And maybe—just maybe—that was what made it so tragic. Because once you know the real reason, you'll never see the illusion the same way again.
Right after that thought hit me, I sat up. Darian's eyes immediately sharpened with worry, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him anything close to the truth.
"Sorry, Darian, but I have some work in my study, so… I'll be leaving first," I said while very purposefully avoiding eye contact.
He didn't look convinced, but what could he do? I had already made up my mind.
I turned around, waved stiffly, and forced a small smile that was probably uglier than crying.
'OMG this is so awkward.'
Was this the right choice? The right reaction? The right ANYTHING? I wasn't sure of any answer.
I walked away—slowly, painfully—leaving Darian's faint smile and the whole embarrassing situation behind me, and finally entered the Duke's study.
There, I collapsed into the chair and tried to pour my brain—what was left of it—into the documents and the new letter the Emperor had sent me.
Which, to be honest, was just me staring blankly at ink until my soul left my body.
______________________
I was halfway through reviewing completely meaningless documents—well, pretending to review them—when Darian walked in without knocking. He never knocked. He simply appeared: elegant, poised, slightly arrogant, like a cat who believed he owned the house.
"Lio," he said, voice smooth as always, "we need to discuss something important."
My stomach dropped to hell.
Important? Oh no. Maybe he kept thinking about my weird behavior earlier. Maybe he noticed my awkward panic. Maybe he—
Please not strange remarks. Please not questions. Please not paperwork.
"It's about your birthday."
…Oh.
Well. That was different.
"My—what?" I blinked, adjusting my expression into I totally know what you're talking about, thank you very much.
"Your eighteenth birthday." Darian pulled up a chair and sat FAR too close. "It's in exactly two months."
Two months.
'Two months…'
Why was that date familiar?
My brain started loading like a Windows XP computer running on one dying neuron.
Two months…
Oh.
HELL no.
That's the start of the game.
The start of the Saintess showing up.
The start of the fall of the North.
The start of every single death flag.
And—oh god—
The Duke's birthday was the same day.
Darian continued calmly, blissfully unaware that I was collapsing on the inside.
"Traditionally, a Duke's coming-of-age banquet must be grand," he said. "Impressive. Political. A statement."
Right.
A giant fancy disaster.
A sparkly bomb of doom.
I nodded slowly, like someone whose last brain cell had resigned and moved to another dimension.
He leaned closer. "Have you thought about how you want to prepare it?"
Yes. Absolutely.
I had considered it in great detail.
…In a past life.
Where I was not stuck inside the tyrant's body.
And where breathing was easier.
"I… will consider it," I said, trying to sound noble and not like a desperate, panicking raccoon.
"But two months is a very short time," Darian continued. "You should begin preparations immediately. Guest lists, themes, decorations, musicians, alliances—"
I swallowed. Hard.
In my mind:
'Guest list?? Theme??? Decorations??? Bro, the only thing I've ever organized is my Spotify playlist—AND EVEN THAT WAS A MESS.'
Out loud, I smiled politely. "Yes, of course. That makes sense."
He studied me, eyes narrowing a bit. "You're unusually obedient today."
Great.
Amazing.
Exactly what I needed. Suspicion.
I straightened my back. "I trust your judgment."
"Mmm." He did not look convinced. But he continued anyway. "Your banquet needs to match the dignity of the Northern Duke. It must be a spectacle. You need to shine. Make connections. Strengthen your position."
Spectacle.
Shine.
Connections.
I was going to perish.
Internally, I screamed into a pillow for ten seconds straight.
Darian sighed, amused. "Honestly, you look like a cornered cat."
"I do not," I snapped automatically, then lowered my voice. "…probably."
He chuckled—soft, warm, infuriatingly charming. "Very well, Lio. If it overwhelms you too much…"
He reached out and fixed the collar I didn't even know was crooked.
"…I'll organize everything."
I almost cried. Not physically—but spiritually? Absolutely.
"Th-thank you," I said, clearing my throat. "I… appreciate it."
Internally:
'YES. PLEASE. TAKE IT. TAKE ALL OF IT. I CAN'T ORGANIZE ANYTHING EXCEPT PANIC.'
Darian stood up. "Good. Then I'll begin outlining the preparations today."
He reached the door, but then paused.
His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary.
"One more thing, Lio."
"Yes?" I asked, trying not to scream.
"In one week, you need to go to the temple for purification." His smile never faded.
My heart dropped through the floor.
Purification.
Temple.
Saintess route.
Grand priest.
GAME BEGINNING.
He smiled politely, like he hadn't just activated every possible alarm in my soul.
"Make time for it," he said. "It's mandatory."
And with that… he left.
Leaving me alone with the realization that the countdown to my death flags had officially begun.
Two months until everything starts.
Two months until the Saintess.
Two months until the original plot devours me.
And no matter how calm I pretended to be…
I wasn't even remotely ready.