Thin, nearly transparent leaves were stuck to the window, allowing the morning sunlight to filter through gently and warmly into the room.
A refreshing scent of wood lingered in the air.
A cool breeze drifted in from the courtyard, brushing softly against his body. A shiver ran through him, prompting his eyes to open instinctively.
It wasn’t the modern European-style furniture in the room that caught his attention.
It was the mirror not far away, reflecting an exceptionally handso face. The pair of cool green eyes in the reflection carried a trace of drowsy confusion—like soone trying to keep their distance from the world yet still appearing harmless.
He raised his hand and touched his face.
The black-haired, green-eyed young man in the mirror mimicked his actions perfectly.
“Where… is this?”
Lance muttered to himself.
It seed like… he had transmigrated.
The face in the mirror was all too familiar to him. It belonged to a character from Thorned Lionheart, the new ga his company had developed.
As the ga’s lead artist, he had originally been in the office with his colleagues, paying respects to the ga planner’s mother (taphorically, of course). The next thing he knew, his vision went black, as if his brain had disconnected—and when he ca to, this was what he saw.
At the sa ti, an overwhelming flood of information surged into his mind. He struggled to make sense of his situation.
Then, his brows furrowed deeper and deeper.
Because he hadn’t transmigrated into so promising protagonist or a notorious villain.
Instead, he had beco a side character—a disposable one at that—from a spin-off story titled The Rise of Talia.
The boy nad “Lance” was nothing more than a pretty face with a wealthy family and not much intelligence to speak of. That was it.
Since Lance had been in charge of drawing the main heroine, “Talia,” all the characters related to her storyline had also been assigned to him—including this Lance.
And now, against all odds, he was Lance.
…Well.
At least he had done his job professionally and made Lance look very attractive.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Wait, how did this rich young master et his demise again…?”
Although he worked in the art departnt, he had played the ga before and had access to so of the character design docunts.
Soon, he rembered.
There was soone out there who had their sights set on “Young Master Lance’s” life.
That person was none other than the protagonist of the spin-off—and the ga’s planned future final boss—the last princess of the Demon Clan, Talia.
At this point in the tiline, Talia had yet to rise to power. She was rely a destitute fugitive, but her strength was already formidable.
To survive in the human kingdom, she constantly hid her true identity.
Unless she was cornered, she kept her violent and ruthless nature suppressed.
But in the spin-off story…
Lance was the first human who pushed Talia past her breaking point after she began her exile.
The catalyst?
Lance had mistaken Talia’s dark ssenger pigeon—her scout familiar—for a wild bird and shot it down.
Two days later, when Talia ca looking for him, the clueless young noble didn’t realize how serious the situation was. Not only did he refuse to apologize, but he also mocked her rcilessly, treating her like a filthy beggar.
He even went so far as to say he’d hunt down her other familiars and host an amazing barbecue party in her honor!
In the end…
The reckless Lance got what he asked for—a swift and brutal demise. Talia looted his corpse, spilling an absurd amount of in-ga currency, and took possession of his family’s treasured ancient artifact, The Lanting Verses.
That stolen wealth beca a crucial source of funding for Talia’s mission to restore the Demon Clan.
In a way, Lance was truly Talia’s biggest benefactor.
“I don’t want to be Talia’s number one sugar daddy—!”
Sitting on his bed, Lance clutched his head like he had just woken from a nightmare.
Calm down.
Think positively.
It wasn’t that bad.
Since he knew about the conflict between Lance and Talia, all he had to do was avoid it!
He just needed to steer clear of trouble, let the demon princess leave his territory peacefully, and everything would be fine.
At this mont, in this brand-new world…
Lance felt a rare sense of motivation and drive!
This had to be the reward for his past life’s good deeds!
From now on, his future as a rich young master would be smooth sailing!
Financial freedom! No more overti! Wealth and power—what a dream co true!
Just then—
A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Young Master, are you awake? You told to wake you early yesterday…”
Hearing movent inside the room, a weak female voice ca from outside.
“I’m up.”
Lance responded as he got out of bed—only to nearly trip over a pile of empty liquor bottles at the foot of the bed.
He paused.
Right.
Ever since his predecessor turned sixteen last month—the official age of adulthood—he had developed a nasty drinking habit.
As a result, the past month’s mories felt a bit hazy and disjointed.
Apparently, the forr Lance often got drunk and did all sorts of idiotic things.
Now that he thought about it, his original death scene… was it also because he was drunk?
Seriously, alcohol ruins lives.
Sighing, Lance got dressed and stepped out of his bedroom.
The mont he did, he noticed the maid standing just outside, trembling slightly.
She seed to be fulfilling her duty reluctantly, afraid that the young master might lash out in anger at being disturbed.
“Good morning.”
Lance greeted her in a calm tone.
“Eh?”
The maid looked up in shock, instinctively letting out a small sound.
She seed to be assessing his mood.
Then, realizing her lapse in composure, she quickly straightened up and said,
“The Master is already waiting for you in the dining hall.”
Lance nodded.
He knew that both of his parents were still alive—he wasn’t an orphan.
However, they were often too busy managing their rchant guild to pay him much attention.
In fact, his father being ho these past few days was already considered a rare occasion.
Lance walked along the hallway of the mansion, lost in thought.
Every servant he passed reacted the sa way—flinching, bowing deeply, and then scurrying away as if fleeing for their lives.
It seed that his predecessor had caused quite a bit of trouble for those around him.
Lance sighed internally.
Though he didn’t have many mories of his drunken escapades, it was clear that his predecessor had a habit of getting aggressive when intoxicated—throwing things, breaking stuff… No wonder the servants were terrified of him.
…
Before long, Lance arrived at the dining hall.
At the far end of the long table sat a middle-aged man—his father.
“You’re late again.”
There was no reprimand in his tone, just a simple statent of fact.
“Sorry. I won’t be drinking anymore.”
There was no need for self-destruction anymore.
Lance was quite satisfied with his life as a rich young master.
His one and only goal—
To live a peaceful, comfortable, and stress-free life.
“Sit.”
It was obvious that everyone in the hall was surprised by Lance’s attitude.
Even his father hesitated for a mont before nodding in response.
“…Alright.”
Lance took his seat, eyeing the extravagant spread of food before him—honestly, way too much for what he considered a normal breakfast.
For so reason…
Sothing felt off.
Then, as if drawn by instinct, his gaze landed on a particular dish at the center of the table.
A roasted pigeon—perfectly golden and crispy—was laid out on a plate, evenly coated with fragrant seasoning. Even after being cut, its shape remained impressively intact.
“…This is…”
Lance’s expression turned strange as he slowly raised a finger, pointing at the pigeon.
The more he looked at it, the more an unsettling sense of déjà vu crept over him.
His father didn’t answer imdiately, while the attendants in the distance exchanged puzzled glances.
Today, Lance was acting very strange—most notably, he was too calm.
“That’s the pigeon you hunted yesterday. The servants prepared it for breakfast, just as you instructed.”
His father finally spoke, glancing up at him.
“You were too drunk last night. Don’t tell you’ve already forgotten?”
Lance: “¿”
Yesterday?
The pigeon I hunted?
A chilling sense of dread shot through him.
Trying to maintain his composure, Lance quickly reached for an unfamiliar dish, pretending to focus on sothing else.
Even though the roasted pigeon was now just an unrecognizable al on the plate…
A closer look at its shape and features—
And Lance was absolutely certain.
This was Talia’s pigeon.
After all, he had been the one to design her familiars.
“…Are you alright?”
His father easily picked up on his unusual behavior.
“I’m fine. Just the aftereffects of drinking. Alcohol is awful, truly.”
Lance gave a small smile as he t his father’s gaze, then resud eating.
But internally, his thoughts were in chaos.
Predecessor, you were a true nace…
Not only did you kill her familiar, but you also had it cooked like this…
And then you planned to mock her about it?
If she didn’t kill you, she’d be a disgrace to the Demon Clan!
Lance couldn't help but wonder—was there any way to salvage this situation?
…Nope.
There was only one logical course of action now.
Destroy the evidence.
And recover from this damn hangover.
So, at last, he reached out, picked up a pigeon leg, and took a bite.
The crispy, oil-infused at crunched in his mouth, spreading rich, salty flavors across his tongue.
Satisfaction.
He’d feed the bones to the dogs later.
…
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