The classroom emptied out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a blank piece of parchment.

Securing the protagonist party was easy. Their egos were large targets, impossible to miss.

But Instructor Samantha? She was different.

She was a Platinum-rank knight, a former commander, and a woman who probably ate iron filings for breakfast. She wouldn't be swayed by taunts, romance, or curiosity.

She responded only to one thing: Duty.

I dipped my quill into the inkwell.

'If I tell her Infernus is attacking, she'll mobilize the entire knighthood. That sounds good on paper, but if the terrorists see an army waiting for them, they'll abort. And if they abort, the event doesn't happen. If the event doesn't happen, I don't get the rewards, and the threat remains hidden, waiting to strike another day when I'm not prepared.'

I needed the attack to happen.

I just needed it to fail spectacularly.

So, Samantha had to be there—but not as a commander leading an army. She had to be there as a lone wolf, ready to react.

I began to write, deliberately altering my handwriting into jagged, blocky script.

To Instructor Samantha Everhart,

While you sit in your office grading papers, a shadow has already crept over the Academy's future.

This Sunday, at the opening of CrystalVale, the 'Golden Generation' you are so proud of—Princess Celestia, Kael Ardyn, and the Ducal heirs—will be targeted.

There is no army. There is no warning. Just them, and the blade waiting at their throats.

If you value your students more than your day off, be there.

—A Concerned Observer.

I read it over.

Melodramatic? Yes. Suspicious? Absolutely. Effective? Without a doubt.

Samantha was the type who would rather investigate a false alarm personally than ignore a 1% chance of her students being in danger.

I folded the letter, sealed it with plain wax—no crest—and slipped it into my pocket.

At night, I will just slip the letter under the door of the faculty office.

The trap was set.

The actors were cast.

Now, all we had to do was wait for the curtain to rise.

*****

When I returned home, mind still churning with plans for the upcoming CrystalVale disaster, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"What the fuck?"

The curse slipped out before I could stop it.

My modest street—usually quiet at this hour save for the bustle of my diner—was blocked.

An entire entourage of armored knights stood in formation outside my home. Behind them were three carriages, sleek and black, polished to a mirror sheen. The central one, in particular, was extravagant to the point of absurdity—gold trim, silk curtains, and wheels reinforced with mana-suspension.

Has some royalty come to visit? I wondered, gripping the strap of my bag. Did the Princess decide to raid my kitchen?

I walked closer, wary.

As I neared, I saw the faces of the knights standing guard.

'Hm? Why do they seem so familiar?'

I frowned. I had never met these men in my life. Yet, seeing their armor—black steel with silver lining—and the specific way they held their halberds sparked a sense of recognition deep in my brain.

Then it clicked.

I hadn't met them. Lucien had.

These were the household knights of the Ashborne County.

As if to confirm my suspicion, the moment I stepped into their perimeter, the knights snapped to attention. There was no hostility. No blocking the path.

Instead, they bowed in perfect unison, their armor clanking.

"Welcome home, Young Master."

"We greet the Young Master."

I stood there, bewildered.

I was exiled. Cut off. A disgrace. Yet they were treating me with the deference due to an heir apparent.

I didn't ask questions. Whoever their master was, they were obviously inside my house.

I pushed past the knights and opened the front door.

Alicia was standing right there in the hallway, as if she had been waiting for me to rescue her. She looked stiff, her usual composure slightly rattled.

"Boss," she exhaled, relief washing over her face. "You're back!"

"A very important guest has come," I stated, eyeing the strange coats hanging on the rack.

"Well, I guessed that much from the army outside," I said, kicking off my boots. "So? Who is he?"

If Darius Ashborne was here, things were about to get ugly.

Alicia shook her head quickly.

"It's not a 'he', Boss. It's a 'she'."

"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow.

"It would be better for you to see for yourself," Alicia said, stepping aside and gesturing down the hall. "She is in the private dining room… trying out Lily's craftsmanship."

So much suspense.

I sighed, adjusted my uniform, and walked down the hall.

Two maids I didn't recognize were standing guard by the dining room entrance. But they recognized me.

The moment they saw me, they dipped into deep, respectful curtsies.

"Young Master Lucien."

I ignored them and stepped into the room.

The evening light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the table.

Sitting there, posture perfect, was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a painting.

She wore a dress of deep midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread that shimmered with faint mana. Her hair was the same shade of raven-black as mine, pinned up with jeweled ornaments that probably cost more than this entire building.

She held a fork with a grace that made the act of eating look like a royal decree. On the plate before her was a slice of strawberry cheesecake.

She took a small bite, savoring it, a look of genuine delight softening her sharp, aristocratic features.

And the moment I saw her, a warm, aching feeling bloomed in my chest.

It wasn't my emotion. It was heavy, nostalgic, and overwhelming. It coursed through my veins, seizing my throat.

The lingering consciousness of the original Lucien Ashborne—the boy who hated the world but loved one person unconditionally—took over.

My lips moved on their own.

"Mother…?"

The woman froze. The fork clattered softly onto the plate.

She looked up.

Her eyes—dark and sharp, just like mine—widened. The elegance, the nobility, the composure… it all shattered in an instant.

She stood up so fast her chair nearly tipped over.

"Lucien!"

She didn't walk. She ran.

Before I could even react, she closed the distance and threw her arms around me, pulling me into a suffocating embrace. The scent of expensive lilies and familiar warmth enveloped me.

"Oh my… oh my dear son!"

Her voice trembled, thick with tears. She pulled back slightly, cupping my face with hands that were shaking.

"Look at you! You've gotten so thin! Have you been eating? Are they treating you well? Oh, my poor baby, living in a place like this!"

Countess Lyriana Ashborne.

The only person in the world who looked at the villain… and saw an angel.

I stood there, stiff at first, but the warmth in my chest refused to fade. Slowly, awkwardly, I raised my hand and patted her back.

"….I missed you too, Mother."

*****

"You've gotten so thin…"

Countess Lyriana pulled back just enough to scan my face, her eyes frantic with worry. Her hands, soft and manicured, traced the line of my jaw as if checking for cracks in a porcelain vase.

"And your skin… it's pale. Are you eating enough? Are you sleeping? And this house…"

She glanced around the dining room. It was clean, polished, and cozy—but to a woman who lived in a sprawling estate with ceilings high enough to fly a dragon through, this probably looked like a garden shed.

Her expression hardened, a flash of genuine fury crossing her face.

"Darius…" she hissed the name like a curse. "That stubborn, heartless old mule! How dare he cut off your allowance completely? Disciplining is one thing—but to exile and leave my son to starve in a wooden shack?!"

She clenched her fists, the air around her trembling with mana.

"When I return to the estate, I am going to tear his study apart. No—I'll tear him apart."

I couldn't help it. A small, genuine laugh escaped my lips.

"Mother, calm down. I'm not starving."

"But look at you!"

"I'm fine. Really."

I took her hands in mine, gently guiding her back to her chair.

It was strange.

Strictly speaking, she wasn't my mother. I was a stranger who had hijacked her son's body. I should have felt guilty, awkward, or detached.

But I didn't.

The moment she touched me, the moment I heard the raw protective anger in her voice, something inside me settled. It was the original Lucien's lingering attachment, yes—but it was also me.

I had never experienced this kind of unconditional, suffocating warmth in my previous life.

I didn't hate it. In fact… I felt safe.

For the first time since waking up in this doomed world, the constant tension in my shoulders evaporated. I didn't have to calculate here. I didn't have to posture.

"Sit," I said softly. "Let me tell you everything."

Lily and Alicia, sensing the atmosphere, quietly bowed and slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

We were alone.

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