The ballroom had not recovered from the silence.

It hung in the air like a held breath, thick and suffocating, pressing down on everyone who stood within those golden walls.

The chandeliers still sparkled, the mana-lamps still drifted lazily above the crowd, and the Emperor still stood on his dais with his glass raised and his mouth slightly open, but no one was looking at him anymore.

No one was looking at anything except the young man with the white hair and the ocean-blue eyes who had just walked through the doors and destroyed the rhythm of the evening without even realizing it.

Amelia also could not look away from him.

She stood beside Arthur near the center of the ballroom, her hand still resting on his arm, her silver-violet eyes fixed on the figure in the doorway with an intensity that surprised even her. Her mind was racing, tumbling over itself, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

That’s him? That’s really him?

She had heard the rumors, of course.

Everyone had heard the rumors. Leo von Celestial, the failure of the Great House, the boy with the B-rank core who couldn’t live up to his family’s name, had entered his Path Trial and never come out.

The nobles had whispered about it for months, some with satisfaction, some with pity, most with the kind of detached curiosity that people reserved for watching a ship sink from a safe distance.

They said he was dead. They said the trial had claimed another victim, the Celestial line was finally showing its cracks, and that the failure had done everyone a favor by removing himself from the succession.

But here he was — alive. Standing in the middle of the Imperial Palace like a ghost who had forgotten to stay dead.

His hair, once black like his father’s, was now white as fresh snow, tied back in a low ponytail that fell past his shoulders and caught the chandelier light like spun silver.

A few loose strands framed a face that was sharper than she remembered, more angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could have been carved from marble. He had always been lean, almost skinny, but now there was something different about the way he carried himself — not bulky, or intimidating, but solid.

Grounded. Like someone who had been through something that had stripped away everything unnecessary and left only what mattered.

...And his eyes.

Those ocean-blue eyes that used to be bright with mischief and nervous energy — they were colder now. Distant and guarded. They swept across the ballroom like he was calculating exits and threats, like he was seeing things that no one else could see.

What happened to you? Amelia thought, her throat tight. What happened in that trial?

Beside her, Arthur shifted slightly.

She felt his arm tense under her hand, and when she glanced at him, his golden eyes were fixed on Leo with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

Riven Ashford, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the ballroom, had straightened slightly. His steel-red eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his hand had drifted toward the dagger hidden in his shadow — not a threat, but a reflex.

A habit. He was measuring the newcomer, weighing him, trying to decide if he was a threat or just another noble playing games.

The nobles around them were not so subtle. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire, sharp and urgent, carrying from one cluster of silk and velvet to the next.

"Is that really him?"

"Leo von Celestial? But I thought he died."

"The rumors said he didn’t survive the trial."

"Look at his hair. It’s white. What happened to him?"

"He looks... different. Taller, maybe. Stronger."

"Do you think the rumors about his core were true?"

"Does it matter? He’s a von Celestial. That name alone carries weight."

"But what is he doing here? After everything that happened?"

"Perhaps the Duke is trying to salvage what’s left of his family’s reputation."

"Or perhaps the boy came back from the dead and decided to make an entrance."

Amelia forced herself to look away from Leo and scanned the rest of the Celestial party. Duke Noah stood near the front, his expression calm and unreadable, though she noticed the way his jaw tightened every time a whisper reached his ears.

Duchess Isabella stood beside him, her silver and white gown shimmering, her emerald eyes fixed on her son with something that looked like pride and worry and exhaustion all wrapped together.

Sylvia looked like she wanted to die. Her hand was pressed against her forehead, her eyes squeezed shut, and her lips were moving in what appeared to be a silent prayer for patience. Or maybe a curse.

Amelia couldn’t tell.

Mia — the youngest, was still holding Seris’s hand, her small face tilted up toward her brother with an expression of pure, unconcerned curiosity. She didn’t understand the whispers. She didn’t care about the stares. She just wanted to see her big brother.

And Leo? He slowly raised his hand and gave a small, awkward wave.

"Uh... hello?"

The word hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water. No one moved. No one spoke. The Emperor’s eye twitched.

Leo lowered his hand and decided that the best course of action was to pretend nothing was wrong. He walked forward slowly, carefully, trying not to trip over his own feet, and made his way toward the edge of the ballroom where a long table covered in white cloth held rows of gleaming glasses.

A servant passed by with a tray, and Leo grabbed a glass without thinking. The liquid inside was dark red, almost purple, and it smelled like old oak and something sweet.

Wine. Expensive wine. The kind of wine that probably cost more than some people made in a year.

Leo took a sip.

His face twisted immediately. The liquid was bitter and dry, nothing like the sweet, cheap wine he had drunk in his past life, and it left a strange aftertaste on his tongue that he couldn’t quite describe. He spat it back into the glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.

Every single person in the ballroom was still staring at him.

He frowned. Why were they still staring at him?

He had walked in, said hello, and now he was standing in the corner trying to drink wine that tasted like feet. What more did they want from him? He waved his hand at the crowd, a casual flick of his wrist. "Continue what you were doing. Ignore me."

No one moved.

Leo’s eye twitched again.

Across the ballroom, Noah von Celestial closed his eyes for a brief moment, drew a deep breath, and stepped forward. His voice, when he spoke, carried across the ballroom with the weight of decades of authority and the careful control of a man who had spent his entire life navigating the treacherous waters of noble politics.

"Your Majesty," Noah said, bowing his head slightly toward the Emperor, "I apologize for my son’s... unconventional entrance. He means no disrespect." He paused, and his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Please, continue your speech."

The whispers exploded.

"His son? So it really is him."

"Leo von Celestial is alive. After all this time."

"What happened to his hair? It used to be black."

"He looks different. His face has changed."

"Do you think the trial changed him?"

"The trial almost killed him, from the looks of it."

"But he survived. That’s more than anyone expected."

"Is that why the Celestials have been so quiet? They were hiding him?"

"Or maybe he was recovering. Seven months is a long time to be gone."

Noah did not react to the whispers. He simply turned and gave Leo a look cold and sharp, the kind of look that said we will talk about this later — before stepping back to stand beside his wife.

Leo shifted uncomfortably under his father’s gaze and looked away.

The Emperor cleared his throat, and the room fell silent once more. His emerald eyes swept across the ballroom, lingering for just a moment on Leo’s face before returning to the crowd at large. His expression was unreadable.

"As I was saying," Aldric said, his voice smooth and practiced, "tonight is a night of joy. A night to celebrate the future of our Empire. A night to welcome heroes and honor traditions." His gaze flicked toward Arthur, then back to the crowd. "So let us not dwell on interruptions or distractions. Let us instead raise our glasses to my daughter — to Cordelia, and to the bright future that awaits her."

He raised his glass.

"To the Princess!"

The crowd echoed him, their voices a chorus of relief and enthusiasm, and the tension in the room began to ease. The nobles began to move again — talking, laughing, pretending that nothing had happened.

But everyone kept glancing at the corner where Leo von Celestial was sitting.

Leo found a small chair near the wall, tucked behind a pillar where he thought no one would see him. He sat down heavily, the glass of wine still in his hand, and stared at the crowd with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

People kept looking at him. He could feel their eyes on his skin like insects crawling across his arms, sharp and curious and not bothering to hide themselves. They whispered behind their fans and their hands, their words too quiet to hear but their intentions clear enough.

This is going to be a long night, he thought.

He took another sip of the wine, grimaced, and set the glass down on a nearby table. He would rather drink water for the rest of the evening than pretend to enjoy that bitter nonsense.

Across the room, Sylvia caught his eye. She was standing with a group of young nobles, her crimson gown bright against their dark coats, and her expression was a mixture of fury and exhaustion. She mouthed two words at him, slow and deliberate so he couldn’t miss them.

"I hate you."

Leo raised his hand in a lazy wave and mouthed back, "I know."

Sylvia turned away, and Leo leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

_

[Leo’s POV]

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, but it didn’t help.

I sighed and thought about the main cast. I am really here with the main cast in the prologue of the game, or at least if that was a game.

Some of them are here: Arthur, the protagonist of the game; Amelia, one of his harem and lover; Princess Cordelia Valerion who in some route joined the harem; Riven Ashford, another main cast who acts as a rival of Arthur in the game.

My sister, who helps them a lot; Seris, who just like my sister is a side character who helps them in the academy arc and in the future. But, I haven’t seen ’him’ here. Just like in the game, he wasn’t here either, though even if he still could, he wouldn’t come.

And honestly?

I was really looking forward to seeing him.

The false protagonist.

The prodigy himself and real rival of Arthur in the game. Besides, there are other main cast too, and I can’t say that I am not hyped to see them. I mean, come on, some time ago they were just game characters I played, and now they all are real.

But, I’ll see the whole cast soon in the academy. They all will be there real and alive and most of all, strong.

I stopped my train of thoughts because I could still feel them — the stares, the whispers, the weight of a hundred curious eyes crawling across my skin like insects I couldn’t swat away. Even with my eyes shut, even with my back pressed against the cold stone pillar, I could feel them watching me.

It was annoying as hell.

[You could try smiling,]Nova said.[It might make you look less like you want to murder someone.]

"I don’t want to murder anyone," I muttered, keeping my voice low. "I just want to be left alone."

[You came to a gala. In the Imperial Palace, with hundreds of nobles who haven’t seen you in years. Did you expect privacy?]

"I expected people to mind their own business. Clearly, that was too optimistic."

I opened my eyes and looked around the ballroom. The nobles were talking and enjoying, and the Emperor was smiling and nodding like the perfect host, but every few seconds, someone would glance my way.

A count here, a countess there, a young lord who whispered something to his companion and then pointed at me with his chin.

My eye twitched.

"Fuck this," I said, pushing myself off the wall. "I need fresh air."

I walked toward the far end of the ballroom, weaving between clusters of silk and velvet, ignoring the way conversations stuttered and stopped as I passed. My boots were silent on the marble floor, but my presence was anything but.

People stepped aside to let me through, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly open, like they were seeing a ghost.

Maybe they were.

For all they knew, I was supposed to be dead.

The window was tall and arched, framed by heavy curtains the color of midnight blue, and it looked out over the palace gardens. The moon was full and silver, casting pale light across the manicured hedges and the still waters of the ornamental pond.

It was peaceful out there. No whispers, no stares, no nobles measuring my worth with their cold, calculating eyes.

I stopped in front of the window and stared out at the night.

The glass of wine was still in my hand. I hadn’t drunk any more of it after that first sip — the taste still lingered on my tongue, bitter and dry, and I had no intention of subjecting myself to that again. I just held it because it gave my hands something to do, something to hold, something to keep them from shaking.

[Are you going to stand here all night? You cannot avoid them forever.]

"Maybe," I said. "It’s better than being in there."

I heard the footsteps behind me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I knew who it was. "You can’t control your curiosity, can you, Amelia Nightshade?"

The footsteps stopped.

There was a moment of silence, and then she stepped up beside me, her silver-violet eyes fixed on the garden below. Her deep blue gown shimmered in the moonlight, and the silver pins in her hair caught the light and threw it back in tiny, scattered flashes.

She didn’t look at me. She just stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression carefully blank.

"You really haven’t changed," I said, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. "Always curious, aren’t you? Always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong."

Her jaw tightened. "...And you really haven’t changed either. Still sarcastic and annoying. Deflecting every time someone tries to have a real conversation with you."

I snorted. "Ouch. You wound me."

We stood in silence for a moment, both of us staring out at the garden, neither of us willing to look at the other. The moonlight was cold on my skin, and the distant sound of the music from the ballroom felt like it was coming from another world.

Finally, she spoke. Her voice was softer now, quieter. "...But you have changed."

I didn’t answer.

She turned to look at me, her silver-violet eyes searching my face. "Your hair. Your face. The way you stand." She paused. "The way you look at people. Like you’re seeing through them."

I looked away. "People change over time, Amelia. We aren’t the same kids we used to be. Things change. People change. Their natures, their lives, everything." I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the dark liquid catch the light. "...That’s just how the world works."

She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was careful, measured, like she was walking on thin ice. "How are you?" she asked. "Really?"

I laughed, a short, bitter sound that didn’t come close to reaching my eyes. "How am I? That’s what you want to ask me?" I said flatly. "Almost dying. Fighting for my life in a trial that was supposed to kill me. Take your pick."

Amelia flinched, and I felt a small, petty satisfaction at the way her composure cracked. She deserved it.

She had no right to stand here and ask me how I was like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t moved on the moment our engagement was broken, like she hadn’t been living her life with Arthur while I was drowning in the darkness of the War of Faith.

But I didn’t say any of that. I just looked away and changed the subject.

"How is he?" I asked, my voice light, almost careless. "Your new lover. Does he enjoy his life as the so-called hero?"

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. "He’s not my—"

"Right, right," I cut her off, waving my hand. "He’s not your lover. You’re just always together. Standing close and touching each other’s arms and just living under the same roof and looking at each other like the rest of the world doesn’t exist." I smiled at her, and I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. "My mistake."

Her face flushed, and she looked away. "It’s not like that."

"No?"

"No. And he doesn’t enjoy this life. He feels... suffocated. Trapped. Like everyone expects something from him that he doesn’t know how to give."

I chuckled. "That sounds exactly like him."

The silence returned, heavier this time, filled with all the things we weren’t saying. The moonlight painted silver patterns on the floor, and the distant music swelled and faded, and I could feel her gaze on my face, searching for something I wasn’t going to give her.

"...Why are you here, Amelia?" I asked finally, my voice flat. "We both know we aren’t on good terms. We aren’t friends anymore. We haven’t been for a long time. So why are you standing here, pretending to care about how I am?"

She opened her mouth, but I kept going.

"We both know things can’t go back to how they used to be. We’re adults now — or we’re supposed to be, anyway — and I’m not planning some kind of happy family reunion." I turned to look at her, and my eyes were cold.

"Don’t give me that look. I’ve always known, Amelia. I’ve always known that you loved him. You were bound to me because of some damn contract our families signed when we were children, but your heart was never in it. You were always looking at him, always thinking about him, always waiting for the day you’d be free."

Her face had gone pale.

"You must have been happy when our engagement was broken," I continued, my voice soft now, almost gentle in its cruelty. "You must have been even happier when you heard I was dead. No more contract. No more obligation. No more pretending to care about the failure."

"Leo—"

"But here I am," I said. "Alive. Back from the dead. Ruining your perfect little life with your perfect little hero."

Her hands were shaking. I could see them trembling at her sides.

"I know my past self did many things wrong," I said, and my voice was quieter now, tired. "I’m not going to deny it. I was a mess. I pushed people away. I made terrible decisions. But I’ve learned to accept that, to accept him, the person I used to be, and move on."

I looked at her, and for a moment, I let her see the exhaustion behind my eyes. "I don’t care who you love, Amelia. I don’t care if you marry him, have children with him, live happily ever after with him. That’s your life. You’re allowed to live it however you want."

I smiled, and it was thin and sharp. "In fact, I’m glad our engagement broke. It gave you the freedom to be with the person you actually wanted to be with. You’re welcome, by the way. You’ve been living with him your whole life, you just needed me to step aside to make it official."

Her hand moved before I could react.

The slap cracked across my face like a whip, sharp and stinging, and my head snapped to the side. The wine glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble floor, dark red liquid pooling around my boots like blood.

I didn’t move. I didn’t touch my cheek. I just stood there, staring at the broken glass, and waited.

"I was wrong," Amelia said, her voice shaking with fury and something that sounded almost like hurt. "You really haven’t changed. Not one bit. No — maybe you’ve become worse."

I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her hands were still shaking, and her chest was rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. "You’re cruel," she whispered. "You’ve always been cruel. But this — this is new. This is deliberate."

I didn’t answer.

She stepped back, her gown brushing against the broken glass, and turned to walk away. She took a few steps, then paused, her back still to me.

"You were my best friend once," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "And Arthur, he is also my friend, the best friend I’ve ever had, and he doesn’t deserve your bitterness."

"Tell your friend," I said, my voice cold, "that I’ll meet him at the academy. And tell him to be prepared."

Amelia didn’t look back. She just walked away, her footsteps fading into the music and the laughter and the distant hum of the ballroom.

I stood alone by the window, staring at the broken glass on the floor.

[Are you sure you wanted to do that?]Nova asked, his voice careful.

I sighed and leaned against the windowsill, the cold stone pressing against my back. "Yeah," I said quietly. "...I’m sure."

[She was your friend once.]

"Was." I looked up at the moon, pale and silver and utterly indifferent. "People change, Nova. They grow apart. They move on. That’s just how it works."

[You didn’t have to push her away like that.]

"Didn’t I?" I closed my eyes. "All I have to do is cooperate with them. Work with them. Fight alongside them when the Abyss King comes. I don’t have to be their friend. I don’t have to pretend that everything is fine, that the past doesn’t matter, that I’m not still carrying the weight of everything that happened."

[And pushing her away helps with that?]

"It keeps things clean and simple. No expectations. No disappointments." I opened my eyes and looked down at my hands. "Just talking to her left a bitter taste in my mouth. I can’t afford to feel that every time I see them. I need distance. At least until I can control my emotions better."

[And if that never happens?]

"...Then I’ll keep my distance forever." I pushed myself off the windowsill and straightened my jacket. "It’s better this way. For everyone."

I walked back toward the ballroom, stepping over the broken glass, leaving the wine to stain the marble floor.