Brave man, I want to go upstairs

Huh?

Caught in the gaze of those emerald eyes, Syldra’s thoughts froze midstream.

Beside her sat Stante-Berumonde, the ten-year-old daughter of House Stante, her eyes locked unblinkingly onto Syldra’s face.

It was a look of intense curiosity—hunger for knowledge, mixed with the giddy thrill of uncovering a secret.

A veteran of noble intrigues, Syldra had never expected such a sharp, penetrating stare to come from a child.

“Sister Syldra… what you were just thinking about… even Father has never thought of it…” Berumonde whispered, leaning closer. Her fluffy, pale-yellow hair swayed with the motion.

“Berumonde is so curious…”

Then, she drew near, lips almost brushing Syldra’s ear, and asked in a voice so soft it sent chills down her spine:

“—Where is the Duchy of Camille?”

!!?

Why would she—?!

Syldra instinctively shuddered, her eyes snapping to meet Berumonde’s.

Those jade-green pupils shimmered faintly with an otherworldly iridescence—as if they could peel back every layer of her soul.

…… Does she have mind-reading?

The instant the thought crossed Syldra’s mind, she noticed a flicker—Berumonde’s sweet expression shifted, ever so slightly.

“Berumonde!” Syldra reached out, gently covering the girl’s face with her hand—blocking her gaze.

“Ah… Sister Syldra, I can’t see.”

“You’re too close, silly,” Syldra said lightly, using the excuse to push her back. “I’m shy when you get this near.”

“But Berumonde wants to know—”

Syldra studied Berumonde as she pouted, sulking in that quiet, childish way. The strange luminosity in her eyes had vanished. Now she looked like any normal girl—just one whose curiosity hadn’t been satisfied.

Syldra exhaled deeply in relief.

“Berumonde… can you actually see what people are thinking?” she asked cautiously.

“…… When Berumonde focuses on someone’s eyes, she can see a little of what’s inside their heart,” the girl replied innocently. “And the closer I am, the clearer it gets!”

That’s terrifying!

Syldra’s blood ran cold.

If she’d dwelled even a second longer on her past life, on being Ludwig, on the truth that she was not truly a girl—

If Berumonde had glimpsed even a fragment of that—

…… Holy Father above, my second chance might’ve ended before it even began.

Taking a deep breath, Syldra spoke gently. “Berumonde, did your father ever tell you it’s wrong to peek into others’ secrets?”

“Mm… Father always says I shouldn’t secretly look into people’s hearts…”

Thank the heavens, Duke Stante. Your parenting is flawless—she hasn’t been taught to exploit this!

Syldra silently praised him.

“But I know why,” Berumonde added, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Father doesn’t want me to find where he hides his pocket money, or when he plans to stay out late… He thinks I’ll tell Mother.”

—DUKE STANTE!!

Syldra screamed internally.

…… After more casual talk, Syldra confirmed Berumonde was simply a gifted but naive child—an innocent “curiosity-seeker” who had awakened a rare ability, yet possessed no real political awareness or inclination toward scheming.

Relieved, Syldra deflected with a vague answer: “I’m just very interested in Camille, so I wanted to meet someone from there.”

Crisis averted.

Still, the fact that Duke Stante brought his daughter to such events suggested he did intend to use her talent as a political tool.

Not uncommon among nobles. Nothing wrong, per se.

Syldra pursed her lips.

After chatting a while longer, she excused herself.

Occasionally, loud debates erupted from the adults’ table, but Syldra made no effort to eavesdrop.

Anything discussed in a room with children couldn’t be truly sensitive. Listening in would only draw suspicion—counterproductive.

Instead, she sipped her tea calmly, waiting for dinner.

As twilight fell and night rose, the banquet began.

Syldra savored a high-class feast for the first time in years—eating with such gusto that Rosetta, seated beside her, stared in disbelief.

During a tea break, Syldra shot Rosetta a glare, as if saying: What are you staring at?

…… Hmph. You lot eat like this dozens of times a year. I haven’t had a proper noble meal in fifteen years. I’m not grabbing plates, spinning platters, spitting, or stirring everyone’s soup—I’m just eating what’s in front of me. Who cares how much I eat? I’ll eat as much as I want!

When guests raised toasts, Syldra calmly lifted her teacup, took a sip, then resumed devouring her food.

…… Holy Father above, after a lifetime of suffering, granted a second chance—surely enjoying a few good meals isn’t a sin.

Convinced, Syldra dined with full satisfaction.

After the initial provocation by Wylding, no one else tested her.

His move had served its purpose—everyone now saw that Lentiya’s young heiress wasn’t some clueless child.

…… If you tried to bully her, not only would you look like a monster preying on a girl, but if she reported you to the Duke of Lentiya later—

No intelligent noble would risk that.

After dinner, the adults remained at the table, while the younger generation quietly dispersed.

Seeing only middle-aged and elderly men left, Syldra—full and content—left early. She lingered briefly in the inner chamber, but no one approached her. It was time to return.

She bid farewell to Lakazet, who waved along with the other young nobles. Berumonde gave a small wave too.

Exiting the banquet hall, moonlight poured through the guesthouse’s central atrium, casting silver across the tenth floor. A cool breeze swept past, making Syldra shiver in her thin gown.

“Miss.” Rosetta’s soft voice came from behind.

She stepped forward, taking Syldra’s hands in hers. Warmth bloomed in Syldra’s palms.

—Using “Scorch” to warm me.

Syldra watched the brown-haired girl, eyes closed in concentration, silently channeling heat into her hands. A warmth spread through her chest.

…… Comforted, Syldra relaxed, glancing around idly—then naturally looked up.

On an upper floor, outside the corridor beside the atrium, stood a man.

Black hair. Crimson eyes. Gazing into the distant night sky.

Syldra’s breath caught.

That familiar profile—seen twice already in these two days.

Samael. Alone, standing in the cold night air.