Winter's Stage and a Mother's Shadow

Ben's hand hovered over the door handle, fingers brushing the cold metal.

Just one twist and he would be gone—out into the hall, out of Victor's room, out of this moment.

But he hesitated.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't obvious.

It was a small thing—his posture stiffening, his breath catching just slightly—as if a thought pressed hard against the back of his mind.

He opened his mouth—

But Victor beat him to it.

"Father."

The word was quiet, but firm.

It cut through the silence like a cord being pulled taut.

Ben turned his head halfway, his hand still resting on the door.

Victor stood behind him… not tense, but not relaxed either. His shoulders were squared, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation—something unspoken sitting heavy behind the calm façade.

Ben faced him fully now.

"What is it?"

Victor exhaled, long and steady, gathering his words.

"…The annual Martial Arts Competition," he said. His voice was measured, but there was a faint pulse of excitement beneath it. "It's in winter."

Ben blinked once, then slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. It is."

Victor's jaw shifted.

"I want to participate."

The words hung there, bold and simple.

Ben didn't react at first.

Not with surprise.

Not with anger.

Not with celebration.

Just… quiet.

Then he released a low breath through his nose and shook his head slightly.

"Victor," he said, tone soft but weighted, "before this year, you could not cultivate. Participating was impossible."

"But now I can," Victor replied without missing a beat. "So it isn't impossible anymore."

Ben stepped away from the door and walked back toward him, stopping a few steps short.

He looked at Victor carefully—not dismissing him, not patronizing him, but truly examining the conviction behind his words.

"So," Ben murmured, "you really want to participate?"

Victor nodded once.

"Yes."

Ben lifted his eyebrows higher this time, his expression almost amused.

"I see. And you think your mother will agree to this?"

Victor blinked. "…This is about Mother?"

"Of course it is," Ben said with a shrug. "It's always about your mother."

Victor stared at him, confusion slipping into annoyance.

"I'm the one participating. Why does she—"

"Because," Ben cut in gently, "this isn't some small academy event. This competition draws the strongest young fighters from every noble house in the kingdom. And the rewards aren't… ordinary."

He paused, lowering his voice.

"Many compete for prestige. Many for status. Many… for blood."

Victor didn't flinch. He'd expected as much.

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Your mother already dislikes the idea of you getting hurt. She barely let you join the main training schedule in the first place. And now you think telling her you want to fight other houses' top talents is going to go well?"

Victor crossed his arms.

"She'll understand if I explain."

Ben gave him a flat look. "…No, she won't."

"I'm serious," Victor insisted.

"So am I," Ben replied, pointing at him. "I have faced armies, warlords, and beasts the size of palaces. None of them were as terrifying as your mother when she decides something."

Victor's mouth twitched, half amused, half irritated.

Ben stepped closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing some old battle wisdom.

"Son… if you want to participate, good. I support it. Truly. But don't look at me when she says no."

Victor opened his mouth to argue, but Ben lifted a hand.

"No. Don't even try convincing me. If you can talk your mother into agreeing to this, I'll personally prepare your training equipment."

Victor frowned.

"So you're just refusing?"

"No," Ben corrected. "I'm being smart. I'm not fighting a battle I can't win."

Victor stared at him. "…You're afraid of her."

Ben nodded immediately. "Very much."

Victor let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-laugh.

"You're unbelievable."

"I'm realistic," Ben said. "And this time, son… the one you have to fight is not me."

Victor took a step forward. "But you're the King."

"And she's your mother," Ben replied. "Which outranks everything."

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. "…You just don't want to deal with her complaining."

"Correct."

Victor tried again.

"She'll listen to you if you—"

Ben put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once.

"Victor. If you want this, you talk to her. Not me. I've survived many things, but I have no intention of being murdered in my sleep because I encouraged you to enter a blood-soaked competition."

Victor had no comeback.

None that made sense, anyway.

Ben gave him a sympathetic pat before stepping back.

"Now," he said, turning toward the door again, "sleep. It's been a long day. And trust me—if you go to her tired, you will lose."

Victor muttered under his breath, "She's not that scary."

Ben laughed. "Then you've inherited nothing from me."

He placed his hand on the door handle again, giving a final glance over his shoulder.

Ben laughed. "Then you've inherited nothing from me."

He placed his hand on the door handle again, giving a final glance over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Victor."

Victor's answer was quieter than before, but steady.

"Goodnight… Father."

Ben smiled faintly, opened the door, and slipped out into the hall.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence swallowed the room whole.

Victor stood there, unmoving, staring at the empty space where his father had been just moments ago. The warmth of their conversation still lingered in the air, but it mixed with something sharper—anticipation, frustration, a small flicker of determination burning in his chest.

He lowered his gaze, letting the quiet settle around him.

"So," he murmured to himself, voice barely above a whisper, "I have to convince her…"

A breath left him slowly.

"…Fine."

The chandelier light cast long shadows across his room, stretching out around him like silent witnesses to his decision. The winter competition waited. His path waited. His mother's wrath waited.

Victor remained still for a long moment, his thoughts drifting between excitement and strategy.

But one thing was clear:

He would not back down.

Not now.

Not ever.

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