Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 804: Boring

Valeria didn’t speak.

She couldn’t—not yet.

Lucavion’s words lingered in the air, weighty and absolute, and they didn’t leave space for rebuttal or dismissal. Not because he’d silenced her, but because he’d cracked something open.

Not in the room.

In her.

’Is that... the kind of person he is?’

She looked at him—really looked—and the feeling returned. That weightless clarity from earlier. Except now, it wasn’t comfort.

It was disquiet.

Not fear. But caution. Unease wrapped in awe.

Because Lucavion didn’t say those things for attention. He didn’t throw them like knives to cut indiscriminately. Everything he’d just said—every single word—had a purpose behind it. A target. A reason.

And that, more than anything, made her pause.

Because she knew him.

He was reckless, yes. Unfiltered. Brazen in ways that would make even the bolder lords sweat. But he wasn’t careless.

Not when it mattered.

And now—after all this time, after vanishing into silence, returning with a sharpened edge and dismantling the Crown Prince in front of the Empire’s elite—he had stood before her and shown his hand.

Not all of it. Never all of it.

But enough.

Enough for her to realize: this wasn’t whim.

It was war.

And the Crown Prince...

Her thoughts flickered, reluctantly, to Lucien.

Perfect. Magnificent. The boy with endless grace and discipline. The one whispered about in every corridor of the Empire. A future emperor born of ice and marble, carved to lead without flaw.

And yet—

Lucavion had turned that image sideways. Exposed something beneath it.

A crack.

’Is that true?’ she wondered. ’Can someone so polished be...’

No. That wasn’t the question.

The real question was: What did Lucavion see that she hadn’t?

Because he wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t playing.

He had already made his judgment. Already aimed his blade.

And for him to move like this—so boldly, so publicly—it meant he had no intention of turning back.

Valeria’s eyes lifted again, fixing on him with that same quiet weight, but before she could gather the words sitting at the edge of her throat—

Lucavion moved first.

His smirk returned—not wide, not mocking. Just that familiar curve of lips that always meant trouble.

"See?" he said, voice easing back into that maddening casualness. "That’s my reasoning."

He shrugged one shoulder, the motion loose, unconcerned. But his eyes didn’t lose their sharpness.

"Don’t take it to heart, yeah?"

He said it like a jest. Like this entire conversation hadn’t tilted the very ground beneath her feet.

And she—

She missed it.

The moment.

The one where she could’ve asked the thing that still burned in her chest. Could’ve pressed, just once, for the truth beneath all the certainty. What exactly he saw in Lucien. What made him so sure.

But the words faltered. Caught between reflection and reaction.

And Lucavion—damn him—saw that too.

Which is why he turned his gaze toward the far end of the ballroom, posture relaxing even more, as if none of this had happened. As if they were just two old friends catching up over wine and ghosts.

She exhaled through her nose, quiet.

And there it was again—that sharp tether to reality tugging at her spine.

As much as she wanted to stay here, suspended in this strange, charged stillness with Lucavion—she couldn’t.

Not for long.

She had spent enough time dancing through the politics of the capital now in the recent month, the hollow smiles, the veiled words shared over clinking porcelain and manicured civility. This ballroom was no battlefield, but the game played here was every bit as dangerous. And she knew her place in it.

A knight, yes. But one with a family to elevate. A name to restore. Influence to balance.

This conversation—this... moment—could not last forever.

She had made her point. By walking across the hall. By standing beside him. By not flinching.

That was enough, for now.

And yet...

’Just a little longer...’

Just a little more of this simplicity. This impossible man. This strange warmth wrapped in danger.

Her gaze drifted toward him again.

And, of course, he was already looking at her.

Like he never stopped.

Lucavion opened his mouth, head tilted, voice ready to rise in that familiar cadence. "Is it the time, Pi—"

But something snapped in her. Not hard. Just firm.

It had been gnawing at her for a while now.

That little word. That nickname.

Pink Knight, sometimes Lady Knight, or whatever.

He said it with a curl of his lips and a glint in his eye, the same way he had years ago in the barracks when they were still half-formed warriors with too much pride and not enough rest. Back then, it was always on his tongue. He used names like toys, like paintbrushes, as if every person he met needed to be colored in by his voice alone.

She’d hated it.

She had told him then, sternly, coldly:

"Call me Valeria."

She remembered the moment. Crisp in her memory like pressed parchment. She’d been bandaging her arm after a sparring match, blood mixing with sweat, and he’d come strolling in, calling her Pink Knight like it was some noble joke, saying that it was what the crowd was calling her.

Then she forced to call her by her name again.

And—surprisingly—he had.

From that moment onward, whenever it mattered, he used her name. Not a title, not a nickname, not a jest.

Valeria.

But now?

Now he was doing it again. Tossing around her title with that same amused irreverence, like they hadn’t gone through all of that. Like the years hadn’t added weight to every syllable.

Maybe he’d forgotten.

Or maybe—knowing him—he hadn’t.

Her gaze sharpened. The warmth didn’t vanish, but it thinned, cooled into something more exact.

She saw the moment he was about to do it again. The little hitch in his breath, the way his mouth formed that familiar pair of syllables—

"Is it the time, Pi—"

"Valeria," she said, voice low. Precise.

Lucavion blinked.

He turned his head slightly, feigning innocence. "Hmm?"

She didn’t blink. "Valeria. Not Pink Knight."

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"...You’re no fun, Pi—"

"Valeria," she repeated. Sharper this time. Not harsh. Just... final.

He sighed, theatrical as ever, but the smirk softened just a touch.

"...Yeah, Valeria."

Valeria nodded to herself, almost imperceptibly. As if she were ticking a box no one else could see.

"That is better," she murmured.

Lucavion tilted his head, mock-incredulous. "You’re an oddball."

Her brow quirked. "Why?"

"Most people like the nicknames I give them," he said, grinning. "It’s practically an honor."

The words hovered between them, full of the usual Lucavion arrogance—but light, teasing. Familiar.

Valeria’s lips twitched.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to roll her eyes and answer him like she used to.

’No they don’t. You just force your way through their preferences like a storm pretending it’s a breeze.’

But the words caught behind her teeth.

Something in her—some quiet, ridiculous part—didn’t want to deflate his grin just yet.

Not because it was charming.

Not even because he deserved the grace.

...but because of a reason she didn’t know.

And that—that in itself was strange, wasn’t it?

Valeria wasn’t someone who held her tongue lightly. She chose her words as she chose her sword strokes: intentionally, with weight. Yet now, in this space between laughter and lingering, she let it go. Let him have the last word—let him keep the grin.

Odd.

She looked at him again, catching the glint in his eyes just as he tilted his head lazily, as if he’d been reading her thoughts line by line.

"Come on, just go," Lucavion said with a half-laugh. "You’ll be seeing me a lot in the academy anyway."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t argue.

"I’ll pester you quite a lot," he added, voice dropping into that maddening drawl. "Can’t miss fun, can I?"

Valeria let out a slow, restrained sigh. "...Sigh..."

There was no point responding to that. None that wouldn’t feed him more.

She adjusted her posture, composure sliding back into place like armor freshly buckled.

"Yeah," she said, turning just enough for it to be the first real step away. "Have a nice night, then."

Lucavion raised his glass in farewell, wordless, but the look in his eyes was as loud as anything he could’ve said.

And she left.

*****

Lucavion watched her go—not with longing, not with regret, but with that strange, unreadable calm that always slipped beneath the surface when no one else was watching.

She didn’t look back.

Of course she didn’t.

She never did when it counted.

His fingers rolled the stem of his glass absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the dwindling trail of her steps until she disappeared into the fold of nobility once more, swallowed by velvet gowns and duty-wrapped smiles. The noise of the ballroom returned in waves—meaningless chatter, laughter with the edges filed down.

And yet...

"She really is quite..." he murmured under his breath, a small, thoughtful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not changed much."

[Boring.]