From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 673: First Impression

Micah dragged Darcy along the narrow sidewalk, his steps uneven because of the boot on his injured foot. The restaurant sign glowed softly above them, warm yellow light reflecting on the glass windows. It was a quiet place, the kind that favoured privacy over spectacle, clearly chosen with intention.

Darcy’s phone vibrated in his hand just as they reached the entrance. He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting together slightly before he lifted his head.

"You go in first," Darcy said calmly. "It’s about the gaming company. I need to take this."

Micah paused, then nodded without suspicion. "Alright. Private room, number three. Don’t take too long."

Darcy lifted a hand in acknowledgment, already turning slightly away as he raised the phone to his ear. Micah didn’t linger. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the faint scent of tea and simmering broth drifting toward him.

He walked down the corridor toward the private rooms, but the moment he slid open the door, his steps stopped short.

Someone was already inside.

The young man seated at the table stood out immediately, not because of flamboyance, but because he was oddly concealed. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, and a cap was pulled low, shadowing his eyes. He sat upright, posture stiff, fingers resting on the edge of the table as if ready to stand at any moment.

Micah blinked, instinctively stepping back half a pace.

...Wrong room?

Before he could retreat, the man looked up sharply, then stood in one fluid motion.

"Young Master Micah!" Ilyas exclaimed, his voice clear and surprised even through the mask. His eyes widened, then instantly dropped to Micah’s foot. "What happened? Why are you wearing a boot?"

Micah relaxed. "Ah. It’s you." He stepped inside fully, sliding the door shut behind him. "Nothing serious. I tripped and sprained my ankle."

His gaze swept over Ilyas again, this time with amusement. "But seriously, what’s with the full disguise? I almost thought I walked into the wrong room."

Ilyas hesitated, then reached up and pulled the mask down, followed by the cap. His dark hair fell messily against his forehead, his ears instantly turning red in embarrassment.

"My manager insisted," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She said you never know when someone might secretly take photos."

Micah laughed lightly, shrugging off his coat. "She’s not wrong. Especially now." He looked at Ilyas more closely. "I heard you even showed up on a reality show recently."

Ilyas froze for half a second. His expression didn’t change, but the faint blush crept higher. He cleared his throat. "It was... nothing special."

Micah caught the reaction and smiled wider.

He liked this kid. Ilyas had that classic cold, aloof exterior: quiet, composed, distant, but the nervous habits betrayed him. The way his fingers fidgeted, how his ears reddened so easily. If Micah hadn’t met him during the audition before, he would’ve thought Ilyas was one of those untouchable, naturally confident types.

Micah lowered himself into the chair, careful with his injured ankle. "Did you order already?"

"Yes." Ilyas pushed the menu toward him quickly. "I hope you don’t mind. If you want to add anything, feel free."

Micah raised a brow. "I told you this one’s on me. Why do you keep ignoring that?"

He said it disapprovingly, but there was no real irritation. He understood perfectly, this was Ilyas trying to repay him for the last time.

Ilyas only smiled, lips pressed together in a way that suggested gratitude mixed with stubborn pride.

Truthfully, Ilyas found Micah very easy on the eyes. Not just physically, though that too, but in the way he carried himself. Outgoing but not arrogant. Confident without being overbearing. During the ad recording, Micah had treated everyone fairly, without posturing or hidden malice.

After that job, Ilyas had met plenty of other newcomers. Most of them wore masks far uglier than any physical disguise. They flattered loudly in public, then sneered behind closed doors. Some ignored him outright once they learned he had no powerful backing. Others mocked him subtly, their smiles sharp with disdain.

He’d only worked on two projects since the ad, yet his worldview had already been shaken back and forth.

So yes, he appreciated Micah. Meeting him felt like a rare piece of luck.

And things really had changed fast. After the ad, he’d signed with Paniz Entertainment. Newly funded, but frighteningly efficient. Top-tier managers, solid resources, and connections that didn’t bother hiding their influence. Anyone with eyes could tell that someone powerful was backing it.

A soft knock sounded against the door. Before anyone could respond, the door slid open, and Darcy stepped inside.

Ilyas’s eyes lifted instinctively. For a brief, dangerous second, his breath caught.

The black-haired man wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t trying to impress. He simply stood there, tall and composed, his presence calm but heavy, like still water hiding depth beneath its surface. His gaze was steady, expression neutral, movements restrained and precise.

Cold. Distant. Untouched.

Exactly the kind of aura Ilyas admired.

Micah turned in his seat, his face lighting up the moment he saw him. "You’re here," he said easily. Then, without hesitation, he gestured between them. "Ilyas, let me introduce you to Darcy. He’s my little brother."

Micah braced himself out of habit. Every time he introduced Darcy like that, he half-expected some sharp remark, some dry sarcasm or aloof dismissal. Darcy had never been fond of labels, least of all ones that tied him as Micah’s little brother.

But none came.

Darcy didn’t scoff. He didn’t correct him. He didn’t even smirk.

Micah blinked, momentarily surprised. His shoulders relaxed and his expression softened.

Darcy stepped forward and inclined his head politely. "Nice to meet you. I’m Darcy Edwood," he said evenly, his voice calm and steady. "Micah’s little brother."

He waited. One second passed. Then another.

The young man across from him didn’t move.

Darcy felt it then, the stare. Direct, unblinking, intense. His skin prickled, instincts flaring even as his expression remained unchanged.

Micah noticed the silence and frowned. He glanced at Ilyas, who was sitting stiffly in his chair, then at Darcy, confusion flickering across his face. Ilyas hadn’t said a word. His hands were tugging lightly at the hem of his sleeve, fingers restless, eyes fixed far too boldly on Darcy’s face.

Micah couldn’t figure it out. Darcy was always polite, always proper in first meetings. There was nothing he could think of that would make Ilyas freeze like this.

Ilyas, meanwhile, felt as though his mind had stalled. Micah’s circle was full of people who stood out. Last time it was Emile and Clyde and this time it was this young man. He was... attractive. Undeniably so. But it wasn’t just his face. It was the cold, distant aura he carried, the effortless composure. That was the image Ilyas had always wanted for himself. Someone untouchable. Someone unmoved. But Ilyas knew his own aloofness was an act. Darcy’s wasn’t. It felt genuine, as if nothing in the world could truly disturb him.

Micah’s lips twitched, caught between amusement and discomfort. The awkwardness hung thickly in the air. Darcy continued to wait, patient but alert, his gaze never wavering. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

After a few seconds that felt far longer than they were, Micah leaned over and nudged Ilyas lightly with his elbow. "Hey..." he whispered.

Ilyas startled, blinking rapidly as if waking from a daze. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "L-likewise..." he said at last, his voice lower than usual, slightly hoarse.

The way he looked at Darcy didn’t go unnoticed.

Darcy saw it clearly, the focus, the intensity, the strange mix of awe and confusion behind Ilyas’s eyes. But he didn’t comment on it.

It wasn’t that Darcy hadn’t seen Ilyas’s photos before. But seeing him in person was different. Too many memories surfaced all at once...

Their circumstances weren’t the same, but the similarities were enough to sting.

Both of them had been caught in narratives they never fully controlled. Both had been destroyed by assumptions about love and obsession.

That realisation softened something in Darcy. Pity, perhaps. Or quiet understanding.

So he didn’t take offence.

Without another word, Darcy pulled out a chair and sat down beside Micah, movements smooth and unhurried.

Micah glanced between them, sensing the tension but unsure how to address it. He cleared his throat lightly and spoke, deliberately steering the conversation elsewhere. "So," he said, smiling, "what did your family and friends say about the ad?"

Ilyas reached for his glass almost immediately. He took a sip of water, letting it linger in his mouth before swallowing, moistening his dry lips. "They praised it a lot," he replied. "Some even asked which idol group you belonged to."

Darcy huffed softly. "Please," he said, casting Micah a sideways glance. "His head already grew big enough from all the family praise earlier. Don’t add more." His tone carried faint amusement. "I’m worried he’ll swell and explode."

Micah rolled his eyes and smacked Darcy’s arm. "Little brother, jealousy doesn’t suit you." Then he turned back to Ilyas. "Did you tell them the truth?"

Ilyas paused.

The name Darcy Edwood echoed belatedly in his mind. Everything clicked into place... the familiarity, the vague unease. His older brother was the right-hand man of Willow Ramsy. Of course, he had heard about the gossip. The switch baby incident. The one everyone whispered about when discussing the Ramsy family’s internal mess.

He had heard it all before. Fake and real heirs. Power struggles. Rumours that Darcy was quietly moving behind the scenes, preparing to reclaim everything, including cutting Micah off completely.

Ilyas looked at Darcy again, this time with new awareness.

When Ilyas’s family learned that Micah, the co-actor in the ad, was known publicly as the "fake" heir, they were furious. They warned him endlessly, insisting that if the scandal resurfaced, his fragile career would be dragged down with it.

Yet that hadn’t been what worried Ilyas most. He’d been worried about Micah.

About how Micah had endured it. How he’d lived with that truth.

And now, realising that the person he’d been so drawn to was the true young master...

Ilyas didn’t know how to act anymore.

Micah had introduced him as a younger brother, but there was no blood relation between them, it didn’t erase ambition. Human hearts were warehouses, hiding intentions too complex to read at a glance.

Was Darcy here to watch Micah? To monitor him?

That earlier sarcastic remark about Micah’s praise didn’t sit well with him.

With every passing second, Ilyas’s impression of Darcy slipped further.

His expression grew cautious, guarded. He chose his words carefully. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I told them you attended secretly and got selected... interestingly."

Micah’s smile widened. "Yeah. But I bet everyone’s thinking I used my family influence and bad-mouthing me."

"That’s completely false," Ilyas said at once, frowning. "Even my older brother tried to push you aside. What influence could you have had?"

Micah waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody cares about the truth. They just like gossip. I’m not worried about them knowing I’m fake."

Ilyas pressed his lips together and glanced at Darcy, his eyes sharpening with faint contempt.

Darcy noticed. He lifted an eyebrow slightly but said nothing.

Micah leaned back, shifting the topic again. "Right... you probably have fans now, right?"

Ilyas snapped his attention away from Darcy. "Huh? No. My manager said that when my fans grow more, she’ll handle the fandom."

Micah looked down at the neatly arranged tableware. "Either way, be careful. Don’t interact with fans without your manager. These days, you hear all kinds of obsessive fans turning into stalkers."

Ilyas didn’t take it seriously. He nodded absentmindedly.

The meals arrived soon after.

As they ate, Darcy remained quiet. He didn’t speak much, didn’t insert himself into the conversation. Instead, he calmly picked out dishes Micah liked and placed them onto his plate, movements subtle and unshowy, as if it were second nature.

Ilyas watched the action, irritation creeping up his spine.

For whom was he putting on this act?

His jaw tightened. Gritting his teeth, he deliberately picked up a pig trotter and placed it onto Micah’s plate, pushing aside the fish Darcy had added. "Here," he said pointedly. "Eat more. You look thinner. This is also good for your foot."

Then he added vegetables, carefully arranging them as if proving a point.

Darcy said nothing. He simply watched Ilyas in silence, his expression unreadable, eyes calm and steady as the tension settled between them.