The atmosphere within the Noble Preparatory Hall had changed completely from what it had been only a few minutes ago, the carefree laughter and childish chatter replaced by an uneasy silence filled with murmurs that spread quietly among the attendants standing at the edges of the park.

Children gathered nearby watched with wide eyes and poorly hidden excitement, some whispering to one another while others simply stared openly, unable to look away from the strange scene unfolding before them.

At the center of it all stood Damon, calm and unmoving, one hand holding Cecelia’s small hand as she stood quietly beside him, while the guard who had accompanied him remained respectfully on his other side.

And directly before them—

A middle-aged man knelt on the ground.

Sweat rolled down the side of his forehead despite the pleasant afternoon air, his expensive robes dirtied around the knees as he repeatedly dug into the soil with a small shovel resting in his trembling hands. A flattering smile remained stretched awkwardly across his face the entire time, though the strain beneath it was impossible to hide as he hurriedly worked under the watchful eyes surrounding him.

Again.

And again.

The shovel cut through the earth before he carefully lowered a fresh yellow flower into the soil, patting the dirt around it with almost desperate caution as though his life depended on getting it right.

No one spoke.

Even the children who had been whispering earlier had fallen silent.

Damon’s gaze moved from the man to the newly planted flower before he looked down toward Cecelia beside him.

"Is it alright now?" he asked calmly.

Cecelia turned her face slightly toward him, her unfocused eyes lingering in the direction of the flower as she hesitated for a brief moment before giving a small nod.

"...Mhm..."

Her voice remained soft, uncertain, yet there was clear relief within it.

The middle-aged man finally finished planting the flower, but even then he did not dare stand up. Instead, he remained kneeling where he was as he lifted his head toward Damon, maintaining that same forced, flattering smile.

"Y-young master Damon... p-please forgive me..."

Damon did not even look at him.

His attention shifted instead toward the guard standing beside him.

"Why is there no caretaker from the Valecrest House stationed here?" he asked evenly.

The guard immediately stepped forward and bowed slightly before answering.

"I-it is the order of Duke Valecrest... the children of the Valecrest family are expected to become self-dependent from a young age."

Damon listened quietly, his expression unreadable.

Meanwhile, seeing himself completely ignored only made the kneeling man more anxious as he lowered his head once more and repeated hurriedly,

"P-please forgive me, young master...!"

Damon ignored the kneeling man once again as though his existence held no importance at all, his attention remaining entirely on Cecelia as he looked down at her and asked in a calm, even tone,

"Do they always make things difficult for you?"

Cecelia slowly lifted her face toward him, her unfocused eyes lingering in his direction as though trying to understand the meaning behind the question rather than the words themselves. For a brief moment, she gave no response at all, her small fingers tightening slightly around his hand before she hesitantly shook her head.

The answer came too slowly.

Too carefully.

Damon sighed faintly.

Without another word, he glanced toward the guard standing beside him, and the man immediately seemed to understand what was being asked without needing further explanation.

Bowing quickly, he stepped away toward the attendants gathered nearby, his voice lowering as he questioned them while the atmosphere around the courtyard grew increasingly tense.

The kneeling middle-aged man visibly trembled more with every passing second.

Damon remained silent.

Cecelia remained silent.

Only the distant murmurs of the questioning attendants filled the space until, after several moments, the guard returned once more, his posture stiff as he stopped before Damon.

"Young master..." he began carefully, "n-nobody really interacts with young lady Cecelia... a-and... there have been a few similar incidents before..."

The moment those words were spoken, Cecelia’s small hand trembled faintly within Damon’s grasp, the subtle reaction enough to expose the lie she had tried to tell earlier.

Damon looked at her quietly.

Then slowly—

He released her hand.

Cecelia flinched almost immediately, her head lowering at once as though she expected rejection the moment his touch disappeared.

But instead—

Damon raised his hand and placed it gently atop her head, patting it slowly with careful movements that lacked both force and impatience.

...Just how is this child supposed to survive in these filthy lands...?

The thought surfaced quietly within him as he looked down at her small figure.

Cecelia had flinched at the first touch instinctively, yet after a moment, her tense shoulders gradually eased, her body growing still as she became accustomed to the unfamiliar gentleness.

At that same moment, the middle-aged man suddenly crawled forward across the grass in desperation before grabbing onto Damon’s legs, his voice cracking as panic overtook him completely.

"P-please forgive me, young master Damon...! I failed in my duties... p-please forgive me...!"

Damon finally looked down at him.

Not with anger.

Not with pity.

Only observation.

Then, without moving his gaze away from the trembling man clutching his legs, he asked softly,

"What color can you see in him?"

Cecelia remained quiet for a brief moment after Damon’s question, her small brows knitting together slightly as though she was trying to understand the strange mixture before her. Then she slowly lifted her face toward Damon and answered in that same soft, uncertain voice.

"...D-dark grey... a little red... sharp... and shaky..."

Fear.

And anger.

Damon chuckled quietly at the description, the sound low and almost amused as his gaze lowered toward the man clutching onto his legs. Then, without warning, Damon shifted his foot and stepped directly onto the man’s hands.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Pressure began building little by little as Damon pressed down with steady force, grinding the man’s fingers into the ground beneath him.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH—!"

The scream tore through the park violently, causing several children nearby to flinch in terror as the man writhed helplessly beneath Damon’s foot, his flattering smile long gone, replaced entirely by panic and agony.

Damon did not even blink.

"Not even a trace of regret for your irresponsibility, huh," he said calmly, his voice carrying far more weight precisely because it lacked anger.

The man shook violently, tears already gathering in his eyes as he continued screaming through the pain.

"F-forgive me—ahhh—young master Damon...! P-please forgive me...!"

Damon applied even more pressure.

The sound of bones straining faintly beneath his shoe caused several attendants to pale visibly, while the gathered children stared in stunned silence, their earlier excitement completely replaced by fear.

"N-no way..."

"H-he’s crushing his hands..."

"T-that’s scary..."

Some instinctively stepped backward, while others clung tightly to their attendants, unable to tear their eyes away from the scene unfolding before them.

Yet Damon remained completely composed.

He looked toward Cecelia once more and asked again,

"And now?"

Cecelia flinched faintly at the screams echoing around her, yet after a moment, she answered once more in that same hesitant voice.

"...Still... dark grey... and red..."

No regret.

Only fear.

And resentment.

A colder smile slowly formed on Damon’s face at that answer as he pressed down even harder.

The man’s scream became almost inhuman.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH—!!"

And just as Damon seemed ready to continue—

Another voice suddenly cut through the atmosphere like a blade.

"I-it’s here, brother! It’s that bitch and that man who challenged our house!"

Heavy footsteps followed immediately after.

Then—

"WHO IS IT WHO DARES TO CHALLENGE MY CINDERFELL MARQUIS FAMILY?!"

Damon slowly turned toward the source of the voice, his expression calm as his gaze settled upon the newcomers approaching from across the park. The same little girl from earlier stood there again, her face still filled with childish indignation as she pointed directly toward Cecelia without hesitation.

"It’s that dumb bitch, brother!"

Beside her stood a blond-haired young man who appeared close to Damon’s age, his clothes and bearing clearly marking him as someone raised within nobility, yet the moment his eyes landed on Damon—

Everything about him changed.

His steps halted abruptly.

The color drained from his face so quickly it was almost visible, the confidence from his earlier declaration vanishing entirely as his body stiffened where he stood. Even from a distance, the faint trembling in his posture was impossible to miss.

Damon observed him quietly.

A faint smile rested upon his face.

But behind that smile, his thoughts sharpened immediately.

...Does he know me?

The reaction was too extreme.

Too immediate.

No...

This isn’t just fear from hearing my name.

As Damon began walking toward him, the blond-haired young man instinctively took half a step backward before catching himself, his throat moving visibly as though trying to force words out that refused to come.

Meanwhile, the little girl beside him remained completely unaware of the shift in atmosphere as she tugged at his sleeve impatiently.

"Brother! It’s them! Say something!"

But the young man could not take his eyes off Damon.

And Damon noticed it clearly.

The closer he got, the more obvious the fear became.

Not caution.

Not nervousness.

Fear.

Real fear.

Damon stopped directly in front of him, his golden eyes meeting the trembling gaze of the blond-haired noble as the quiet smile on his face deepened ever so slightly.

"It’s me," Damon said calmly. "I challenged it."

A brief pause followed.

Then his eyes shifted toward the little girl for just a moment before returning to the young man.

"What exactly are you going to do about it..."

The smile remained.

Yet somehow grew colder.

"...’Bitch’?"