As Roland's words fell, a suffocating silence descended upon the room.
After a long moment, Mason finally looked up, trying hard to maintain an innocent expression on his face.
"Mason? Sir, are you speaking to me?"
But Roland clearly had no interest in playing along with this charade of feigned ignorance.
Seeing the blank look on the other's face, he said nothing. He simply raised his teacup and took a slow, deliberate sip.
But his eyes remained firmly locked on Mason's face.
His gaze was like a physical probe, growing sharper with each passing moment.
Mason's expression gradually stiffened in response, as if he were wearing an ill-fitting mask.
However, what happened next was not what Roland had expected.
The young nobleman before him didn't panic or make any rash moves upon having his identity suddenly exposed.
He just sighed softly, set down the teapot he had been holding, and leaned back into his chair, speaking slowly with a hint of exhaustion.
