The Goldheart dining hall was a picture of elegance and calm — too calm, in Raiden's opinion.

The long table was fully illuminated under the light of floating mana lanterns, each one casting warm gold across silverware and polished plates.

The scent of roasted herbs and garlic drifted through the air, far too comforting for what had been, in Raiden's words, "a near-death experience disguised as sword training."

He slumped into his seat, half-dead and still sore. Every movement reminded him of Sir Leonard's wooden blade striking yet another part of his anatomy. His arms felt like pudding, his pride felt worse.

Across the table, his father, Lord Cedric Goldheart, sat in his usual calm authority — shoulders square, expression composed, as if he hadn't heard his youngest son's very public screams for help from the courtyard hours ago.

Raiden's eyes narrowed.

Lady Elise sat to Cedric's left, radiant as always, gently slicing into her meal with quiet grace. On the opposite end sat Kent, posture perfect, plate neatly arranged, looking as though training under Captain Baren had been an elegant afternoon stroll rather than grueling labor.

Raiden stabbed at his food like it had personally offended him.

The silence at the table was peaceful. Too peaceful. Suspiciously peaceful.

Then, casually, Lord Cedric spoke.

"So, Raiden," he began, tone light. "How was your training today?"

Raiden froze mid-bite. The audacity! The sheer audacity of that question.

He slowly lifted his head, glaring daggers at his father — who, to his credit, looked perfectly innocent. Almost too innocent.

"You mean," Raiden said slowly, "the training where your head guard used me as a rag doll for two hours? The one where I screamed your name at least six times — loudly — and you didn't come save me?"

Kent coughed into his napkin, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

Elise, bless her, tried to stifle a smile. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad, dear."

"Oh, it was," Raiden muttered darkly, jabbing at his mashed potatoes. "I think I saw the afterlife. Twice."

Cedric calmly took a sip of his wine. "You exaggerate. Leonard is disciplined. If he wanted to hurt you, you would not be eating dinner tonight."

Raiden dropped his fork with a clink, his jaw falling open in disbelief. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Cedric didn't answer, but his faintly raised brow and the ghost of a smirk were more than enough.

Raiden groaned, leaning back in his chair and glaring at the ceiling. "They're all in on it. Even the servants laughed. I could hear them."

From across the table, Kent's amused voice broke through. "I don't think they laughed that hard."

Raiden turned his glare to him next. "Oh, sure. You get Captain Baren — the honorable, noble knight everyone admires. I get Leonard, the human blender."

"Leonard is a master of precision," Kent said, half-grinning. "You'll learn faster with him."

"Yeah," Raiden grumbled. "Learn how to dodge trauma."

Lady Elise delicately hid her smile behind her cup. "At least you're finally training with the sword, my dear. That's progress."

"Progress?" Raiden's voice rose an octave. "Mother, I've never been beaten that badly in my life. I think my shadow's bruised."

Kent chuckled under his breath. Cedric's calm expression didn't falter once, but there was unmistakable satisfaction in his eyes. Raiden noticed it and immediately scowled harder.

"Oh, I see what this is," he said, pointing his fork at his father. "You're still mad about the brooch, aren't you?"

Cedric blinked. "Brooch?"

Raiden's tone turned accusatory. "Don't play innocent, Father. The golden one that went missing after I hugged you. The one you made Leonard replace today. You're getting back at me."

Elise turned to her husband with mild amusement. "You lost your brooch again?"

"I didn't lose it," Cedric said smoothly, giving Raiden a pointed look. "It was stolen."

Raiden froze. "Borrowed," he corrected quickly. "Temporarily relocated."

Cedric's lips twitched. "Ah. Of course. And in repayment for this… 'relocation,' you were relocated across the courtyard multiple times today. Seems fair."

Kent almost choked on his drink trying not to laugh. Elise shook her head, smiling softly.

"Boys," she said gently. "Perhaps less talk of vengeance and more eating?"

Raiden sighed and went back to poking at his food. "Fine. But for the record, I think Leonard's secretly some kind of demon. No normal man moves that fast."

"Maybe you should ask him to teach you how," Kent offered mildly.

Raiden glared at him again. "Oh, sure, you can say that. You weren't the one getting turned into furniture."

Kent grinned. "I'm just glad you're finally training seriously."

That made Raiden pause. He glanced at his brother, half expecting sarcasm — but Kent's tone was genuinely warm. He was smiling, but it wasn't mockery this time. It was… approval.

For some reason, that was even more annoying.

Raiden huffed. "Don't act like you're proud of me or something. I just got beaten within an inch of my life."

"That's how it starts," Kent said, taking another calm bite of his meal. "If you're not bruised, you're not learning. Trust me, Baren's sword doesn't go easy on me either."

"Oh, I'm sure," Raiden muttered. "He probably just lectures you gently about sword philosophy."

"Sometimes," Kent said thoughtfully. "Other times, he throws me into walls."

Raiden blinked. "…Really?"

Kent smiled. "Really."

Something softened in Raiden's expression — just a bit. He didn't feel as singled out anymore. Still miserable, yes, but at least now it was shared misery.

Cedric set his goblet down and regarded both sons with quiet approval. "Two Goldheart heirs training under two masters. I couldn't be prouder."

Raiden, mouth full of bread, mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like, "Yeah, yeah, proud of your sore sons."

Elise's laugh was quiet but genuine. The sound eased the tension in the room, and for a fleeting moment, the evening felt… normal. The Goldheart family — flawed, powerful, and occasionally ridiculous — sharing dinner like any other family.

But Raiden's pride wasn't quite done fuming.

He caught Kent's calm, unruffled expression and felt a fresh surge of irritation. His older brother sat there like he'd just come from a poetry recital, not a battlefield. Not a single hair out of place.

Raiden, meanwhile, felt like a mangled scarecrow.

Kent noticed the glare and tilted his head slightly, expression softening. "You're holding your fork wrong," he said casually.

Raiden blinked. "What—this is dinner, not sword class!"

Kent chuckled. "You hold your sword the same way."

Raiden's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"No," Kent said, still smiling. "Your thumb curls too much around the hilt. Makes your wrist stiff. You'll never counter a feint like that."

Raiden opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. His mind flashed back to Leonard effortlessly disarming him — every single time. His wrist had twisted awkwardly…

He lowered his fork slowly. "So I should… what? Relax it?"

Kent nodded, simple and sincere. "Exactly."

Raiden blinked again, surprised. It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a tease. It was genuine advice.

For a second, the younger brother in him wanted to roll his eyes, say something sarcastic, maybe throw a napkin for good measure. But instead, Raiden just stared at his brother, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

"…Thanks," he muttered.

Kent rose from his chair before Raiden could say more. "Keep that in mind tomorrow," he said lightly, placing his napkin down. "And train harder. You'll need it."

He turned to his parents, bowing slightly. "Mother. Father. Thank you for dinner."

Then, with that same composed grace that made Raiden simultaneously admire and despise him, Kent exited the dining hall, leaving his younger brother blinking after him.

For a long moment, Raiden just sat there in silence. Then he stabbed a final piece of roasted meat and muttered under his breath,

"I hate to admit it, but… Kent's a sweet brother sometimes."

Cedric, still sipping his wine, glanced up. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" Raiden said quickly, cheeks puffed. "Just saying… I'm going to train so hard tomorrow that Leonard cries."

Elise smiled gently. "That's the spirit."

"Mm. Cry from laughter, maybe," Cedric murmured.

Raiden shot him a glare, but there was no real venom this time — just tired affection buried beneath his pride.

He pushed his chair back and stood, stretching painfully. "Goodnight," he mumbled, already limping toward the door. "If I don't wake up tomorrow, tell Leonard he's banned from my funeral."

Elise laughed softly. Cedric only shook his head with an amused sigh. "He'll be fine," he said, mostly to himself.

As Raiden disappeared down the hall, his muffled voice floated back: "Seriously, though, I think I bruised my soul…"

The echo lingered in the grand dining hall, mingling with the soft clatter of silverware and Elise's quiet laughter.

For all his dramatics and mischief, Raiden was changing. Slowly, clumsily, perhaps unwillingly — but he was growing.

And for the Goldhearts, that was more promising than any perfect sword strike.

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