It was five days ago that she left the Prime Minister's residence. Anelia sat by the window of Vega Hall, gazing blankly at the glimmering surface of the Milena River, remembering the Prime Minister's face from that day. Günther Heideman. A seasoned politician who had served as the kingdom's Prime Minister for fifteen years. Fifty-eight years old. In the Hall of Judgment, he had covered his face with both hands, his shoulders trembling, crying out that "I am the most at fault"—that was the man. Had those tears been real? Anelia still didn't know. The reception room at the Prime Minister's residence had been elegant. Polished wooden tables, chairs with intricate carvings, gentle afternoon light streaming through the windows. Günther had smiled throughout. "I became overly emotional in the Hall of Judgment, and I sincerely apologize." His voice was calm, his words polite, with no openings anywhere. He offered support for her future academy life and told her to speak to the Prime Minister's residence if she needed anything. A perfect apology. Which was exactly why Anelia had kept staring into his eyes the entire time. There was something behind that smile. A calculating glint in his gaze. The eyes of the old man who had wept in the Hall of Judgment and the eyes of the old man who had smiled peacefully in that reception room were completely different. (Those aren't the eyes of someone who was crying. Was that an act? Or is this composure the act?) Anelia still didn't know which was the real Günther. Only one thing was certain—that man was waiting for something. Anelia looked away from the window. Knock, knock. A sound at the door. "[serious]Anelia. You awake?" A voice she'd grown used to hearing. Anelia stood and opened the door. Golden waves in the hallway. Jade eyes, a high bridge of the nose, refined features—it was questionable whether he'd actually slept properly this morning, but his complexion was better than yesterday. The moment the door opened, Arnold's expression suddenly tightened. "[serious]Starting today, I'm your escort." "[surprised]…An escort, you say?" "[serious]The Prime Minister called for you. That man is thinking something. I can't leave you alone." Anelia looked at Arnold's face. He was serious. His eyes left no room for argument. (Stopping him won't work, will it.) "[serious]…I understand." --- The first incident happened in the dining hall at lunch. The dining hall of the Royal Crescent Academy was a spacious room with high stone ceilings and long tables arranged in rows. During the noon hour, it was crowded with students, the sound of dishes and conversation mixing together in a uniquely warm bustle. Today's menu was vegetable soup, black bread, and grilled river fish. The moment Anelia reached for her spoon, Arnold's hand extended from beside her. He gently shifted the soup bowl. Taking a spoonful with his own spoon, he brought it to his mouth. "[serious]…What are you doing?" "[serious]Poison tasting." "[surprised]Poison?" "[serious]There could be unforeseen circumstances. I need to check." "[serious]It's just ordinary vegetable soup. Turnips, carrots, onions. I can see everything." "[serious]You can't judge from the surface." He was completely serious. Utterly sincere. Anelia pulled the soup bowl back toward herself. "[serious]It'll get cold." "[serious]Your life is more important than that." "[serious]I'm not currently sensing any threat to my life." "[serious]That's when it's most dangerous." (How does he make that sound logical?) While Anelia searched for a response, the soup gradually cooled. In the end, Arnold drank first, declared "no problem," and returned the bowl to her. The soup had become lukewarm. (I knew that already.) --- The second incident happened during afternoon hallway movement. The lecture building's hallway was paved with stone, and autumn light streamed through the windows. At this hour, other students were passing through, and while not particularly loud, there was the usual bustle of a normal corridor. As Anelia began walking down the hallway, she saw three students approaching from the other direction. One boy, two girls. Faces she didn't recognize, and they seemed about to bow in greeting when— Arnold stepped forward. His eyes narrowed slightly. His jade gaze sharpened, and he quietly fixed his stare on the three. That gaze alone made their feet stop. "Ah, um…" "We have… business elsewhere…" "We'll go this way instead." All three moved to the right side of the hallway in unison and disappeared down another corridor. Arnold's expression returned to normal. Anelia had watched the entire exchange. "[serious]…Those students just now were just ordinary passersby, weren't they?" "[serious]Yeah." "[serious]I don't think they posed any particular danger." "[serious]There could be unforeseen circumstances." Unforeseen circumstances again. Anelia continued walking forward. Through the hallway window, a clear blue sky was visible. (It's not scary, exactly… it's just exhausting somehow.) But she understood that all of it came from genuine remorse. Twelve years of neglect. That guilt was now manifesting as soup bowls and three passing students. It was funny, yet somehow her chest ached. --- The third incident happened inside the heated lecture building. After the afternoon history lecture ended, students filed out of the classroom. There was a stone fireplace along the wall, and for the first time since autumn, it had been lit—the room was more than warm enough. As Anelia gathered her things, a heavy weight settled on her back. She turned around. It was Arnold's cloak. A dark blue, thick fabric cloak draped over Anelia's shoulders. "[serious]Don't catch a cold." "[serious]…It's warm enough in here right now." "[serious]I'm worried about carelessness." (Just carelessness and unforeseen circumstances. That's all he says.) Anelia adjusted the cloak slightly on her shoulders. The fabric was indeed nice. Warm. But this was an indoor room with a fireplace. "[serious]…If I may ask, won't you be cold without your cloak, Arnold?" Arnold went quiet for a moment. "[serious]I'm fine." He said it with conviction. Standing in the heated room without his cloak, his arms crossed in a way that seemed slightly unnatural. Anelia didn't respond. (It's easier just to accept it.) She left the hallway with the cloak still on her shoulders. The hallway was slightly cooler. The cloak was just right. Anelia silently admitted it—at least one thing he'd said was correct. --- After classes, Anelia spoke to Arnold. "[serious]I'd like to go to the Astraea Library." The Astraea Library—the pride of the Royal Crescent Academy's library wing, with approximately thirty thousand volumes. In a stone building set slightly apart from the academy's main hall, everything from textbooks to ancient documents was housed. "[serious]I want to borrow a book on ancient language grammar." The reason was half true. Recently, she'd vaguely felt that knowledge of ancient languages would be necessary to uncover Anelia's past. "[serious]Let's go." He stood up without hesitation. Anelia didn't stop him. Inside the Astraea Library, it was quiet. Wooden shelves reaching to the high ceiling were arranged in multiple rows, and the evening light slanted through narrow windows. It smelled of old paper. Anelia didn't dislike that smell. Clara Vint, the librarian—a thirty-five-year-old woman wearing glasses, said to be the most knowledgeable about the academy's old records—looked up from the desk. She saw Anelia and gave a small bow. "[gentle]Lady Anelia. What are you looking for?" "[serious]A book on ancient language grammar. And if there are any records related to the Varmoon family…" Clara thought for a moment, then pointed toward the shelves. "[serious]The grammar books are on the middle shelf of the third section. For family records, we have noble historical materials compiled in the reading room in the back." "[serious]Thank you." The two of them walked between the shelves. Arnold kept his voice down, but he stayed close behind Anelia, not forgetting his escort duty. When they reached the grammar book shelf and Anelia was checking the spines one by one, she saw something. It was thin. Leather-bound, discolored brown cover. It was wedged diagonally between two shelves, left unorganized. Anelia reached for it. When she pulled, it slid out smoothly. A thin document. About fifteen pages. The cover had ancient language characters written on it. She couldn't read them. Her knowledge of ancient languages was still nearly zero. Still, she opened it. First page. Ancient language text filled the page. Unreadable. Second page the same. Third page as well— In the center, a diagram was drawn. Anelia's hand stopped. A hexagram. A six-pointed star, drawn in fine lines. Carefully, meticulously drawn in the center of the page. The only non-text element in the document. Anelia returned to the cover. Among the ancient language characters, there were parts she could make out. A sequence of characters close to the sound "Varmoon," and the word "covenant." (Varmoon family… covenant?) She looked at the hexagram in the center once more. Then her gaze fell to her left shoulder. It was hidden by her clothes now. But Anelia knew. Beneath this fabric was a thin star-shaped birthmark. She'd first noticed it after the Hall of Judgment—a mark close in shape to a hexagram—and this diagram. They were the same shape. Exactly the same, down to the smallest detail. "[gentle]Clara. May I examine this document?" "[surprised]Oh… where did you find that?" Clara approached and peered at the cover. "[whispers]…This is. It may have been overlooked during organization. It's an ancient language historical document. Please, examine it in the reading room." "[serious]Thank you." As Anelia moved toward the reading table with the document, Arnold leaned in from beside her. Right next to her, she heard his breath catch. He made no sound. When Anelia turned back, everything had vanished from Arnold's face—the smile, the tears, the confusion—all of it. His jade eyes were fixed on the hexagram, frozen. It was a face she'd never seen before. If there was such a thing as a royal face, this was it. "[serious]…Arnold?" "[serious]…I need to report this to Father." "[serious]Right now?" "[serious]This is… this might be something that shouldn't be shown. But then again—" His words were unusually scattered. A person whose emotions usually overflowed was now overwhelmed by emotion. He couldn't tear his eyes from the hexagram. Anelia was conscious of her left shoulder once more. It felt like it was growing warm. It might have been her imagination. But it didn't feel like imagination. The reason Anelia had been made a villainess in the game was connected to this document. Anelia felt it as certainty. --- After entrusting the document to Clara and requesting access for the following day, the two of them left the Astraea Library. In the hallway, it was already close to dusk. The stone walls were dyed orange, and long shadows stretched down the corridor ahead. Arnold stopped walking. "Anelia." His tone of voice had changed. It was so quiet that no emotion tag could capture it. When Anelia turned around, Arnold's hand was holding hers—without hesitation, without doubt. It was warm. A large hand, gripping somewhat roughly, but there was care within the strength. "[serious]Please, don't investigate alone." Anelia looked at Arnold's face. It wasn't guilt. It wasn't an order. Not the thirty-page apology letter, not the poison tasting, not the moment he'd driven away the three students in the hallway, not any of those. It was quiet, sincere, and somehow frightening. "[serious]I'll be with you too." (It should be coming from guilt, but…) Anelia couldn't look away. (Why doesn't