Two days had passed since her conversation with Estaval. The scene of roses swaying in the courtyard breeze still lingered at the edge of Elicia Valentine's mind. Those calm amber eyes. The warmth in his words: "Sister, if there's anything troubling you." — She couldn't quite process either of them, and even now, she walked the corridors of Celestia Palace without resolution. (I'm overthinking this. I just need to keep my distance, like the game scenario says.) Telling herself as much, Elicia passed through the connecting corridor of the east wing and emerged into the courtyard. The evening sky was beginning to stain itself orange. The air was slightly humid from the rain that had fallen that morning. The stone pavement still gleamed wetly. In the middle of that garden, an old man was groaning. He clutched an enormous ceramic pot—easily over fifty centimeters in diameter, heavy-looking—and swayed unsteadily on his feet. White hair, a bent back. It was Vincenzo, the palace gardener. Well past seventy, the old man tended Celestia Palace's courtyard alone today. No other attendants were in sight. Vincenzo's feet wavered. (This is bad.) Elicia moved almost simultaneously. Her feet carried her forward before thought could catch up. She crossed the stone pavement at a run. — The old me would have looked away here. The thought grazed the edge of her mind as she ran. In the game, the villainess Elicia Valentine had been indifferent to the troubles of those beneath her station. She'd even considered it beneath her dignity to spare a glance for a mere gardener. But now— "Vincenzo, let go. I'll carry it." The old man's face snapped up. His eyes widened in surprise. "Y-Your Highness...? I couldn't possibly let you soil your hands—" "It won't get dirty. It's fine." Elicia slipped both arms beneath the pot. It was heavy. Heavier than she'd expected. The soil packed inside pressed painfully against her arms through the ceramic. Still, she steadied the old man's trembling frame and dragged the pot to the edge of the stone steps. It landed with a thud. Elicia tried to steady her breathing—and her foot slipped. The rain-dampened stone. Her leather heel couldn't grip the wet surface. Her body tilted backward. The worst possible timing, with her center of gravity already thrown off by setting down the pot. (I'm falling—) A hand reached from behind. It caught her wrist firmly. Elicia's body stopped. Her momentum reversed in an instant, pulled back with a strong but painless grip. The force was precise, expertly applied. She turned slowly. The sunset was backlighting him. Silver hair gleamed in the orange light. Blue eyes—eyes that should have been sharp as ice—looked straight at her now with perfect stillness. It was Lucian Castelnoix. The black formal coat of the crown prince. The small royal crest on his right ear caught the fading light. His 185-centimeter frame stood mere centimeters from hers. The distance between their faces was—close. Elicia met Lucian's gaze. Deep blue. Eyes that normally held nothing but the color of ice now quietly reflected her image. Lucian didn't move either. She tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. Elicia's mouth hung open as she held her breath. Lucian's gaze never left her eyes. The sunset enveloped them both. Wind carried the scent of roses. For several seconds—perhaps truly only seconds—the world seemed to stop there. "...You're unsteady on your feet, Your Highnesses." The old man's raspy voice shattered the silence. Lucian released her hand. "[cold]Be careful." That was all. A single word. His usual flat, emotionless tone. Lucian turned his gaze from Elicia and walked toward the far end of the courtyard. His back never hesitated, never once looked back. Elicia stood rooted to the spot. Warmth lingered on her wrist. (This isn't... fear.) The moment she realized that, Elicia covered her cheeks with both hands. They were hot. Her face was burning. There was no scene like this in the game scenario. Nowhere did the crown prince catch the hand of a princess trying to help a gardener. (Why is this happening...?) Vincenzo's wrinkled face broke into a smile. "[gentle]Thank you, Your Highness. ...The crown prince is quite kind as well." Elicia managed to compose a smile. "[serious]Please be careful with your health, Vincenzo. Don't carry heavy pots alone." "Yes, thank you." The old man bowed deeply. Elicia returned the courtesy and left the courtyard. As she walked, she gently wrapped her right wrist with her left hand. — The warmth was still there. ＊ Even as night fell, the sensation on her wrist didn't fade. Elicia's chambers in the east wing, third floor of Celestia Palace—the room called "Hall of Dawn"—was quiet tonight as always. Luminous lamps, their light sealed within, cast a soft white glow throughout. Elicia sat on the edge of her bed, gazing absently out the window. Wind moved through the night palace. (In the game, my contact with Lucian was only in official settings. The library incident, today's courtyard—none of it was in the scenario.) In the "Radiant Princess" route, Crown Prince Lucian was drawn to Alice Lanvaal's intelligence and purity. The villainess Elicia's involvement in those scenes was either interference or the announcement of a broken engagement. Never like this—never an exchange of gazes in the sunset, never anything like that. A knock sounded. "[gentle]Sister, are you awake?" It was Estaval's voice. Elicia was somewhat surprised, but she rose and opened the door. Chestnut-brown short hair, warm amber eyes. Estaval Valentine stood with a gentle smile, holding a small tea service. He must have obtained permission through an attendant beforehand; despite the late hour, he'd followed proper procedure. Not pushy, but considerate—typical of him. "[gentle]I heard from an attendant about the gardener. Vincenzo was fortunate to have your help." "[serious]I simply happened to pass by." Elicia gestured for him to enter as she answered. Estaval settled into a chair by the window and placed the tea service on a small table. The scent of herbs drifted up—a calming blend for the evening. "[gentle]That's very much like you, Sister." "...Is it?" Elicia sat in the opposite chair, feeling slightly embarrassed. The words "like you" caught oddly in her chest. She still wasn't sure if she deserved to hear such things from someone who knew her former self. Estaval's gaze turned toward the window. The night palace floated in the light of the luminous lamps. "[gentle]At dinner, Lucian was unusually quiet." Elicia's hand stopped at the rim of her teacup. "He usually speaks of his duties, but tonight he said nothing. He simply finished eating and returned to his office." Estaval continued in his calm tone, his gaze still on the window, but there was something intentional in his voice. "[gentle]You're on his mind. Surely." Elicia set down her cup. "...Why did you come to tell me this?" It was an honest question. She couldn't see why he would bother to inform her of Lucian's state. In the game scenario, Estaval and Lucian were positioned against each other over Alice. For him to report on his brother's condition to her was an action that existed nowhere in the script. Estaval turned his gaze back to her. His amber eyes regarded her quietly. "[serious]I'm not entirely sure myself." There was a pause. "But I think... I don't want to watch you carry this alone." Before he stood, Estaval added softly: "[gentle]Drink your tea slowly. It will be cold tonight." The door closed quietly. Elicia stared at that door for a long time. (In the game, these two were supposed to clash over Alice. Yet now, both of them—why are they both turning toward me?) She fell back onto her bed. Staring at the ceiling, the white light of the luminous lamp stung her eyes. Lucian's blue gaze. The warmth that had wrapped her wrist. Estaval's words: "don't carry this alone." None of it existed in the game. This world was—no longer the game she knew. That realization crystallized in her chest with sudden clarity. ＊ In the deep of night, footsteps approached along the corridor that faced the moonlit hallway. An attendant finishing her evening rounds—an older woman, taciturn and trustworthy. She bowed deeply before Elicia's door and offered a folded paper. "[whispers]Your Highness, I have a report." Elicia unfolded it. Short, neat characters lined the page. — This evening, a servant belonging to the Dawn Oath was observed moving near the courtyard. There is a possibility that your contact with Crown Prince Lucian was recorded. The Dawn Oath—a political alliance formed by three ducal houses supporting Crown Prince Lucian. The Valentine family should have belonged to it originally, but since Elicia's "reformation," distance had grown. They continued their court machinations to ensure Lucian's ascension. Elicia closed the paper. (They saw today's courtyard. They recorded it.) A chill crawled up her spine. She understood immediately. That moment when Lucian caught her wrist would become a political tool. The Dawn Oath would either position Elicia as someone close to Lucian, or spin it another way—that Elicia was trying to draw Lucian in. Either way, those few seconds in the twilight would be moved and manipulated, independent of her will. (I'm being cornered in a different form than the destruction route.) A trap was taking shape quietly, one the game had never shown. She understood that clearly, with perfect comprehension. But—the warmth on her wrist wouldn't fade. Elicia gripped her star-frost necklace. A thin silver chain. She'd worn it since the day of her transmigration. (Even so. I won't turn away from this feeling.) The moment she decided that—the necklace glowed. A faint, subtle light. But tonight it was different. Not the vague shimmer of before, but a clear, unmistakable radiance. Elicia held her breath, watching the light spill between her fingers. "[whispers]...This time, I can really see it." The light faded quickly. But its existence—no one could deny it now. This necklace knew something. This world knew something. And the game's scenario was beginning to creak and strain. As the Dawn Oath's surveillance intensified, Elicia sat alone in her quiet chambers, gripping that necklace through the night.