Almost imdiately, Maxwell completely erased Franklin’s existence from his mind.
He gazed at Rita.
The young lady was still staring at him with that sa calm and studious expression.
It made Maxwell nervous.
"What is it?"
"..."
Rita was quiet for a second.
And then she smiled.
"You don’t expect to believe that you coincidentally t the man you’re in.. rivalry with while on a stroll through the balcony, right, Mr. Stalker?"
Maxwell blinked. But then, he took a step closer to her. And he chuckled.
’Right. I’m a stalker now.’
"No. I don’t expect you to believe so, Lady Margarita."
He outstretched a hand toward the lady.
Rita studied his hand. Then gazed at his eyes for more than a second.
She smiled and took his hand, and Maxwell pulled her up.
As he did so, Maxwell felt the heat emanating from inside the Ballroom. And then he gazed in that direction.
The room was filled with hungry and angry animals who’d obviously witnessed his violent lashing of Franklin.
And then he gazed at Franklin. The man still lay on the debris of ice, gazing upward while breathing softly.
He was probably battling with an existential crisis.
Maxwell sighed.
Frilo, who uncurled itself from Maxwell’s wrist, transford into its pixie form, and also sighed.
How disappointing.
The spirit was expecting the ruination of the entire High Ball. But it seed that along with his divinity, Maxwell had also lost the ruthlessness of a god with his regression.
But the spirit shrugged.
Maybe it was better this way?
It didn’t know. Neither did it care. But it did prefer things this way, though.
Frilo, invisible to everyone except Maxwell, rushed toward Rita, circling her head.
anwhile, Maxwell breathed in. And out.
This wasn’t a place to be.
Just before he could say anything, Rita spoke:
"I think we need to talk, Maxwell," she said. "And you can leave my hand now."
Just then, Maxwell realized that he’d been unconsciously holding the woman’s hand ever since he helped her up.
He chuckled nervously, letting go of her hand.
"Apologies," he said in a low voice.
Rita smiled.
"Now–"
"How about we go for a walk?" Maxwell openly suggested. "I think anywhere apart from this ss of a place would be more suitable to have a conversation, don’t you think?"
Rita gazed at Franklin, and then at the room filled with foxes and vixens.
Yeah, she didn’t give that much of a thought. It was a no-brainer.
"It appears you’re right," she said. "And I do need fresh air after... whatever it is that just happened."
Maxwell chuckled.
"Let’s go, then."
***
The Young Silvester Lady had walked with Maxwell to the place where he’d first seen her the day before.
That garden.
The refreshing scent of flowers and pollen filled Max’s nostrils. It cald his heart, making him jolly.
The world was ablaze with the afternoon sun, which showered on the fields, making for a quite beautiful sight as the man stood side by side with the woman.
Gently, Rita made her way toward a wooden stool by the corner.
Maxwell remained standing, gazing at her.
She hadn’t spoken a single word on their way here.
He wondered why.
Once she sat on the stool, Lady Margarita, dressed in a quite fancy black gown that accentuated her curves, crossed her legs. And her silver eyes bore into Maxwell.
Her gaze was intense.
"So," she said, "who exactly are you, Stalker?"
Maxwell breathed out.
At least she’d started with a question. It ant she was curious about him. Not frightened or repulsed. Her previous silence almost killed him.
"I first assud you were a noble. Maybe a remarkable mage who’d rited the title of Baron," she began. "But a Young Baron without much under his belt doesn’t get invited to a Grand Ball. A young Baron certainly doesn’t antagonize the heir of one of the four major Duchies of Jalozi. Franklin even looked at you with such... it was like you’ve known each other for a long ti. And... I’m pretty sure the word ’remarkable’ doesn’t do an 8th-circle mage justice.
"So, who are you, Maxwell? How can there be an 8th-circle as young as you that isn’t the talk of the entire continent? And, are you really an 8th-circle? I’m not much of an experienced mage, but your mana felt deeper than that. It felt..."
Maxwell eased himself, smiling. And then, without further ado, he walked toward Rita. Close to her. In front of her.
And he sat down on the grass.
"You didn’t look surprised to see . Were you expecting ?"
Rita blinked.
"You promised you’d co. I didn’t take you as the type to break a promise."
Maxwell’s heartbeat skipped as he stared into her silver eyes.
"Right. I’m not. But–"
"Why do you look at that way?"
Maxwell paused.
"Huh? What way?"
A flush of pink crept up Rita’s cheeks.
"Like... like, I don’t know. So intensely."
"Does it bother you?" Maxwell asked, worried. "If it does, I can stop. I can even look away if it’ll make you feel–"
"No. It doesn’t bother . It just feels.. unfamiliar, that’s all."
Maxwell breathed out, smiling.
"I’m relieved."
Rita grinned.
"Say, did you arrive at the ball with a date, Mr. Stalker?"
Maxwell raised a brow.
"No. No I didn’t. But I did escort a Young Lady."
Rita’s grin slowly faded. And she let out a soft exhale.
"Oh."
"Not a romantic escort, if that’s what you’re wondering. More like a..." Maxwell chuckled. "You know what? To explain this, I’m going to need to answer all the questions you asked about ."
Finally, a light of curiosity and expectation glead in Rita’s eyes.
"Great! Now, go on."
"But in return... you’ll have to tell about yourself." Maxwell gazed at Rita. "Deal?"
She hesitated for a while. But then she nodded.
"Deal."
Maxwell sighed, leaning back on the greenery of the fields. And then he stared upward at the bright blue sky.
"How do I begin this?" He asked himself. "Right. From the very start."
"I was born as a son of Belognia..."
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