Morning light filtered softly into the study room of the Valecrest Manor, illuminating the vast space with a refined glow that reflected off the polished white and navy-blue interiors, where tall glass panels framed the outside view and elegant furnishings stood arranged with precise symmetry, each element reinforcing the quiet authority that defined the place.

The air itself felt composed, almost restrained, as though even sound knew better than to linger unnecessarily within those walls.

Standing near the window, a middle-aged man with sharp features and white hair—so strikingly similar to Damon’s that the resemblance could not be mistaken—gazed out over his territory, his posture straight and unyielding as his golden eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon.

There was no visible emotion on his face, yet the weight of his presence alone carried an unmistakable sense of dominance, as though the land beyond the glass belonged to him not just by title, but by right.

After a brief silence, he spoke.

"He must have rested enough. Call him to meet me."

Behind him, the head butler stood with his usual composure, his hands folded neatly before him, though at those words, a subtle tension flickered across his otherwise controlled expression. He bowed slightly, yet when he spoke, his voice carried an uncharacteristic hesitation.

"M-master... t-that... y-young master, he is..."

The man turned slowly.

His golden eyes shifted from the window to the butler, and in that single motion, the entire atmosphere of the room seemed to tighten, as though the space itself had been pulled taut under the weight of his gaze.

"Where is he?" he asked.

The question was simple.

The tone was not.

The head butler straightened instinctively, the pressure of that gaze forcing clarity into his voice despite the hesitation that lingered beneath it.

"Y-young master... it seems he has gone to meet his two siblings..."

***

Whirrr-zzzt-pop!

A sharp cracking sound echoed through the courtyard as the small toy golem struck the ground and split apart, its delicate frame breaking under the force with a hollow snap that lingered in the air.

The shattered pieces scattered across the polished ground, coming to rest between Damon and the two figures standing before him.

A young boy, no more than five or six years old, stood in front of him with his posture rigid, his small frame trembling despite the effort he made to appear steady. His dark hair framed a face that carried a striking resemblance to Damon, but it was his golden eyes—fierce yet undeniably afraid—that held the most weight, as though they were trying to mask uncertainty with defiance.

In his hands, he gripped a wooden sword, raising it with both determination and hesitation, the blade angled toward Damon as if he truly intended to stand his ground.

Behind him stood a young girl of similar age, her white hair falling softly around her shoulders, the resemblance to Damon even more apparent in her features. Yet her eyes, though open, remained unfocused, their gaze drifting slightly as though searching rather than seeing, her posture quiet and still as she remained just behind the boy, relying on his presence without fully understanding the situation before her.

The boy spoke, his voice wavering despite his attempt to sound firm.

"W-what do you want?"

He swallowed, tightening his grip on the wooden sword as he forced himself to continue.

"D-do you think you can fool me by giving me some toy...?" he said, his tone rising slightly as he tried to gather courage. "I-I am telling you... I am learning swordsmanship from father... I-I won’t let you bully us again!"

Damon did not respond.

He stood there quietly, one hand resting behind his back, holding the small puzzle toy he had brought with him, his expression unreadable as his gaze shifted—not toward the boy who confronted him, but toward the girl standing just behind him.

Her unfocused eyes moved slightly.

And in that moment, something aligned in Damon’s mind with quiet clarity.

The realization settled without emotion ,without reaction.

Damon simply turned without a word.

The puzzle piece vanished into his manacron as he began walking away, his steps calm and unhurried as he left the corridor behind, the broken remains of the toy golem still scattered across the floor.

His thoughts remained steady as he moved.

...So that’s how it is.

...She is blind.

As he continued through the halls, he soon crossed paths with the head butler, who had been approaching from the opposite direction, his gaze lifting as it settled on Damon.

For a brief moment, Damon’s expression shifted back into its usual composure, the faint trace of earlier observation disappearing entirely.

"Master is asking for you," the butler said, his tone formal and measured.

This time—Damon did not refuse.

He fell into step behind him, his pace even as they moved through the corridors of the manor, the silence between them unbroken until they arrived before the grand doors of the study.

The butler stepped aside as Damon reached forward and pushed the door open.

He entered alone.

Inside, Duke Valecrest stood waiting, his golden eyes already fixed upon him.

The moment Damon stepped fully into the study, something in his posture shifted almost imperceptibly, yet the change was unmistakable as his entire presence sharpened, his stance straightening with a quiet firmness that matched the weight of the man before him.

Across the room, Duke Valecrest stood unmoving, his golden eyes fixed upon Damon with a gaze that neither softened nor wavered, and for a brief moment, the space between them seemed to tighten as though drawn into a silent contest of will.

Two identical shades of gold met.

Neither yielding.

Neither retreating.

The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, until the Duke finally broke it, his voice calm but carrying an authority that filled the room without effort.

"Why are you back?"

Damon did not look away as he replied, his tone measured, his expression controlled.

"You must already know the reason."

The Duke’s gaze did not shift.

"You had the choice to remain at the academy."

A faint chuckle escaped Damon, though there was no warmth in it, only a thin layer of sarcasm that barely concealed itself beneath his words.

"I thought you might be worried that your son could cause trouble again in the academy... especially in the absence of teachers."

The words hung in the air, deliberate, pointed, yet Duke Valecrest did not react outwardly, his expression remaining unchanged as he simply observed Damon for a moment longer before turning away and taking his seat behind the desk, the movement slow, controlled, as though he had already decided how much of that remark deserved acknowledgment.

Once seated, his gaze returned.

"How are things progressing with Lady Mira?" he asked.

Damon’s reply came without hesitation, yet every word was chosen carefully.

"You won’t be disappointed."

There was no elaboration, no unnecessary detail, only a statement that balanced assurance without overstepping and carrying hidden meaning, and the Duke accepted it as such, his attention shifting seamlessly.

"I heard you had some interaction with Count Halewind."

Damon paused.

Not outwardly.

But internally, the acknowledgment landed with quiet certainty.

Of course he knows.

His expression remained unchanged as he answered.

"It is unrelated to you or the duchy," he said calmly, his tone respectful but firm. "I did not wish to trouble you with it."

This time—

The Duke paused.

His gaze lingered on Damon again, sharper than before, as though reassessing something that did not quite align with his expectations.

Then his voice came again, slightly more pronounced than before.

"Why did you not wait for the authorities to retrieve you from the breach?" he asked. "Why did you move on your own?"

Damon’s brows drew together faintly, the question stirring a flicker of contradiction in his thoughts.

...Wasn’t he the one who said that if I couldn’t survive a Level 2 breach, I should die?

And now he questions why I acted?

The inconsistency did not reach his expression.

Instead, his reply came dry, almost indifferent.

"I did not have anything else to do."

Silence followed.

Neither of them spoke.

The air between them settled once more into that same quiet tension, not hostile, not warm, but something far more distant, as though both understood the boundaries of what would and would not be said.

After a moment, Damon was the one to break it.

"You must be occupied with the situation in Velmora District," he said evenly, his tone returning to something neutral, "I will take my leave."

He turned without waiting for a response.

One step.

Two—

"Do not trouble your siblings."

The Duke’s voice reached him before he could leave, the words firm, carrying an unspoken weight that lingered longer than the sentence itself.

Damon paused only for a moment.

Then, without turning back, he opened the door and stepped out of the room, leaving the study.

The door closed behind Damon with a soft, controlled click, the sound settling into the corridor as he stepped forward without haste, his expression already returned to its usual calm, as though the exchange inside had been neatly folded away and set aside.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there, the quiet of the hallway stretching around him, before his gaze shifted toward the head butler, who remained stationed just outside, his posture as composed as ever.

Damon regarded him for a second, then spoke in a tone that was neither commanding nor casual, yet carried an expectation that left little room for refusal.

"Take a walk with me."