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Allen stared quietly at the wall.
The rough texture of the stone stretched across his vision, but his gaze seemed to pierce through it—as if trying to see what Sylphie was doing on the other side.
After a long moment, he looked away, suppressing the absurd impulse to use his map function to check on her.
He turned.
Stepped forward.
Passed through the flickering candlelight.
Reached the desk.
Opened the drawer.
Retrieved the letter he had just placed inside and spread it out on the table.
The top sheet read:
—Answering Hilda's expectations— (Blank)
—Answering Sylphie's expectations— (Blank)
—Answering Ghyslaine's expectations— Light Reversal.
—
His eyes lingered on the pen but didn't pick it up. Instead, he tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if chasing the remnants of that feeling from his earlier argument with Rudy.
The bedroom was silent.
Only the sound of his own slightly ragged breathing filled the space.
Then, suddenly, Allen laughed.
Shook his head.
Muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.
*"Self-righteous kindness..."*
"Because of my regrets from the original story, because of that night in Buena... I kept thinking—"
"I wanted Roxy, the first person I loved in this world, to never suffer like Sylphie did. To never swallow her pain in silence."
"And now?"
"I stepped into this life precisely because I couldn't stand seeing Sylphie's heartbreak in the original. I swore no one would ever feel that way again."
"So what happened?"
His gaze dropped to the wall before him.
The memory of Sylphie's expression—when he'd knelt and looked up at her—flashed through his mind.
So easy to read.
So painfully obvious.
The first flicker of joy in her eyes—because he hadn't shown her affection in months.
Then, the immediate retreat.
Why?
Because she'd thought of Roxy.
And his mother, Hilda.
Why Hilda?
Simple. She'd just gone upstairs to see her.
Why?
What happened today?
Whose mother was Hilda?!
How long did he need to think about it?!
Who was hurting now?!
Because of whom?!
He pressed a hand over his face, shoulders shaking with a short, bitter laugh.
Outside the window, the songbird Rudy's arrival had scared away returned, its wings fluttering against the sill.
In that moment—
Allen lowered his hand.
Picked up the pen.
Narrowed his eyes at the paper.
Wrote.
Three words.
—Answering Sylphie's expectations— Roxy.
The pen stopped. Allen stared at the name, silent.
Then, without haste, he pulled Roxy's latest letter from the drawer.
Spread it open beside him.
Took a fresh sheet.
The scratching of the pen resumed, harmonizing with the bird's melody outside.
By the time the songbird took flight again—
The letter was nearly finished.
But the last few lines?
They weighed on him like stone.
His head bowed, brown curls swaying slightly with each deliberate stroke.
Then—
The pen lifted.
A long exhale.
His eyes rose.
Between the strands of his hair—
His gaze was sharp as a blade.
—
The system's text flickered into view.
[Oh? This time, you're faster than I expected.]
Allen's stare didn't waver.
"How much slower did I need to be?"
[Good. Very good.]
[Rudy's words made you realize—if both women are willing, if neither feels wronged, then taking both is possible. So you acted immediately.]
[Roxy first, Sylphie second. Because that's the order they entered your life. You won't approach Sylphie without Roxy's consent. Flawless logic.]
[Given Roxy's personality—and the fact she already knows you're an 'Asuran noble'—she might've already accepted the possibility of a harem. Asking her first? Also correct.]
[You fostered the bond between Roxy and Sylphie yourself. They're close. As the 'later' one, Sylphie wouldn't suffer. Again—no issues.]
[Allen, Allen...]
[Your choice is the only path where neither feels slighted. And the hardest one.]
[You're really—]
[Open. Methodical. Meticulous.]
[A scumbag with standards.]
Allen's lips curled, not in anger, but something fiercer—triumph.
"So what if I'm a scumbag? So what if I love them both?"
"I will earn their approval—both* of them!"*
"In this life—"
"I'm chasing perfection!"
"I'll be a scumbag openly!"
"I'll be a scumbag without lies!"
"I'll carve out my own perfect ending in this world!"
SLAM. The pen hit the desk.
"I'm taking everything!"
A flick of his wrist.
Mana crackled through the air like a whip, snapping sharply.
His head turned toward the sword resting nearby—
So close he could almost touch it.
Allen's eyes narrowed—
But he looked away.
Back to the paper.
The line beneath "Answering Hilda's expectations" remained blank.
The system's text pulsed.
[Not drawing your sword? Acting on impulse, unity of thought and action—]
[You could unleash Light Reversal right now.]
"No."
Allen's voice was a blade's edge.
"Not enough."
[Oh?]
"The sword can be drawn."
"But when I swing it—"
"It'll be the perfect Light Reversal."
—
The candlelight wavered.
Beneath his hand, the letter's final lines stood clear:
"Lastly... I have a question for you."
"If I made an utterly shameless request—something absurd, something selfish—"
"Would you say yes?"
"No."
"Words are too hollow for this. Too weightless. Too cruel."
"Between Fittoa and Shirone, if not for winter, the journey is barely half a year."
"So—"
"I'll ask you in person."
"I want to see your face. To feel what you feel."
"I want to hear your voice."
"I want to look into your eyes when I ask—and when you answer."
"When spring comes..."
"I'll find you."
"Read this letter. Tell me if your plans will change by next year."
"So I won't arrive to an empty room."
"—Allen."
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