A few minutes later, I found myself seated beside Erica.
The main star's seat, with a mysterious servant positioned immediately at her side—the incongruity of it was suffocating. Of course we were drawing attention. My stomach churned with anxiety, acid burning at my insides with each passing moment. Actually, it still was. The discomfort hadn't faded even slightly.
The entertainment dancers currently performing had temporarily redirected everyone's attention elsewhere—their flowing silks and synchronized movements creating a spectacle that demanded focus—but earlier, when I'd rushed to Erica's side at Shelly's urgent request, it had been terrible.
People had initially assumed I was there for some menial task, perhaps to deliver a message or refill her wine. But then I had a chair prepared and actually sat down beside her, and naturally, that drew stares. Sharp, curious, scandalized stares that I could feel like physical weight pressing against my skin.
Who is this boy? What gives him the right?
The unspoken questions hung in the air like smoke, thick and cloying.
"Liam."
Unable to calmly appreciate the dance performance, I'd been chewing the inside of my cheek while staring fixedly at my feet—counting the patterns in the marble floor to avoid meeting anyone's gaze—when she called my name with unmistakable worry threading through her voice.
"Yes. What is it?"
The words came out more strained than I'd intended, betraying my discomfort.
"Are you unwell? Your complexion looks poor."
I turned my gaze toward her, and found Erica's face leaning in close, peering at me with those crystalline blue eyes filled with genuine concern. Her rose-gold hair fell forward slightly, catching the chandelier light and throwing copper highlights across her porcelain features.
My heart jumped in my chest—an involuntary thump that resonated through my entire body—and I hurriedly straightened my posture, creating a more appropriate distance.
But really, that question...
"...Whose fault do you think this is?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them, carrying more accusation than I'd meant.
"Fufu. I thought you'd say that. But Liam, you're the one at fault here, you know?"
She quietly shifted her chair closer to mine—the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor—and smiled mischievously. That expression transformed her elegant noble bearing into something playful, almost childish.
"My fault?"
"Because Liam, you're my attendant, and yet you haven't been at my side this whole time, have you?"
Her tone and gaze carried reproach, but it wasn't truly serious. She puffed out her cheeks slightly while speaking in a joking manner, the gesture endearing despite her formal attire and elaborate styling.
Despite her graceful, refined appearance, moments like this revealed her youthful innocence still lurking beneath the surface.
"I had some other work to attend to... And besides, Shelly-san was with you, wasn't she?"
"But she's Father's servant, not mine. Liam is my attendant—there's no replacement for you."
Her words carried a weight that went beyond simple logistics, speaking to something deeper. The scent of her perfume—roses and something uniquely her—drifted between us.
"Is that how it works...?"
Both Shelly and I were technically employed by her father, Count Adelbater, under contract... but I suppose that's not what she was talking about. The legal technicalities were irrelevant to whatever point she was making.
Though we were both assigned to Erica, there wasn't really much difference between us, or so I'd thought. Well, admittedly, if asked whether an educator or a caretaker should stay constantly close, the latter did make more sense.
"But there's no need to make me sit here, is there? For a mere servant to sit beside the guest of honor..."
When I said that, she became slightly annoyed and closed the distance even further. The silk of her dress rustled against my servant's uniform, an intimate sound that made my pulse quicken.
If everyone understood we were friends, that would be one thing, but with so many people present who knew nothing of our relationship, this distance felt somewhat unnatural. Improper, even.
I tried to create a bit of space, but with only hip movements, I couldn't make the chair move as intended. The attempt failed pathetically.
As if my discomfort meant nothing at all, Erica whispered in a voice just loud enough for my ears, her breath warm against my skin:
"Liam is not a mere servant."
"...I appreciate that, but the guests—"
"Besides!"
Her voice rose suddenly, becoming shrill with emotion. The volume increased enough that I worried others might hear.
I glanced around nervously, checking if anyone had noticed, but everyone seemed engrossed in the dance performance. No one was paying attention to our conversation, their eyes fixed on the swirling performers at the hall's center.
Taking a small, deep breath to steady herself, she opened her mouth once more.
"L-Liam should also be... celebrated, I think."
Her voice trembled slightly. From nervousness or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. Looking at her expression—the way her cheeks had colored pink, how she couldn't quite meet my eyes—it was probably the latter carrying more weight.
"Me too...?"
"Liam, you're the same age as me, aren't you?"
"Yes, most likely."
I'd never known my exact birthday, but we'd always assumed we were the same age.
"And yet... no one has celebrated you... have they?"
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
...Ah, I see. This was her way of showing consideration... her form of kindness.
It was true—I was turning ten years old, and no one had celebrated it.
At the start of this year, a fellow servant had said, "You're turning ten? Congratulations," and that was it. Nothing formal, no gifts, no party. Just a passing acknowledgment in a hallway that smelled of lemon polish and old stone.
With no clear birthday and my position as a servant, that was only natural. Expected, even.
But she had questioned that. Or perhaps, she'd felt sympathy for me.
So she'd placed me beside her, treating me as though I were also a guest of honor... that's what this was about.
My motivation had always been to guide her toward happiness, to prevent her villain arc, to protect her from the cruel fate the game had planned. But now I realized—somewhere along the way, she'd started protecting me too. Caring for me in ways I hadn't expected or asked for.
Ah, what a beautiful heart. What a beautiful spirit.
The girl who had been so dark and pessimistic when we first met had grown to the point where she could care for others like this. The transformation was nothing short of miraculous.
Then I couldn't possibly reject such kindness.
"Lady Erica... I am truly, deeply honored."
"..."
Her face flushed red as her eyes darted around, unable to settle anywhere. The blush spread from her cheeks down her neck, visible even against the high collar of her dress.
She looked so endearing that I felt compelled to treat her like a child, to pat her head affectionately.
But I reached up with my hand toward her carefully styled hair and hesitated—I might ruin her hairstyle. The elaborate arrangement had probably taken hours.
I lowered my hand slightly, thinking I'd touch her cheek instead, but that might also ruin her makeup. The cosmetics had been expertly applied, subtle but effective.
In the end, I settled for placing my hand on her shoulder instead.
Even through my gloves, I could feel her warmth—the pleasant heat of living skin transmitted through the thin barrier of fabric. Her dress left her shoulders bare, and the contact felt almost scandalously intimate.
She gave a small shudder at the touch, and I smiled gently as I spoke:
"However, I'm... no, I am fine with how things are. Being by your side is enough for me. Besides..."
I stroked her shoulder briefly before releasing it, then softly, gently, I took hold of the hand resting on her lap.
Again, her body trembled like a startled cat. She went rigid, frozen in place by the unexpected contact. Her hand was small in mine, delicate, cool despite the warmth of the crowded hall.
To the now-rigid Erica, I whispered tenderly:
"Having you celebrate me, Lady Erica, is more than sufficient."
This was the action beat that changed everything. The moment my hand closed around hers, the intimate whisper, the declaration of devotion—it shifted us from servant and mistress, from friends maintaining propriety, to something far more dangerous and desperately sincere. The air between us felt charged, electric, heavy with unspoken implications.
...Okay, I'll admit it—I was saying something quite, considerably, embarrassingly cheesy.
If this had been my previous life, I definitely would have been slapped for such a line. Hard. Maybe twice.
But delivered with this life's face, to someone I was deeply connected with, that line apparently packed considerable firepower.
"I-I-I see... is, is that so. I... see."
Her face turned as red as a boiled octopus, and her speech patterns broke down like a malfunctioning machine. Her jewel-like blue eyes—so different from the original's black but no less captivating—spun in circles as she gripped my hand in return. Her fingers tightened almost painfully.
"Yes, so..."
Still holding her hand, I slowly started to rise from my seat. Perhaps she instantly sensed my intention, or maybe it was just coincidence.
Either way, Erica yanked my body back down with surprising force.
"Th-then. I'll celebrate enough for everyone else's share too. So... stay by my side all day today!"
Though still flustered, her eyes held a core of determination as she stared at me—a resolute light that brooked no argument. The confusion hadn't cleared from her expression, but her will was absolute.
I found myself at a loss for words, frozen in that state as I met her gaze. Those blue eyes seemed to swallow me whole, pulling me into their depths.
"Un...der...stood."
As if drawn into those eyes, maintaining eye contact the entire time, I lowered myself back into my seat. The chair felt simultaneously too small and too exposed, placing me on display for everyone to see.
...Really, I can't win against her.
I'd tried to accept her feelings without dismissing them while simultaneously finding a way to leave—a technique I'd seen one of the Celestia Kingdom characters use in the game. But it had been completely ineffective.
Maybe it only worked on the protagonist? Perhaps that was a romance-specific dialogue option that failed outside its intended context.
Or maybe I'd reflected too much of my own will into it.
I'd tried to perfectly copy the original, but inadvertently used "I" in my speech, inadvertently put too much emotion into it. My heart had gotten in the way of the script.
But in that situation, a perfect copy was impossible anyway. After receiving words like that, I was too moved to maintain pretense. Too genuinely affected to remember I was playing a role.
I had no choice but to gratefully accept this special seat... apparently.
Trying to regain my composure, I reached for the glass of water on the table. My hand was trembling slightly, I noticed. The crystal felt cool against my fingertips, and condensation had formed on its surface, making it slippery.
That's when I suddenly realized something.
A commotion had returned to the venue—voices rising, conversations resuming, the ambient sound of a crowd returning to awareness.
Earlier, everyone had been silent, absorbed in the dance performance, but now...
And there was something else.
Gazes were directed our way. Not all of the venue's murmuring was about us, but at least several people had noticed our interaction and were whispering to one another, heads bent close, fans raised to conceal moving lips. I caught fragments: "...the servant..." "...so close..." "...inappropriate..."
Ah... this is not good. Not good at all.
"U-um, Lady Erica, could we perhaps..."
I started to suggest to the girl now practically pressed against my side that maybe she should create some distance. Propriety demanded it. My position required it.
I tried to say that. Tried being the operative word.
My words were cut off the next instant by someone else's voice.
"Oi."
It was a considerably rough tone—the kind that could be described as bratty, even. The voice of someone used to having their way, consequences be damned.
Both Erica and I simultaneously turned our gazes in that direction.
Her expression showed wariness—who is this person?—suspicion clouding those blue eyes.
But my reaction was... different. More like shock, actually. Recognition mixed with disbelief.
Because I knew that voice. Knew what character it belonged to, even before I saw the face.
"Erica Ansheinus, daughter of Count Ansheinus—dance with me."
Another rough statement followed, still carrying that same arrogant edge. But it was an attitude that matched exactly what I'd imagined, what I'd seen countless times on a game screen in another life.
Standing before us was a boy roughly my height, or perhaps slightly shorter, with dark golden hair that caught the light like tarnished brass and eyes to match. His features were sharp, handsome in an aggressive way, and he wore an infuriatingly smug smile—the expression of someone who'd never been denied anything in his life.
He was one of the two boys I'd noticed earlier, the ones who'd vanished so mysteriously from the crowd. Up close, I could see the expensive tailoring of his clothes, smell the subtle cologne that marked him as nobility, see the way he stood with casual arrogance.
And now, the identity of that nagging feeling from before became clear. And with it, his true identity revealed itself with crystalline certainty.
"You are... Razer Kilmond... Viscount's son."
Despite his young age—probably only eight or nine, given the game's timeline—the figure of a Celestia Kingdom character stood before us. A capture target, one of the game's romantic interests.
One of the boys who, in the original timeline, would eventually fall for the protagonist.
And one of the people Erica, as the villainess, would eventually come into conflict with.
The game plot had finally, inevitably, arrived at our doorstep.