Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 108 - Silver Engagement (4)

Every choice has consequences.

Helping one person can mean abandoning another. Holding something in with patience can mean unleashing it on someone else.

There are no perfect choices—every path carries the risk of misfortune or regret. But once a choice is made, it can't be undone.

So commit to it. Stand by it. Take responsibility when things go wrong.

Simply saying, "That was my mistake," and moving on?

That's just cowardice. — Number 1 Bullshitter

—

A Couple Minutes Earlier

As Sebastian, Acier, and the other couples took to the dance floor, waltzing, Yami, Morgen, and Nacht remained at their table.

Taking a sip of water, Yami let out a sigh before turning to his two best buds. "So...? We done now? Do we head back to Kitten?"

Nacht's eye twitched in annoyance, but Morgen spoke up before he could lash out.

"It's Kiten, Yami," Morgen corrected, shaking his head. "And as we've told you many... many times before, we will not be leaving until the end of the ceremony. We're here as special guests. Unless you want to head back to the border by yourself, you'll be staying here with us."

Yami blinked, glancing outside. The high moon signaled the deep of night. He shook his head. "Nah. I'll stay and crash at your place for the night."

"Tsk." Nacht clicked his tongue. "Then stop asking if we're done! We'll be finished when we're finished!"

Yami set down his glass and crossed his arms. "Well, what else is there to do? Lanky and Pinky danced and made out. We had dinner. Big Lanky made his announcements and shit. Why can't we go?"

Nacht didn't answer, just shot Yami an unimpressed look. "Seriously? Lanky? Pinky? That's the best you can come up with...? Her hair isn't even pink."

Yami muttered, "Well, Purply sounds weird..."

Nacht cringed. Yami popped a forehead vein. "They're works in progress. I'm trying to come up with something, alright?"

Nacht spread his arms dramatically. "Here's an idea... Maybe use their names? Their actual names."

Yami paused, furrowing his brows as he scratched his chin, deep in thought. Like he was trying to process something unthinkable, unheard of.

Nacht and Morgen exchanged glances before Yami shot the former a serious, half-nod.

"You know, Nacht... you might be onto something here."

"..." Might? Nacht was speechless.

Morgen's smile softened as he spoke. "Stop complaining, Yami. The ceremony won't last much longer. Desserts will be served soon. In the meantime, do as the others are doing—socialize, join some of the games, make some friends. Put yourself out there."

Yami blinked. "What are you, my mother? You sound just like Julius right now."

By Morgen's deepening smile, it was clear he took that as a compliment. Yami blinked again before sighing and shaking his head.

"I'm not some eight-year-old brat, Morgen. I'm not here to make friends. I got you two. That's all I need."

Morgen cocked his head. "Come now, Yami, that's not true. Aren't you close to that Jack fellow from the Orcas?"

Yami's expression twisted in incredulous disbelief. "You mean that long-legged psycho?! Are you crazy?"

Morgen sighed. "Yami, for the last time, Jack is not a serial killer."

Yami gave him a pointed look. "You don't know that. He tried to cut my head off the first time we met."

"..." This time, Morgen was the one left speechless. Eventually, the younger Faust twin found his bearings and shook his head.

"Forget it. How about you help yourself to the dance floor?"

Yami blinked. "Huh?"

"You heard me..." Morgen's voice grew firmer. "The next group should be taking to the floor in a few minutes. The dance should buy you time until dessert is served."

Yami held up a hand in a silencing motion, like a stop sign, and gave Morgen a blank shake of his head. "Ah, no way. I don't know how to dance, and I don't want to make a fool of myself."

Nacht sneered. "Like you actually care about your reputation."

Before Yami could retort, Morgen cut in. "Yami, you're here as a guest of House Faust. Given the evidently deep relationship between our house and the Silvas, no one would dare insult you over your lack of skill. At least not here."

Yami winced at the insult wrapped so politely, but Morgen carried on. "Now, if you're more concerned about finding a partner, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that—"

Yami shuddered, taking a deep step back. He crossed his right index and middle fingers like he was warding off cooties, germs, or something gross.

"Ayo, Morgen, I don't swing that way."

Morgen blanked. Huh?

Yami kept going. "Listen, man, I love you and all, but not in that way... Maybe I gave you the wrong idea by accepting your plus-one invitation and all, but I came here as your pal, not your special friend. I'm flattered if you feel that way about me, but—"

"You idiot." Nacht cut Yami off with a hiss, grabbing him by the collar. "Morgen was offering to help you find a partner, not dance with you, dumbass! He's not gay!"

Nacht paused, releasing Yami's collar before turning to his twin. "You're not gay, right?"

Morgen blinked. Nacht's tone softened. "Not that I'd care if you were, but..."

Feeling the prickling presence of several gazes on them, Morgen's ever-present smile didn't so much as waver, but if one looked closely, they'd notice—it was no longer a smile.

He simply shook his head. "No, Nacht. I am not gay." His voice was firm, quelling not just his brother's doubts but also Yami's—and the few others who had been watching.

Morgen could feel his mother's gaze among them.

Both Nacht and Yami let out a sigh of relief.

Yami—because he wasn't getting hit on by a man.

Nacht—for an entirely different reason.

As the heir of House Faust, Nacht was expected to continue the bloodline. But he had no interest in women, marriage, or children. His plan had always been to leave that responsibility to Morgen, with the house eventually passing to his brother's kids.

Whether that future included their family's legacy of dealing with devils and the other world... was a matter he'd face when the time came.

If Morgen wasn't up for it, things would get tricky. Adoption wasn't really an option.

Maybe I'd have to convince our parents to have a third kid...

But for now, it seemed all was fine.

At least for now.

Yami reached out and patted Morgen's shoulder. "Sorry about that, man... As for your offer, don't waste your time. Ain't no broad here who'd be down to dance with little old me. Not that I'm interested anyway."

Morgen blinked, scanning the room before pointing to the other side. Yami followed his finger out of curiosity—then froze.

And shuddered.

"No way. No way. No way!" Yami repeated, just to be clear.

Morgen cocked his head. "Why not? From my understanding, Lady Mereoleona doesn't care about people's backgrounds. I'm sure if you ask, she'd be more than willing to—"

"That's not the problem here! Now put your finger down before she notices!"

Even as he said that, Yami grabbed Morgen's hand, yanking it back down and out of the she-beast's radar.

Nacht snorted. "Coward."

Yami snorted right back. "If you're so brave, why don't you go up and ask her yourself?"

"..." Nacht was silent for a moment before averting his gaze. "Hmph. I'm not the one complaining about being bored."

Yami let go of Morgen's hand and practically threw Nacht the finger. "Yeah, I thought so. Ain't no one alive crazy enough to tango with that pyromaniac. She makes that psycho murderer seem sane."

Once again, Nacht was left speechless. No retort. Just silence—the kind that spoke volumes.

Morgen's expression darkened. "Yami. Nacht. That's awfully rude of you two. I don't think Lady Mereoleona has done anything to warrant such disrespect."

Yami shot him an unimpressed look. "Just calling it how it is, Morgen. Just calling it how it is."

Nacht nodded, backing up the runaway from Hino.

Morgen's smile thinned into a rare grimace, nearing a frown, before he shook his head.

"Fine then. I shall prove you two wrong. And afterward, you must apologize to the Lady for insulting her honor."

Yami and Nacht blanked. Huh?

Before either could react, Morgen stepped between them and strode toward the opposite side of the room—straight toward Mereoleona Vermillion.

She stood leaning against the wall, alone. Looking bored, annoyed, uncomfortable, and frustrated.

Yami and Nacht's jaws went slack as Morgen walked away without a shred of hesitation.

Yami mumbled softly, "I bet you he gets torched on sight."

"You're broke." Nacht responded instinctively—then paused.

Truthfully, he was worried about his brother's safety and well-being. But at the same time...

Nacht crossed his arms and snorted. "Hmph. Any lady in the kingdom would be over the moon for the chance to dance with my brother."

He had full faith in Morgen's abilities—his charisma, his charm. He could win anyone over.

Yami didn't.

"We ain't dealing with a lady here."

"..." Nacht had no response.

—

Mereoleona Vermillion was bored.

So fucking bored.

She felt suffocated in this red dress and heels. She wanted to rip them off and do something. Preferably fight.

Acier, Conrad, her father, the Blue Rose Captain, Lovilia, Sebastian, Kaiser—so many strong people in the room, so many opponents she wanted to throw hands with. But she couldn't.

No—she wouldn't. For all the battle junkie she was, Mereoleona wasn't some barbarian.

There were things she valued, things she respected.

This was Nozel's day. Her cousin. The son of her mentor, the woman she respected most. Not to mention, she was close with Dorothy too. She wasn't about to ruin it for either of them.

So she held back. Secluded herself in the corner, away from the noble ladies' gossip, especially her mother's. The woman was still searching for a mate—for both her and Fuegoleon.

Honestly, when would she give up?

Mereoleona had no interest in that, and Fuegoleon? Lost cause. If her parents wanted grandkids so badly, they'd better pray Leo didn't let them down.

Leave her out of it.

So she stood alone.

And, thankfully, her reputation was enough that no man dared approach her. The idea of courting the eldest Vermillion daughter—technically the rightful heir of House Vermillion—was enticing to most, but based on who she was, her name was enough to scare off even the bravest and greediest of pigs.

Mereoleona welcomed the silence, counting down the seconds, minutes, hours until this was over.

Or so she thought.

Hmm?

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Before her ears even picked up the sound of footsteps, her mana sense registered someone approaching.

Her eyes snapped open.

A young man.

Decent height. Long black hair tied in a ponytail. A gray suit. A soft, closed-eye smile that should've been suspicious but wasn't.

She recognized him immediately.

One, as the guy always hanging around Yami whenever she jumped him for a fight (beatdown).

Two, as the son of those devil-worshipping heretics that maybe—just maybe—weren't that bad.

Mereoleona clicked her tongue as he stopped in front of her. "What do you want, Morgen?"

Morgen Faust's smile didn't waver as he inclined his head. "Lady Mereoleona, will you humor me as my partner for the next dance?"

Mereoleona blinked.

Of all things, she wasn't expecting that.

If anyone else had asked, she'd have laughed in their face. Or torched them. Or said yes only if they could beat her in a fight.

But Morgen was different.

Their interactions had been few, but she knew what kind of person he was—one of the rare, sincere ones.

This wasn't a joke. It wasn't an insult. It wasn't some long-term ploy to 'melt' or rather 'cool' her fiery heart and seduce her into handing over House Vermillion.

It was simply a request to dance. Nothing more.

She tested him anyway. Smirked. "I'm a bit old for you, kid."

Morgen didn't miss a beat. "By kingdom law, I'm an adult. And four years isn't much of a gap."

A pause.

Then a nod.

"Besides, this is simply a request for a dance. Nothing more. Nothing less."

Simple.

If it had been anyone else, she'd have spat in their face. Nobles didn't do anything without ulterior motives. But this was Morgen.

Mereoleona glanced at the dance floor. The second round was about to start.

She was stiff. Bored out of her mind. She needed to unwind.

So she did something unthinkable.

She smiled. A sharp, toothy, predatory smile.

"If you're subpar, I'll roast you for wasting my time."

Morgen's smile deepened.

Morgen Faust—golden child of House Faust. Perfect in all things, almost to a fault. Dance was no exception.

He knew what he was doing.

Without another word, the two of them stepped forward, joining the next wave on the dance floor.

—

As Acier, Aurelia, Amara, and the other noble ladies fell into their usual gossip, Acier paused, sensing something amiss.

Amber Vermillion, usually composed, had gone stiff, her expression frozen in bewilderment. Acier furrowed her brows.

"Is something wrong, Amber?"

The chatter around them died instantly. All eyes turned toward the Vermillion Duchess, waiting for her response. But Amber didn't react. She didn't even seem to register them. Her silence grew deafening as her face twisted further into confusion.

The noble ladies exchanged glances before following Amber's line of sight.

And then—they all froze.

Because they saw it.

Mereoleona Vermillion. The Mereoleona Vermillion. Dancing.

With the younger Faust boy.

It wasn't a graceful dance, nor even remotely in sync with the music. The waltz was completely offbeat. Instead of Morgen leading, as decorum dictated, Mereoleona had taken charge—twirling and spinning him with a vengeance, her lips curled into a predatory grin, laughing and chuckling all the while.

The gender roles had been entirely reversed.

Other couples edged away from them, casting strange or outright irritated glances, but no one dared to say a word. Mereoleona Vermillion seemed to be enjoying herself, and few had the guts to ruin her mood.

Acier never thought she'd see the day Mereoleona danced.

The girl had refused even at her own coming-of-age ceremony, opting instead to start a fight, fists wreathed in flames, threatening the nobility until they acknowledged her as a noble lady and princess.

This? This was so Mereoleona.

Acier found it thoroughly entertaining.

—

Back at their table, Yami and Nacht sat frozen, jaws slack.

Eventually, Nacht blinked back into focus and extended a hand. "I won the bet. Pay up."

Yami shamelessly shrugged. "We never agreed to anything. You said I'm broke, remember?"

Nacht's expression darkened.

Meanwhile, Yami's gaze drifted, landing on the line of servants wheeling in dessert trays to the snack table—earlier than expected. His eyes lit up.

"Imma go do as Morgen asked... intermingle and put myself out there or some shit."

Before Nacht could react, Yami was already on his feet, disappearing into the crowd.

And then—Nacht stiffened. A shiver ran through his body, sharp and restless. He clenched his jaw, gaze dropping to the floor as he tried to steady himself.

Tried to suppress the deep craving clawing its way to the surface.

—

Charlotte Roselei was having a bad day.

Or rather—a bad night.

Not that it made a difference. She and her mother hadn't had a good

Before, she'd been uncertain, hesitant. But now? Now, she knew. She understood.

Men were filthy. Disloyal. Unfilial. Creatures who thought only with their lower halves and lacked hearts entirely.

They were pigs.

So it was only natural that her already sour mood worsened further and further as pig after pig approached her with an invitation to the dancefloor. Some even dared to reach for her.

Fortunately, her useless excuse of a father had some slight worth left—stepping in to fend them off, politely telling them to give her space.

Charlotte felt neither gratitude nor relief. She didn't need him. If he thought such a small gesture could atone for what he had done to her mother—to her—he was gravely mistaken.

So the moment his back was turned, still busy playing the role of a father, Charlotte slipped away.

Or at least, she tried to.

"Hey, Sis! Where are we going?"

Charlotte bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.

He was here. Again.

Her half-brother refused to get the message—no matter how she phrased it, no matter how her body language screamed it.

Leave me alone! And stop calling me Sis!

I'm not your Sis. I'm not your sister.

The words burned in her mind, unspoken but seething.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto the last shreds of politeness and courtesy. She had nothing to do with him, wanted nothing to do with him, and yet—he just wouldn't stop following her.

A dark thought slithered into her mind.

What if Luck did understand? What if he was doing this on purpose—pestering her, mocking her, baiting her into an extreme reaction that could ruin her reputation?

But... no.

Charlotte didn't believe a four-year-old could be so calculating. And if there was one, it certainly wasn't simple-minded Luck, who remained stubbornly glued to her side.

Still, her patience was razor-thin. She was at her breaking point.

She forced herself toward the snack table, slicing a piece of velvet cake and adding other desserts to her plate, trying—desperately—to calm herself.

Sweets weren't her favorite, but she was fond of them.

They brought a sliver of peace.

And she'd been eating them far more often ever since her father—

Charlotte froze.

Her mind blanked.

Her plate—the one she'd just left on the edge of the table as she reached for more sweets—was being defiled.

By him.

She watched, horrified, as Luck, still smiling, leaned over the table, his small, grubby hands grabbing biscuits, nuts, and her cake, mashing them together into something... unholy before shoving the entire mess into his mouth.

And then—he chewed.

And chewed.

And chewed.

Spraying crumbs everywhere. Dirtying his suit. Spitting on the floor.

Then he beamed up at her, all bright-eyed innocence.

"Sis, it's really yummy."

Charlotte didn't find it cute. Not at all.

She found it hateful, mocking, insulting.

Her teeth ground together as she saw red.

You little thief! she screamed in her mind. First, you steal my father! Then, my home! My position as heir! And now—even my cake?! You couldn't even let me have that?!

Bang!

The table rattled violently as Charlotte slammed her hands down on it.

Luck flinched, backing up slightly, his wide eyes staring at her in surprise. Around them, conversations faltered, heads turned.

Charlotte didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't care.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a venomous hiss.

"I'm not your sister. So stop calling me Sis, you bastard!"

Silence.

Luck stiffened. The entire hall went still.

Across the room, Roosevelt Roselei snapped his head toward them, eyes filled with concern.

Charlotte barely registered it, too focused on the boy in front of her. And as the words truly sank in, she felt something inside her twist.

She saw it—the flicker of hurt in Luck's eyes.

Her heart lurched.

"W-wait, L-Luck, I—"

"Sis!" Luck beamed, cutting her off. "I'm going to go play with the other kids."

Then, without another word, he spun around and ran.

Charlotte knew.

He wasn't simply running toward the other children.

He was running away from her.

The moment he disappeared, the weight of dozens of gazes crashed down on her. Murmurs filled the air, whispers slithering between cliques.

Some were disapproving.

Some were approving.

Both made her stomach churn.

"C-Charlotte..."

Her father's voice was hesitant, almost trembling.

She turned.

Roosevelt Roselei stood frozen, sweat beading along his temple. His expression—a mixture of disappointment and concern—made her insides twist further.

Concern.

For her.

Charlotte hated it.

Before he could say another word, she spun on her heels and fled, shoving open the back doors.

Her heels stumbled over the hem of her dress, but she didn't stop.

Didn't look back.

Roosevelt remained rooted in place, fists clenched at his sides.

All around him, the murmurs grew.

Mockery—some for him, some for Charlotte, some for Luck.

He wanted to call them out. Wanted to tell them to shut their damn mouths.

But he knew it would only add fuel to the fire.

Tomorrow, the aristocracy would feast on this gossip.

His jaw tightened. He turned, prepared to leave for some air—

Then—

"I wasn't aware we had an after-dinner performance."

The hall froze.

A cold, sarcastic voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Sebastian Silva stepped in from the balcony, his daughter resting in his arms, nibbling absently on her fingers.

His sharp gaze swept across the crowd.

Nobles flinched, their forced smiles cracking. Awkward chuckles followed as they hurriedly turned away, pretending to engage in idle chatter about anything but what had just transpired.

Roosevelt exhaled, glancing at Sebastian with gratitude. He inclined his head slightly.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Sebastian returned a polite nod.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Still lingering on the conversation he had before stepping inside.

—

About Five Minutes Ago

Holding Noelle steady in his arms, Sebastian stood beside Conrad, the two men overlooking the Silva Garden bathed in the full moon's glow.

For a moment, Conrad simply enjoyed the gentle breeze before whispering, "Thank you for saving my wife and squad."

Sebastian stiffened.

Of all the things he expected, this wasn't one of them.

Not bothering to play dumb, he whispered back, "How'd you find out?"

Conrad smiled. "Wasn't it you who told me I'd understand everything once I held Elsdocia?"

Sebastian nearly choked. How the hell could I have guessed that damn sword would expose me?

He said nothing as Conrad continued with a soft chuckle.

"I was hesitant, but after slaying the ancient demon, I retrieved the artifact from Lemiel's study—just in case Spade or Diamond launched a strike."

Sebastian remained silent, listening.

"The moment I held it, everything became clear," Conrad mused. "Maybe it's fate, but Elsdocia feels like it was made for me. Perfectly compatible with my magic."

His voice lowered. "Inside it are fragments of the souls of all my predecessors... and a few other select individuals."

Sebastian tensed. Not just the Wizard Kings? Who else?

He was curious but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Anyway..." Conrad's voice grew just above a whisper. "They guided me to dig deeper into Lotus and Fanzell's alibi... so I ran my own investigation. A bit of interrogation later, and they pointed their fingers at Damnatio and Alfred."

"I started with Damnatio. I didn't expect him to confess so quickly—hell, he even showed me the recording of your conversation with Lux, Haphass, and Lugner."

Sebastian clicked his tongue as their eyes met. Conrad smiled softly and dipped his head slightly.

"Once again. Thank you for saving my wife, my unborn child, and my former squad. Truly, I'm in your debt."

Sebastian cracked a wry smile. "Deep enough that you'll overlook me deceiving the court during Baron Francois' memory peek into Lotus' mind?"

Conrad chuckled sheepishly. "I should separate private matters from my duty as Wizard King... but politics comes second. As long as you promise not to do it again—and tell me how you pulled it off—I can let it slide."

Sebastian's grin turned more awkward. "I can promise you that. But sorry... I can't tell you."

At least, not yet.

Conrad narrowed his eyes before sighing and shrugging. "You must have a good reason. So once again, I'll make an exception... as long as you tell me why you felt the need to hide this attack on my loved ones—and your role in stopping it—from me."

Sebastian paused, exhaling deeply. A complicated emotion flickered across his face.

"You're a good guy, Conrad. A real good guy. But it's people who trust wholeheartedly and love deeply that lose themselves when that trust is betrayed... or that love is lost."

His voice turned grave.

"I didn't want to deal with a Wizard King spiraling into rebellion after learning the kingdom he loves so much had betrayed him."

Conrad bit his lip. "I know now... and yet, I haven't done anything extreme."

Sebastian sighed. "Yet."

"Yes, time can heal wounds," he admitted.

"But it can also let those scars sink deeper."

"One day, Conrad... you could lose it."

In the original timeline, Conrad Leto didn't lose himself immediately after his wife and squad were slaughtered by royalists.

For five long years, he fought to change the kingdom through political reform. But every proposal, every motion for progress, was blocked or shut down by the nobility. Eventually, he grew completely alienated from the system he had once believed in—until he decided that change would only come through force.

A practical reset button on the kingdom.

Erase the nobility, erase the class system—because if everyone was dead, there would be no class left to uphold.

Then, the true Great Selection would begin. Only those who knew how to treat others as equals would be revived.

But in this world, his loved ones were safe. And if everything went according to plan, the Clover Kingdom of his dreams—if not fully realized—would at least come close.

Still, the risk remained.

Maybe it wouldn't happen immediately. Maybe it would take decades. But the deep frustrations, the lingering wounds of betrayal, could fester.

And one day, they could push him over the edge.

Maybe he wouldn't turn against the kingdom itself, but he could do something extreme. Something that would hurt a lot of people.

If he ever felt the kingdom slipping back into its old ways, there was no telling how he would react.

Because Conrad was an idealist. And idealists were dangerous when reality refused to align with their vision.

Conrad gritted his teeth. "I'm not that kind of person."

Sebastian forced out a smile and whispered, "I hope so."

A broken smile ghosted over Conrad's lips as he leaned against the balcony railing.

Silence stretched between them before he spoke again, this time aloud.

"Perhaps I've been a bit too naive," he admitted. "I always knew my ideas weren't well received by the nobility, but I thought we'd settle our differences in the courts. Civilly."

His voice darkened. "Or if someone did come after me, I thought they'd target me—not the people I care about."

Sebastian continued to rock Noelle in his arms, his gaze fixed on Conrad's back.

"If you really feel that way... if you truly fear what I'm capable of... then watch."

Sebastian raised a brow as Conrad turned to face him with a soft smile.

"Don't let your guard down around me. Don't give me blind trust. Watch me." His voice was steady, resolute. "I will build a kingdom where we can all laugh together. And I'll do it progressively—through politics, diplomacy, and delegation. Not through my iron fist."

His gaze sharpened.

"Maybe I'll get frustrated when things go wrong. But I won't resort to force just to make sure they go my way."

"...And if I do, then Acier, Julius, you, and the others will be there to stop me."

"So don't trust me." His lips curled slightly. "But give me the benefit of your doubt—and watch as I walk this path."

Sebastian paused before letting out a soft smile and nodding.

"You never questioned me about what I was doing in Hage," he murmured. "You didn't force me into interrogation despite your suspicions when I asked His Majesty for Elsdocia."

"You didn't cause me trouble when I admitted to manufacturing the Haze Mask."

"And you even looked the other way when I deceived the imperial courts—a crime of the highest order."

Conrad's eyes widened as Sebastian continued.

"I've sinned again and again... yet you've let me go." His voice was quiet but firm. "If I can't even give you something as small as the benefit of my doubt, when you've done so for me time and time again... then that would make me a hypocritical piece of garbage."

Sebastian exhaled, his voice turning softer.

"I knelt before you in Hage because I believe you're someone worthy of respect. Worthy of serving."

Conrad's breath hitched.

"I'm cautious of you," Sebastian clarified. "Not distrustful of you."

"I know what kind of man you are. And I know what you're capable of." His eyes sharpened. "Just like you know what kind of man I am—and the lows I'm willing to stoop to."

"So let's both observe each other." His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Let's both keep each other in check."

"And let's make sure neither of us loses our way."

Conrad trembled slightly before his expression steadied.

"...Very well, Sebastian."

Sebastian was about to respond when Conrad let out a deep breath.

"I'm going to stay out here a bit longer and enjoy the air," he murmured. "You don't need to wait for me."

Sebastian's features softened as he turned away and stepped back inside.

—

Present

Sebastian snapped back into focus, his peripheral vision catching a figure disappearing in Charlotte's direction before he turned his attention back to Roosevelt.

The two fathers stepped away from the commotion, standing side by side against the wall in heavy silence.

A moment passed before Roosevelt lowered his head in shame.

"I apologize for subjecting you to such a disgraceful display, Your Grace."

Then, with a tired sigh, he added, "And I also apologize for tainting Prince Nozel's ceremony with my family's troubles."

Sebastian studied Roosevelt for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet.

"There's no need. That child has every right to be angry."

Roosevelt tensed but then let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "That she does... After all, her father is nothing but trash."

Sebastian nodded. "You truly are trash for committing adultery."

Roosevelt's stomach twisted. He closed his eyes, bracing for further condemnation. But then—

"That being said, you'd be worse than trash if you didn't take responsibility for your actions."

Roosevelt's eyes snapped open. He turned to Sebastian, incredulous.

The Silva Patriarch continued, his voice even.

"Adultery is nothing unheard of in our circles. In fact, it's as common as the air we breathe. But affairs like yours? They usually stay buried."

Sebastian's gaze sharpened.

"Countless noble lords and ladies have their secret lovers killed, locked away, or exiled—cast out of sight the moment they've had their fill. And the same fate befalls the illegitimate children."

Roosevelt swallowed hard as Sebastian's words settled over him.

"Few, like you, take responsibility," Sebastian went on. "Few acknowledge their lover as a concubine and openly declare their child as their own."

Roosevelt's breath hitched.

"Yes," Sebastian admitted. "You betrayed your wife and daughter. But you did right by Luck and his mother. Despite knowing the consequences—the destruction of your reputation, the certainty of your wife and daughter hating and shutting you out—you still brought them into your home."

Sebastian's voice softened slightly.

"It was still immoral. But in my eyes, that makes you far better than the vast majority of adulterers."

"Because it proves that, to you, your family—all of them—mattered more than your good name."

He looked Roosevelt in the eye.

"You could have lived a lifetime of ease. Never searched for your son, never sought out his mother. You could have continued being the perfect Lord Roselei that everyone once knew."

"But you didn't."

"You chose the path that brought you the most pain—the most blame. And for that... I believe, in some deep part of you, there is something respectable."

Roosevelt's eyes reddened as he bit down on his lip, fists clenching.

"Thank you, Your Grace... but I've still badly hurt my wife and daughter."

Sebastian gave a flat nod. "That you did. And you should find a way to make it up to them. But at the same time, you gave your concubine validation—that she wasn't just some passing fling. And you gave your son a home. A stable home. A father. Something all children deserve."

Roosevelt trembled. "But in the process, I took my wife's husband away. I took my daughter's father away. W-what can I do?"

Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. "I have no clue. That's your problem to figure out."

Then, more pointedly—

"All I can say is that declaring your son as heir—after coming out as an adulterer—was a terrible way to start. That wasn't making things right. That was insult to injury."

"...Not just to Charlotte, but to your wife as well."

Roosevelt bit his lip.

What could he even say?

That he did it for Charlotte and Luck?

No one would believe that.

But it was true.

Roosevelt Roselei had wanted to give Luck validation. That he wasn't some unwanted, illegitimate bastard, no matter what the nobility whispered. That he was his son—his boy. And because he was his son, he had every right to House Roselei. He wasn't some shadow in the background. He belonged.

And Charlotte—

Even before this, she had always harbored misandrist tendencies. She despised most men, except him.

But if she became heiress, the responsibility of continuing the Roselei bloodline would fall on her shoulders. She would have to marry. A man. Have a child.

Roosevelt thought he could spare her from that.

She had always dreamed of being a warrior, of focusing on her magic. By making Luck the heir, she would be free to pursue that life without obligation. If she ever did marry, it would be her choice—not for politics, not for duty, but for love.

At least, that was what he had hoped.

But who would believe that?

To everyone else, it was nothing more than Roosevelt tossing his daughter aside the moment he had a son, following the same old misogynistic traditions.

To Charlotte, it was worse.

She had been abandoned. Without a second thought.

And she wasn't wrong to think that.

If I had just consulted her first...

His fists clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms as regret clawed at him.

He had assumed—as her father—that he knew what was best for her. That she would trust him. That she would at least understand.

But she hadn't.

The moment his adultery came to light, her trust in him shattered. She wouldn't listen. Wouldn't give him a chance to explain.

And every time he tried to corner her, tried to speak—

She spat in his face and walked away.

His wife had shut him out completely.

Roosevelt never regretted bringing Luck and his mother into his home.

But he regretted how he did it.

The excitement—the relief—of finally finding his son, of rekindling an old flame, had blinded him. Had clouded his judgment.

And now?

His family hated him for it.

Roosevelt didn't regret his actions.

But it still hurt like hell.

Roosevelt gave a stiff nod to Sebastian and offered a curt bow.

"I understand, Lord Silva. I will reflect on your words deeply."

Sebastian's features softened slightly as he left him with one last piece of advice.

"Even if she hates your guts. Even if she can't stand to be within ten feet of you... I think you should go see your wife. Make her see you—at least once."

Roosevelt stiffened.

Sebastian's voice lowered. "Prove to her that you're sorry. That you'll still fight for her, for both of you... even if she wishes to stab you through the heart. Show her she's worth fighting for."

Roosevelt trembled again, but gave a stiff nod before turning away. He stepped onto the balcony, moving a fair distance from Conrad—who now stood with Lovilia leaning on his shoulder—before resting against the railing, letting the crisp air clear his mind.

Sebastian watched him go, then exhaled softly.

In noble society, marriages built on love are rare.

And even when they did happen, love often faded. A man would eventually take in concubines—the legal kind—under the usual justifications. Siring more heirs. Strengthening the bloodline. But more often than not, it was simply an excuse to indulge in lust.

It was precisely because infidelity was so common among the nobility that true love was so heavily romanticized—so deeply cherished.

When it did exist, when a noblewoman married not as a pawn, but as a wife truly loved, she often felt like she had struck gold.

Lady Roselei must have felt that way.

Her marriage had been arranged, yet she had lucked into a one-in-a-million husband—loyal, devoted, a man who didn't care that their firstborn was a daughter.

And then, one day, her seemingly perfect husband was no longer perfect.

An adulterer.

One who not only betrayed her but also stripped her daughter of her rightful claim to House Roselei.

Sebastian could only imagine what that must have done to her.

She had locked herself away from society, shut herself in her chambers, and spoken to no one.

He didn't know what she was doing behind those closed doors... but he knew it wasn't healthy.

Suicide rates in the Clover Kingdom were highest among one group in particular.

Noblewomen.

Women forced to live suffocating lives. Pawns in a grand game. Stripped of agency. Trained to play a role with no real freedom.

For them, a husband wasn't just a spouse. He was their pillar. Their stability. Their entire world.

So for that pillar to shatter—

For her seemingly perfect husband to become a lie—

Sebastian hoped he was overthinking things.

He also hoped Lord Roselei was smart enough to realize what he was thinking.

Sebastian sighed as the dark thoughts consumed him, stirring up memories he'd long buried.

His Acier...

She could have broken. Could have been found hanging from the ceiling by a noose, considering how controlling her mother and grandfather had been.

And worse—how he had betrayed her.

If she had been anyone else—someone with a weaker will—she might have ended herself long ago.

His stomach churned.

Across the hall, Acier stood among the noble ladies, engaged in conversation.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she paused.

For just a moment, she turned and met his eyes—offering him a soft, knowing smile.

Sebastian stood frozen in place, caught in a trance, until she returned to her conversation as if nothing had happened.

He let out a quiet breath before looking down at the tiny girl in his arms. Noelle blinked up at him with wide pink eyes, her chubby fingers curling into his coat.

Sebastian smiled. "Well, honey, want to eat some yummies with Daddy?" He gestured toward the dessert table with a tilt of his head.

Noelle blinked, then reached up and poked his cheek with a tiny finger. "Baboo."

Sebastian shook his head as he carried her over. "No. You can't eat Daddy."

"Baboo!"

"Nope."

"Baboo! Baboo!"

"Nuh-uh."

"Awooo..." Noelle whimpered.

Sebastian sighed in defeat. "Maybe a little."

"Aga!" Noelle giggled and latched onto his cheek, gnawing at it with her tiny gums.

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh.

This kid...

—

After finishing his dance with Mereoleona, Morgen wobbled back to his table in a bit of a daze.

Not just from being spun like a tornado.

As he approached, he caught sight of his brother—sitting alone, eyes locked on the ground, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Morgen's disoriented vision sharpened in an instant. His steps slowed, and he deliberately clicked his dress shoes against the floor as he walked.

Tck. Tck. Tck.

The sound made Nacht snap his head up.

The moment he recognized his twin, his body steadied, and he forced a smile. "Seems like you were right. Are you here to drag me to Lady Mereoleona and make me apologize?" Nacht chuckled.

Morgen didn't laugh.

Instead, something rare happened—he frowned.

Nacht stiffened, about to say something, but Morgen simply held up a hand.

Then, to Nacht's confusion, his younger brother reached into his pockets and handed him two items.

A box of cigarettes.

A lighter.

Nacht's pupils dilated. His breath hitched as he stared at the items, refusing to take them. "Morgen... you don't smoke. Why do you have this?"

"For you, of course, Brother." Morgen's expression softened. "I've noticed you stopped smoking after joining the Knights. I also noticed it's been hard on you."

Nacht had been struggling.

The withdrawal. The restlessness. The cravings. The need for a cigarette.

The adrenaline from missions helped—kept him busy enough to push it to the back of his mind. But today, with no excitement to distract him, no rush to drown it out, the urge had been gnawing at him.

Especially with the tension between him and their parents, after parting ways so suddenly two weeks ago.

Nacht was worried that at any second they would confront him about why he ran away and demand he retake his position as their heir.

Nacht felt like he was walking on eggshells.

Morgen had seen it. He had always seen it. And now, he was offering Nacht an out.

But still, Nacht wouldn't accept it. "Morgen... I'm trying to quit. This would ruin all my effort."

Morgen nodded. "I know, Brother... but did you know? I don't care if you smoke."

Nacht stiffened, his breath catching.

Morgen crouched so they were eye level. "Brother, I'm not as daft or oblivious as you might think I am..."

"I know joining the Magic Knights has something to do with me. I see it in the way you look at me... or rather, how you avoid looking at me. I don't know what you've done to feel like you owe me something, but you don't."

Nacht tensed.

Morgen only smiled. "Brother, you joining the Magic Knights has already made me so happy. Happy that we can fight together as warriors of justice—of light and shadow. But I don't want you to suffer over it. Not over something as minor as this."

"Lots of people smoke. You shouldn't be ashamed of it, especially if it's eating away at you."

"I don't care if you smoke. It doesn't change the fact that you're a kind person. It doesn't take away from that." Morgen gently pushed the items toward him. "Take them. This is supposed to be a relaxing night. Don't make yourself suffer."

Nacht's eyes burned.

It was just like the dream.

He didn't know if Morgen truly understood the kind of research their family was involved in—just like in his dream—but he did

The only thing Morgen had ever wanted was to fight alongside him.

And because of that...

Nacht pushed the cigarettes and lighter away. Morgen froze as Nacht smiled.

"Morgen, I'm happy. But I really want to quit. Not just to fight alongside you as an equal, but for myself." His voice was steady. "So I can't take this from you. And I never will. You're better off throwing it away."

Morgen's light blue eyes flickered with concern. "But, Brother—"

"Instead..." Nacht cut him off with a small shake of his head. "Why don't you just sit with me and talk? It takes my mind off the craving... and makes life easier."

Morgen froze.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Without another word, he stuffed the items back into his coat, took a seat beside his brother, and—for the rest of the night—never left.

They talked. About nothing. About everything.

They cracked jokes. They laughed.

Just like the old days.

From afar, Draven and Lilith stood side by side, watching them. They exchanged a quiet smile before returning to their conversation with the small group in front of them.

Morgen glanced around and tilted his head. "Brother, where's Yami?"

Nacht shrugged. "I don't know. He said something about making a friend, but I thought he went to the snack bar."

In unison, the twins turned toward the snack bar.

No sign of their buff, foreigner friend.

—

"I really suck..."

Charlotte plopped down on a bench near the fountain entrance of the Silva garden, hands gripping the sides of her face.

She groaned aloud, unladylike and unrestrained—a mix of depression, defeat, self-loathing, and hate.

Charlotte hated her father.

At six years old, a strange witch-like woman had cursed her. Unless her heart was stolen by a man, she would trap her family in a cage of time on her eighteenth birthday.

She still remembered the despair in her parents' eyes that day.

But she also remembered her promise.

That she would break this curse herself. That all she asked of them was to trust her.

She thought she had earned that trust.

She was wrong.

Charlotte had worked tirelessly—perfect scores in every lesson. Magic, arithmetic, history, politics. Every subject a noblewoman could master, she had.

A prodigy. So perfect she didn't need a man.

Because that was the goal. To prove she could escape her fate on her own. That she would never be some helpless, dependent princess.

Maybe that was when her misandry first took root.

Charlotte thought she had met her father's expectations. He always smiled at her, praised her, looked at her with pride.

She wanted to make him proud.

But then, four years after their promise, he cheated on her mother.

Four years after that, he brought home the result of his affair.

And in the end, he took her rightful place as heir... and gave it to him.

Charlotte had never felt so devastated. So betrayed. So abandoned.

Was I not good enough?

Then why did you always praise me?

Did you not love me?

Then why did you say you'd give me the world?

What did I do wrong?

Where was I lacking?

How did I let you down?

Her father had discarded her. Given up on her. In his eyes, she was a lost cause—bound to die or ruin their family. So when another option appeared, he had wasted no time in passing her rightful position to Luck.

Charlotte hated him for it.

She had no love for his concubine, no warmth for Luck.

But she didn't want to treat them like he did.

She didn't hate them.

But she didn't like them either—for making her mother suffer, for stealing her place. So she had chosen civility. Ignored them rather than say something she'd regret.

She had vowed to be better than that man. To keep her grievances to herself—between her and her father alone.

But just now... she had failed.

She had proved otherwise.

She had proved that she was her father's daughter after all.

Because she had looked a four-year-old boy in the eyes... and called him a bastard.

Charlotte shuddered, trembling in disgust.

At herself.

"Fuck it all... fuck it all... What the fuck have I done—"

"Damn. Who knew the prickly princess had such a potty mouth?"

Charlotte stiffened, her head snapping up at the voice.

And that was when she saw him.

Someone she had never truly spoken to, but knew.

Everyone knew him.

Because no noble in the kingdom hadn't heard of the filthy foreigner in their land. The man with so-called evil magic. The man the nobles had wanted exiled or executed.

Charlotte's expression darkened. "What is the meaning of this, Yami Sukehiro? And what is this 'Prickly Princess' title about?"

Yami, standing before her with a plate of desserts in one hand, ignored the first question entirely. Instead, he smirked and answered the second.

"Like it? Heard you use vine magic and thought of it on the spot. Pretty good, amirite?"

Charlotte's face blackened. "Not good at all! And I use Briar Magic!"

Yami blinked. "Same shit."

Charlotte exploded, shooting to her feet. "It's not the 'same shit'! They're completely different attributes!"

Before Yami could get another word in, she stormed forward and jabbed a finger into his chest, making him wince slightly.

"Now, I'll ask one last time—why did you follow me out here? To mock me further? To relish in my screw-up? To kick me while I'm already down—"

She cut herself off as Yami, entirely unfazed, casually held the plate of desserts out to her.

Charlotte blinked. "What... is this?"

Yami shrugged. "You looked kinda bummed when your little brother ate your cake. So I brought you a piece. No need to thank me."

She blinked again. "...Y-you brought me a piece?"

"Yeah. Might wanna eat it quick, though. We're in a garden. Might attract flies or some shit."

By instinct, Charlotte almost reached for the plate.

Then she caught herself, recoiled, crossed her arms, and turned her head with a haughty snort.

"I'll never accept something from a filthy man."

Yami stared at her, blinking blankly. "Damn. You really say some hurtful shit."

"..."

Charlotte winced.

Shame twisted her features.

She had no retort.

Not after what she'd already done today.

Yami sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the full moon before shifting his gaze to Charlotte.

"Hey, Prickly Princess. Care to listen to a little story?"

Charlotte bit her lip, hesitating. Then, begrudgingly, she turned to face him.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Yami didn't answer right away. Instead, he jerked his chin toward the bench.

Charlotte really didn't want to sit beside a man. But... she felt awful right now. Guilty. Heavy. So, just this once, she humored him.

They sat on opposite ends of the bench, the plate of sweets placed between them like a barrier.

Yami stared out at the greenery, the exotic flowers barely visible under the moonlight's pale glow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.

"I come from a family of fishers. My pops was a bastard. An abusive bastard."

Charlotte stiffened, but she kept listening.

"All I had was my mom. She shielded me from him. I loved her more than anything... but then she died." His fingers tapped idly against his knee. "Giving birth to my sister."

Charlotte's eyes widened. She turned slightly, watching his profile as he continued.

"At first, I hated my little sis. Thought she took my mom from me. My old man sure as hell felt the same way. But... she was my sister. So, just like my mom protected me from him, I did the same for her."

Charlotte clenched her fists in her lap, biting down on her lip. "And why are you telling me this?"

Yami turned to her then, his voice quieter.

"My best friend back home—he was an incredible guy. Always spouting some visionary shit I never really understood. But there's one thing he said that stuck with me."

Charlotte swallowed as Yami met her gaze.

"Sins and blame can't be inherited."

Her pupils dilated.

"My little sis didn't ask to be born. My old man... forced himself on my mother. She wasn't in the best health, and there was sickness spreading through our village at the time. Looking back, it was a miracle she made it as far as she did."

Charlotte's breath hitched.

"She didn't ask to be born. Neither did your brother."

Yami leaned back, exhaling.

"So let's keep our grievances with our shitty fathers. And leave our younger siblings out of it."

Charlotte's body went rigid. Her lips parted—she didn't know why she cared what he thought of her, but she had to say something.

"I—I tried. I didn't mean to tear into him like that—"

"I believe you."

Yami cut her off so easily, so effortlessly, that Charlotte nearly forgot how to breathe.

He hadn't even hesitated.

She had no idea that Yami could sense the truth in people, that his ki told him what words couldn't.

To her, it felt like he had simply decided to trust her.

On a whim.

And whether or not he was being honest...

It was still a little touching.

Hesitantly, Charlotte asked, "So... your sister is back in your homeland? All alone?"

Yami paused. Then, silently, he nodded.

And if Ryu did things right, she should hate my guts.

Charlotte studied him, then asked another question.

"And... what about your father?"

This time, Yami's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place—something dark, something complicated. Then, just as quickly, his expression hardened.

"I killed him."

Charlotte went rigid.

Yami stood up without another word, turning on his heel and walking away.

As he did, he left her with one last piece of advice.

"Prickly Princess, you seem like a pretty cool person. It'd be a damn shame if you can't figure out who to blame and who not to. If you ever feel like exploding, come find me. We'll fight, or you can tear into me. I can handle it."

His voice faded as he disappeared indoors.

Charlotte sat there, frozen.

A second passed.

Then—

Thump.

A single beat in her chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

No. Not unfamiliar. She knew exactly what it was.

And it scared her.

It defeated her.

It unraveled the very reason she trained until her breath gave out, until her bones cracked, until she bled.

So she shoved it down. Buried it. Pretended she hadn't felt it.

If she didn't notice it, she couldn't act on it. If she couldn't act on it, it couldn't hurt her.

She exhaled slowly, glancing to the side.

The plate Yami Sukehiro had left behind sat beside her, untouched.

Charlotte reached for it, hesitated, then placed it in her lap.

Using the clean, unused cutlery he'd left, she took a small bite of the cake.

It tasted good.

She didn't feel so good.

After finishing, she decided to find Luck.

—

Author's Notes:

[1] God dammit that was a long Chapter

[2] As always, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar