As they reached the mansion gates, they spotted Cynthia waiting near the entrance.
"Ah, you’re back," Cynthia said with a warm smile.
"Were you waiting for us?" Nolan asked, tilting his head.
"Not exactly," Cynthia replied. "I was just about to go inside when I saw you coming, so I thought—why not wait and head in together?"
Nolan raised a brow. "Wait... you an you didn’t go ho straight after us?"
"That’s right," Cynthia nodded.
Nolan’s expression hardened. "Then that ans... Lyra’s the only one at ho. Please, let’s hurry inside!"
He bolted forward, Cynthia following quickly behind, with Linda and Celia exchanging confused glances before rushing in as well.
"What’s going on?" Linda asked breathlessly.
"I don’t know," Celia muttered, but her unease grew as they entered the dining area.
There, on the long wooden table, sat a massive cooking pot. Nolan strode over, lifted the lid—only to find it scraped clean. Not a single drop remained.
"It’s... already finished," Nolan said flatly.
All eyes turned toward the sofa. Lyra was curled up there, smiling faintly in her sleep, one hand resting on her stomach.
"No way," Cynthia whispered. "Did she really... finish everything?"
She marched over, grabbed Lyra gently but firmly by the hair, and gave it a squeeze.
"Ouch!" Lyra yelped, half-awake.
"Don’t ’ouch’ ! Did you eat the whole pot?!" Cynthia scolded. "So this was why you wanted to stay back, huh?!"
Lyra rubbed her head sheepishly. "M-Maybe... but can you bla ? I just couldn’t resist your cooking..."
Nolan sighed, Celia and Linda both stifled their laughter, and Cynthia stood there fuming while Lyra tried to look innocent.
"Wait—she’s just trying to convince you to spare her. Don’t," Nolan said firmly.
"Stand up, stand up," Cynthia ordered, still holding Lyra by the hair.
"O-okay, okay, I’ll stand!" Lyra grumbled, straightening up. "But hey—are you not going to let go of my hair already? I told you, I just couldn’t resist your cooking! Isn’t that a complint? A pleasure for you? Because you don’t even know who I truly am!"
"I don’t care who you are or what you are," Cynthia shot back, releasing her with a huff. "Your punishnt for this is simple: when I’m done cooking tonight... you won’t get a single bite of dinner."
Lyra froze. "Anything but that. Anything but that!" she pleaded, clutching her stomach dramatically.
"Yes," Nolan said, smirking. "That’s the perfect punishnt for soone who keeps stealing food."
"Hey! Celia! Linda! Won’t you at least speak for ?" Lyra turned to them in desperation.
Celia and Linda both turned their faces away at the sa ti, refusing to answer.
Lyra gasped. "Not you two as well?! You’re forsaking ... just like Master did..." she groaned, falling to her knees in mock despair.
Nolan chuckled and stretched his arms. "Well, that’s enough drama for today. Tomorrow the tournant begins, and I need so rest. I’ll head to my room."
"Don’t worry," Cynthia said softly as Nolan started upstairs. "When I’m finished cooking, I’ll bring your food straight to your room."
"Thanks, Cynthia," Nolan said with a tired smile before disappearing upstairs. "See you soon."
The mont the door shut, Lyra pouted at Cynthia. "You see?! You give him food, but not ? Truly, my life is suffering!"
"Master already left..." Lyra muttered, her voice dripping with betrayal. She turned to Linda and Celia. "And you two... I thought you were my friends. But it looks like I can’t trust any human at all. Not one. How the hell did my life turn this way?"
Celia and Linda ignored her theatrics, quietly heading up the stairs toward their rooms.
"Hey! Not you two as well—don’t leave here!" Lyra cried after them.
Cynthia folded her arms, glaring down at Lyra. "Enough of your whining. Look around you. The table’s a ss, the plates are scattered, and the pot is filthy. You ate it, so you clean it. Wash everything until it shines. Understood?"
Lyra pouted, shoulders slumping. "Yes..." she mumbled, grabbing the pot and dragging it toward the wash basin.
Upstairs, Nolan reached his room and shut the door behind him. He dropped onto his bed, pulling a pillow over his face.
"Today was exhausting..." he whispered into the fabric. He pressed the pillow tighter, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh. "Tomorrow... how is tomorrow going to be?"
His mind replayed the encounter in the arena. That guy... Kyrion. I don’t know who he is, or where he ca from. But the feeling I got... if Linda or Celia face him, it’ll be bad. Really bad. I can’t let that happen.
Nolan tossed the pillow aside and sat up abruptly. His gaze landed on the sword propped against the wall. Slowly, he reached for it, the polished steel catching the dim glow of the lantern.
"This sword... it’ll have to do for tomorrow." He ran a hand along the blade, his reflection staring back at him from its surface. "I’ll try not to kill anyone. But these rules..." His grip tightened. "The rules don’t make sense. It’s like they’re saying killing is both forbidden and allowed."
He exhaled through clenched teeth, determination sharpening his eyes.
"But whatever. Anyone who steps into that arena tomorrow... they’d better be prepared for the worst possible outco."
The sword glead in his hands as Nolan sat there in silence, readying himself for the trials to co.
Nolan rested the sword across his lap, his reflection flickering faintly along its edge. His voice dropped into a low murmur, almost like a vow whispered to himself.
"When I step into that arena tomorrow... I’ll be prepared for the worst. No matter what happens, I won’t lose."
His grip tightened, his eyes burning with quiet fire.
"There’s too much at stake. One hundred million gold coins... that’s enough to change everything." He leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling as thoughts tumbled through his mind. "And this won’t be over in just a day or two. With so many participants, the tournant might drag on for a week, maybe longer.
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