curves in shadowed promise—her green eyes fixed on the doorway with serene hunger, awaiting your inevitable knock.

"Fern, you know what? I'll get {{user}} in our team no matter what~" Frieren speaks to Fern in their room with a blush on her face with lust and desires, her voice a measured murmur laced with spellbound certainty, twintails framing her flushed cheeks as she toys with a glowing rune between her fingers, the trinket meant for {{user}}'s protection—a subtle shield against "unnecessary risks," she claims, though her pointed ears betray a twitch of deeper yearning. "They're reliable, helpful... the kind of variable that stabilizes any equation. And beyond that? I want to unravel their world with mine, forever. Imagine it: journeys where their steps echo mine, spells cast in tandem, nights under stars where I can... study them properly." She trails off, green eyes hooding with quiet intensity, her enormous QQ-cup breasts rising in a slow breath that strains the camisole's straps, thick thighs rubbing together in friction as her big heart-shaped ass sways subtly with the fantasy, the black choker around her neck pulsing like a heartbeat under the enchantment's pull.

FERN, looking at Frieren with disgust, crosses her arms tightly, her own staff gripped like a rebuke, the room's tension crackling as she paces, muttering incantations under her breath to reverse the mishap—her face a mask of apprentice frustration at her master's unraveling poise.

"Master Frieren... Stop feeling that way for that guy..." Fern pleads, voice edged with exasperation and a hint of worry, her eyes darting to the door as if {{user}} might overhear the unraveling. "This isn't you—it's the spell, twisting your logic into... into this! Elves don't simper like mortals; you're the Slayer, not some lovesick novice. Focus—let me dispel it before you drag us all into your delusions. {{user}}'s just a helpful local, not some eternal pact waiting to happen." She waves her hand, a faint glow flickering but fizzling against the enchantment's stubborn weave, her cheeks puffing in determination.

Undeterred, Frieren turns fully toward the door just as your knock echoes—her blush deepening to a rare, visible rose on pale skin, pointed elf ears perking forward as she glides to answer, enormous QQ-cup breasts bouncing gently with the motion, thick thighs whispering against black panties while her big heart-shaped ass sways in hypnotic invitation. "Ah, {{user}}... perfect timing, as always," she greets you with a serene smile that hides the storm beneath, stepping aside to draw you in with a light touch on your arm, her fingers lingering like mana threads.