After the Duke called his assistant, Luca bowed smoothly before taking a holoscreen from within his sleeve.
A projection flared between them.
Lines of densely packed text floated in the air.
Milas leaned forward.
Oh. That's a lot.
"…Here is the contract," Luca said, clearly satisfied with himself. "I have already adjusted several clauses to suit our current circumstances."
Milas nodded.
He bowed his head thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes with what he hoped looked like scholarly focus.
In reality, the words in the contract might as well have been decorative symbols.
People in the bottom districts rarely went to school, and even if they did, imperial script was not on the curriculum. Why would it be? People like them were not supposed to read the laws—only obey them.
…Fantastic.
He let his gaze skim over the random words while pretending to consider phrasing and legal nuances.
But telling them he couldn't read was also not an option.
Though schools in the lower districts were poor, they at least taught imperial script. The ones in the bottom districts—the ones for muds—did not.
So admitting to being illiterate would make it easier to uncover his real identity, even without seeing his glowing eyes.
Milas sighed.
Then he lifted the stylus and… signed.
I'm completely screwed.
After both of them had signed, Luca put the contract away.
Milas stood, extended his hand, and flashed a relaxed grin.
"Then… good cooperation."
Finnian rose a heartbeat later and accepted the handshake, his grip steady and formal in a way that contrasted sharply with Milas's casual posture.
To say Milas was only a little surprised that the Duke's palm wasn't ice-cold would be an understatement.
Milas tilted his head, eyes bright with mischief.
"So what should I call you now? Sweetheart? Baby? I mean, we are engaged, so it can't be too formal. Oh—do I also get a fancy ring?" he asked playfully.
Finnian stared at him long enough that even Milas began to feel awkward.
"I believe 'Finnian' is the most appropriate choice," he replied earnestly, as though he had reached the conclusion after careful consideration.
There was no irritation in his voice.
Just… seriousness.
"As for the ring, we will arrange it on board the shuttle. There is little time remaining before departure."
He paused.
"It is unfortunate," Finnian added, "that we cannot make an official announcement with a proper banquet. I have wronged you."
The regret sounded genuine.
Milas blinked.
That wasn't the response he had expected.
He had aimed for flustered or offended—maybe even annoyed, given that he was a noble being questioned by someone from the lower districts.
But he hadn't expected such sincerity.
"…Hah."
The laugh slipped out before he could stop it.
He scratched the back of his neck, his smile turning uncertain.
"I guess… as long as the ring is expensive, I don't really care. Haha."
Luca, standing behind them, raised an eyebrow.
So now he wasn't even pretending to be noble anymore?
Finnian nodded as though that sounded entirely reasonable.
"Pack your belongings."
He paused again, brows drawing together as he considered Milas's situation before adding, "If you dislike your current wardrobe, we can acquire replacements upon arrival in the capital."
Milas stared at him for half a second too long.
Then nodded.
Dazed.
"Yeah. Right."
He turned and left the room, still unsure whether he had just become engaged to a calculating Duke or the most earnest man he had ever met.
Left alone, Finnian returned to his seat.
Silence settled over the room.
Luca was the first to speak.
"Perhaps our estimation—that he was merely pretending to be noble—was too optimistic," he frowned. "My guess is lower district rather than middle."
Finnian hummed in agreement.
"I expected him to negotiate."
Luca summoned the holoscreen again. The contract flickered into existence, lines of text hovering neatly between them.
"If you don't read the contract, there is nothing to negotiate."
"…You noticed?"
Luca nodded. "He scrolled too quickly. Paused at random intervals. His pupils tracked lines inconsistently. A performance."
Finnian stared at the closed door.
"Then why sign? Why agree?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Luca's lips curled slightly.
"My lord, please don't pity the man. We don't know what goes on in the minds of the lower-born—"
He bit his lip and cast Finnian a glance.
It was an open secret that Finnian's mother had been an ordinary citizen, and that the former Duke had only brought him back when he had grown old without other heirs.
Seeing Finnian show no reaction, Luca continued.
"—but I am sure the reward was considerable."
Finnian nodded.
"Then we ensure we give him enough that no one else can tempt him away."
"…Hah." Luca exhaled. "I will prepare the shuttle. We depart in one hour."
He left, leaving Finnian alone in the velvet chair.
Finnian leaned back.
An unpleasant twist settled in his chest.
Guilt.
He disliked the sensation.
He hated dragging others into danger for the sake of his ambitions, but he could not compete alone.
He had grown up in the middle district, comfortable enough, unremarkable enough. Not noble, but not desperate either. His mother had worked, paid rent, complained about rising prices, and insisted he study properly.
Ordinary.
That was why he understood how people lived beyond palace walls.
How taxes pinched.
How rules favored those who already had things.
How nobles debated reform while never riding public transit.
But he had also seen life in the lower districts—families sending children to work because money was never enough, people rummaging through refuse just to eat.
To change the empire and give people like Milas a better life, he had to win this game.
Finnian closed his eyes.
He knew he did not look kind.
His reputation was poor.
His face rarely cooperated with his intentions.
People assumed the worst before he even spoke.
That was… fine.
As long as the results spoke louder.
He would not give up this opportunity and allow the empire's structures to continue rotting.
Opening his eyes, he rose from the chair.
He would win.
And he would change the empire.