After possessing Demian's body, I devoted myself to studying and training with a single, desperate goal—to survive.
Not to thrive.
Not to shine.
Just to survive.
Every morning began before sunrise.
Sword drills until my palms blistered.
Political theory until my head throbbed.
History, economics, territorial managent—anything that would keep from being labeled incompetent and discarded.
I even endured etiquette lessons.
Posture.
Speech tempo.
How long to maintain eye contact.
Which fork to use and when.
I morized it all like it was battle strategy.
But dancing?
Dancing was one of those useless additions to a noble's education that I quietly ignored.
Why?
Because dancing wasn't essential.
No monster had ever been defeated with a waltz. No political trap had been escaped with a graceful spin. When I reorganized my "survival curriculum," dancing was the first thing I cut without hesitation.
If I ever had to attend a party, I had a perfect plan: sit in a corner, preferably sowhere dim. Nod occasionally. Hold a glass. Leave early.
Simple. Efficient. Safe.
That was the plan.
But this ti… things were different.
In two days, there would be banquet.
Which ant I couldn't hide behind a pillar like so background extra in a novel.
And in romance fantasies—if this world really was one—the host always danced.
Especially with the heroine.
Elena.
For five years, I'd questioned whether this world truly followed the logic of a romance fantasy. There were no obvious narrative cues, no background music swelling at emotional monts, no convenient coincidences.
But still… sothing about it felt structured.
And if there was one thing I was certain of, it was this:
At that party, I would dance with Elena.
And if I tripped over my own feet while doing so, the humiliation would echo through every vassal family aligned with Count Edelweiss.
An engaged man who cannot dance beside his fiancée.
What does that look like?
Weak.
Unrefined.
Unworthy.
Would a beautiful woman like Elena continue to look at a man who stood frozen while others guided her gracefully across the floor?
It would be entertaining to watch them approach her and be rejected.
I could almost picture it.
A polite smile. A gentle refusal. One by one, they retreating with stiff expressions.
Yes, that would be amusing.
But…
---
I didn't want to rely solely on her.
But just knowing she was here—just knowing I could, if I truly needed to—was enough to ease the tight knot in my chest.
It was strange. I hated the idea of depending on anyone. Yet the thought of facing the future alone was even worse.
"If it's Ken, he must have plenty of experience…"
The words slipped out under my breath as I paced across the room.
Right now, there were only two people in this castle who could truly help : Elena and Ken.
Elena was the obvious choice. She was sharp, composed, and frighteningly capable. If I asked her, she would help without hesitation. I knew that. And maybe that was exactly why I couldn't bring myself to do it.
My pride wouldn't allow it.
Every ti I imagined walking up to her and admitting I didn't know what to do, sothing inside resisted. I wanted to prove—to her, to everyone, and maybe even to myself—that I wasn't helpless.
So for now, asking Elena was… postponed.
That left Ken.
In many ways, he was the safer option. Ken had served Kraus as a butler for decades.
When he told stories about the past, he spoke of banquets, diplomatic gatherings, noble disputes, and political maneuvering as if they were simple dinner conversations. He had accompanied my father countless tis in his youth.
If anyone understood the subtle gas played behind polite smiles, it was him.
"If Ken has that much experience," I muttered, rubbing my chin, "then he must know sothing useful. At the very least, he can tell what not to do."
That alone would be a blessing.
I glanced around the unfamiliar room and frowned.
"Yes, I should talk to him… Where is the bell…?"
In Kraus's castle, there was always a small silver bell on the bedside table. One ring, and Ken would appear as if he had been waiting just outside the door the entire ti.
Here, though, there was nothing.
No bell. No familiar arrangent. Not even the scent of polished wood I had grown used to.
Right.
This wasn't Kraus's castle.
I let out a slow breath. I had almost forgotten.
I walked toward the door, intending to search for him myself. Before my hand could reach the handle, however—
Knock. Knock.
The sound was firm but polite.
I froze.
"...Co in."
The words left my mouth before I could take them back.
The door creaked open slowly, almost cautiously, and a figure stepped inside. The soft click of it closing behind her echoed louder than it should have in my quiet room.
Elena.
Of course it was her.
Out of everyone in this castle, she was the one person who could solve my problem instantly. And at the sa ti, she was the one person I least wanted to face right now.
After yesterday's conversation, it wasn't hard to guess why she had co. She had always been perceptive. Too perceptive.
"I'm sorry, Elena," I said quickly, before she could speak. "Could you guide to the Winter Castle later? I have sothing I need to take care of with Ken right now."
It was a weak excuse. We both knew it.
I tried to step past her.
She didn't move.
Instead, she shifted slightly and blocked the doorway, folding her hands behind her back. A smile curved on her lips—soft, confident, and… mischievous. It wasn't the gentle, composed smile she usually wore in public. This one felt deliberate.
Personal.
"Do you look troubled, Damian?"
Her voice was calm, almost light.
I froze.
I hadn't expected her to go straight to the point.
I took an involuntary step back. It wasn't shocking that she could read my emotions—she always could—but this felt different. It felt like she wasn't guessing.
It felt like she already knew.
She tilted her head slightly, studying .
The smile she gave was eerily similar to the one Joachim had worn earlier before he left—amused, knowing, as if I were a child struggling with sothing obvious.
"May I help you?" she asked gently.
The question was simple.
Too simple.
Before I could stop myself, I nodded.
"Yes."
The word slipped out on instinct. No pride. No hesitation.
Only relief.
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