“Understood. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you.”
Pellato, who had been kneeling until the fabric of his pants was stained brown by the soil, finally stood up. Unlike when they first met in the greenhouse, his face was heavy with worry as he forced himself to remain composed while saying goodbye. His back, as he turned away, swayed with a drained, sagging weight.
Seeing Pellato—who had always carried himself with confidence—like this tugged at Banteon’s heart. That fool Tearot. All this turmoil just because he couldn’t get a grip on his feelings.
The early winter sunlight streaming into the greenhouse looked warm, almost springlike, but once outside, the biting wind and chill robbed one of any sense of warmth. It was the same sunlight, but its warmth could vary so greatly depending on when and where it shone. That’s just how things were. No matter how sincere Tearot’s feelings were, the world would only ever see them as filthy and corrupt—as long as the object of that affection was Banteon.
It was a love that he never intended to accept, nor could he ever return. A conclusion so certain, yet still everything had become so tangled. He was still just a cousin—one whose body had grown large, but whose years hadn’t caught up. Still too young.
***
Half of the vacation he had applied for had already passed before he realized it. Calling it a vacation was laughable—he had dealt with more work here at the estate than when he was back at the Center.
Just as the Finance Officer had said, there were increasingly more matters that required Banteon’s personal oversight at the estate. The elder nobles were beginning to retire, and there weren’t many trustworthy candidates to replace them. For now, Pellato was holding things together, but with Tearot—who handled much of the communication—leaving the capital, the operations had started to falter.
Perhaps it was time to leave the Center for good.
With a heavy heart, he set aside the documents he had been organizing. Resting atop the clean desk was a thick envelope, still sealed. The royal crest stamped boldly across the top. He slit it open with a paper knife.
He smiled as he unfolded the bundle of thick sheets inside. Nothing unexpected. Inside were portraits and personal profiles of heirs from various influential families. All marriage proposals.
Despite advancements in photography, formal documents like these still used painted portraits—because unlike photographs that faded with time, paintings retained their clarity for years.
“How sickening.”
For the past few months, they had refrained from sending these due to the media frenzy around Delroz and Banteon. But now, the moment he returned to the estate, the pressure resumed.
It was true—compared to others, Banteon had delayed marriage longer than most. It had been over ten years since he was officially declared the heir to his family, yet he had neither a fiancée nor a formally matched Esper.
To outsiders, the seat beside Banteon probably looked like an untouched goldmine. A single marriage would secure them promised glory and wealth. With so many drooling over the opportunity, the number of proposals he received was far beyond counting.
The kingdom itself, with no benefit to gain from uniting powerful families, had its own reasons for arranging Banteon’s marriage.
He picked up the topmost portrait from the stack and laughed. A familiar face. The current king’s fifth son.
A late-born prince from the king’s second concubine, he was the monarch’s most cherished youngest child.
Excluding the already matched first and second princes, there were still the third and fourth to choose from—yet they had presented the fifth prince, barely in his early twenties.
A generous offer, as if they had considered Banteon’s preferences. He almost wanted to cry from the kindness.
Ostensibly, the kingdom claimed it was simply providing profiles of eligible nobles, but by placing royalty at the top of the pile, it was a not-so-subtle form of pressure.
If Banteon rejected the royal profile outright, it would disgrace the kingdom. But if he chose someone else instead, it would be seen as an insult to the royal family.
At least with this type of document, if Banteon said he wasn’t ready for marriage yet, it would be interpreted as postponing the institution of marriage—not rejecting the royals directly.
He stared at the fifth prince’s portrait. Admittedly, it was a face that matched his tastes. The only downside was the hair—flashy gold instead of a softer brown—but the prince’s fair, sweet features and radiant smile had a certain pull.
Still, like with all the others he’d met, he quickly shook his head. Getting involved lightly would only bring long-term trouble.
‘Let’s have a look through the rest.’
If even the royal family had selected someone tailored to his preferences, he was curious what the other noble houses had prepared.
Most were younger than Banteon, with a wide range of genders.
He simply preferred partners who couldn’t conceive naturally—typically men—due to the risks. Gender wasn’t the deciding factor.
All the portraits shared a theme—delicate and composed beauty.
He let out a quiet laugh. They had come well-prepared.
It wasn’t like he’d ever hidden his preferences, but even so, it wasn’t exactly common knowledge either.
“This one is…”
As he flipped through the files with mild amusement, his hand paused on a particular photo.
Despite the artist’s attempt to conceal it, the pale face still bore signs of illness.
Anyone entering Esrante must be of a reputable family, but the face was unfamiliar. Likely a daughter who had never appeared in social circles.
He quickly checked the name written behind the portrait.
Seira Rokless.
What?
His hand froze with the portrait still in his grasp.
A familiar name.
She was the Guide who had just recently awakened and undergone a match test with Delroz.
If the royal court had received her profile from House Rokless, then it was undeniably accurate.
It couldn’t be a case of mistaken identity. In an ancient noble family like Rokless, giving the same name to multiple children was unheard of.
Guide Seira had reportedly been bedridden for a long time, then suddenly recovered and awakened as a Guide before arriving at the Center.
And among all the Espers, she had matched at the highest level with Delroz—the most influential one of them all.
Something about it all felt off.
‘Someone’s been meddling. Or… everyone’s been deceived.’
He slowly scanned Seira’s portrait again.
A pale face, slightly sunken cheeks.
A soft pink blush added to one cheek for a hint of life, and dark eyes that stood out vividly against the rest of the muted palette.
Even accounting for artistic variation, she was undeniably a different person.
He raised his upper body from where it had sunk deep into the chair back. Once again, he examined the face. It was definitely different. Even accounting for the difference between a photo and a painting, the person in this portrait was not the same one in the photograph Banteon had received from the Center Director.
How could no one have noticed? Even if she’d been too ill to make appearances, everyone just accepted this at face value?
He stood up from his seat and pulled a jacket from the wardrobe, slipping it on.
“Where are you going, sir?”
The Finance Officer, who had been working on documents nearby, looked up and asked. Responding to the puzzled look, Banteon answered,
“To the Center.”
“Right now? Just for a brief visit?”
“No. I’m returning—for good.”
If what Banteon had noticed was correct, this was no trivial matter. It wasn’t something that could be solved with a quick visit. He was also concerned about Delroz, who had likely received Guiding from her. Hopefully, this was just unnecessary suspicion—but if not, then what?
Leaving the startled Finance Officer behind, Banteon’s pace quickened. He summoned a driver who was always on standby and got into the car. The security team rushed to fill their positions, and the engine started with a hum as the vehicle began to move.
Even as the scenery flew by outside the window, it failed to register in his mind. Every neuron in his brain was frantically trying to connect the information it held.
He had to go back to the beginning.
Delroz’s sudden rampage. Madam Ressot’s drugs. The unprecedented phenomenon of not matching with anyone. The drop in compatibility after isolation. And now a Guide who had hidden her identity, showing up after a delayed awakening.
Individually, none of these events seemed related—but his instincts screamed that they were.
If Banteon’s suspicion was right, Delroz was in no condition to be left alone right now.
Whatever their goal was, the only person who could figure it out now was Banteon.
“Speed up.”
The motor at the front of the car quietly surged. The scenery outside began to blur faster and faster, but Banteon didn’t even blink as he stared forward.
***
The Royal Esper Center looked the same as ever after his long absence. Or rather, it seemed the same—but something was off.
Even accounting for the fact that many staff members had left temporarily to assist with the capital’s restoration, the quiet was excessive.
No, the number of people was the same. The way people looked at Banteon was the same. Everyone was going about their lives as usual.
The strange thing wasn’t the people.
As he glanced around the Center’s grounds, a cold, barren air lingered.
Everything looked exactly the same, but as he came to a stop in the middle of the quiet hallway, he realized what felt wrong.
The parks scattered throughout the Center always had the gentle sound of birds or the rustle of leaves. But now, it was completely silent.
Even the sound of water seemed to flow sluggishly, as if the wind itself had vanished. A hushed stillness blanketed everything.
It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this sensation.
He had felt something similar once before—on a night returning from Yasen. The damp dirt beneath his feet, the eerie stillness in the air… exactly like this.
And that night, what had he seen?
A world bathed in crimson—and Delroz, lying at the edge of a rampage.
“Wait.”
He stopped someone who had been walking nearby. The startled person flinched, trembling as Banteon turned toward them with a gentle smile.
“Do you happen to know where Delroz is right now?”
“Ah… um… if it’s him… he’s usually in the library… b-but, sir, may I—”
“Thank you.”
Ignoring the stammering person who tried to continue the conversation, he turned and headed toward the library.
Delroz would probably be seated in one of the quiet corners again, just like before.
He quickened his pace until the library came into view.
