* * *
As he walked, Roman frowned, recalling that day.
“That time…”
Anakin hesitated, unable to continue. Roman, expressionless, filled the silence.
“I’ll walk you back to your room. Go rest.”
“A-Are you really that busy?”
Roman’s pace picked up, and as Anakin hurried to keep up, he stumbled over a rock and lost his balance.
Just as the ground rushed up toward him, Roman casually reached out and caught his arm.
“Ah…”
The moment Roman’s hand touched him, Anakin’s complexion turned deathly pale.
Roman could even hear the uneven pounding of his heart.
The unfamiliar touch of an alpha.
Memories of that night began to creep up from the depths, swallowing Anakin’s mind in fear.
“…Trauma, huh.”
Roman frowned, instantly realizing what was going on.
But Anakin didn’t hear him.
He was frozen, lost in the memory of that palace banquet, overwhelmed with panic, unable to move.
Just as the thought of running away began to claw through his mind—
Roman’s arm scooped him up effortlessly.
Anakin flinched in instinctive terror, wrapping his arms around Roman’s neck as if falling would be worse than anything else.
As his face pressed against Roman’s firm, broad chest, his racing heart began to calm—like magic.
Maybe it was his body recognizing that this alpha wasn’t a threat.
“R-Roman…”
“You can’t even walk properly. Did it not occur to you that you’d end up as entertainment for the servants?”
“I tripped ‘cause you walk so fast… I can walk on my own.”
Roman scowled as if this was all a nuisance.
“Anakin. If you don’t want to disgrace the family name, act like it.”
There was no trace of affection in his tone.
Carrying Anakin was nothing more than a practical choice to speed things up.
And that made it all the more painful.
Roman glanced once at the brother quietly resting in his arms, then continued walking.
The servants in the mansion, seeing Roman carrying Anakin, all froze and began whispering.
“The cold Young Count… carrying his brother?”
“Could it be that Lord Anakin brings out a softer side in him?”
Anakin didn’t hear any of this.
Pouting in Roman’s arms, he mumbled without even looking up.
“Put me down.”
“…”
When Roman gave no response, Anakin lightly patted his chest, trying to wriggle out.
Roman, with one arm, effortlessly kept him in place and replied coldly.
“If you get hurt, Father can’t focus on his work. Same goes for Mother. Just stay like this.”
“I won’t get hurt. This is overprotective.”
That pale face, those defined features.
The way he looked up with those big, bright eyes—Roman’s icy expression cracked, just a little.
He’d seen countless beauties in his life, so normally it wouldn’t faze him—but Anakin was different.
…Using that pretty face in moments like this.
Really, what a cunning little brother.
If someone refused to obey his words, he’d simply suppress them with force or crush them with power.
Even royalty didn’t dare act carelessly in front of him.
That was the privilege and fate of a dominant Alpha—decided from birth.
But Anakin didn’t fit into any category.
Though technically his younger brother, they had barely spoken a handful of times in their lives.
So when Anakin came to greet him, it was unexpected.
The little brother who had always avoided him out of fear had, for the first time, sought him out.
Timid and clearly scared of him, yet strangely bold when it came to speaking his mind—that was Anakin.
That contrast had always been a little annoying… and right now, Roman couldn’t believe the situation he had gotten himself dragged into because of him.
With a scowl, Roman finally put Anakin down, and only then did the boy let out a sigh of relief. He looked up at Roman and said:
“I can walk on my own. I can get there with my own feet… though, I don’t mind if you walk me to my room.”
“…What?”
Didn’t he just ask to be put down?
What is he trying to pull?
He really was a baffling younger brother.
“It’s not that I hate you or anything… I just don’t like being overprotected.”
At that, Roman let out a short, incredulous laugh.
His always-cold demeanor softened just a fraction—and Anakin, catching that change, looked up at him as if seeing something curious.
Roman stared back at him in silence for a moment.
Then, without a word, he turned and began to walk ahead of Anakin.
His strides were long, so he quickly pulled ahead.
Startled, Anakin hurried after him.
“W-Wait! Slow down, brother…!”
Despite his cold and distant steps, Roman was clearly heading in the direction of Anakin’s room.
What’s more, his pace gradually slowed to something Anakin could follow.
Noticing this subtle kindness, Anakin smiled to himself and trailed after him.
Anakin wanted to build a closer relationship with Roman.
At the very least, close enough that he wouldn’t be sold off to some noble.
Whenever he got bored in his room, he’d go straight to Roman’s office.
Though Roman was only a viscount, his office was grand enough to rival an earl’s, and honestly, it felt a bit overwhelming.
But if he didn’t come on his own, they would barely even cross paths aside from mealtimes.
Without this, they might not exchange more than a few words in a whole day.
“This isn’t your playground, Anakin.”
“Ah… am I bothering you…?”
Maybe it was the aftereffects of his awakening, but he’d sometimes feel dizzy or nauseous when going out or overexerting himself.
Still, it wasn’t unbearable.
Whenever Anakin stood awkwardly, clearly unsure of himself, Roman would frown—but never kicked him out.
On top of that, the servants kept bringing out desserts without fail, making it even harder for Anakin to leave.
Sitting on the sofa in the office, surrounded by the scent of paper and ink, taking a bite of the sweet cake always brought back memories of the palace.
Lillian absolutely adored this cake.
And Hilde—always nagging not to stuff his mouth so inelegantly.
Just imagining them made Anakin chuckle to himself.
“Pfft…”
Roman, eyes still fixed on his papers, glanced sideways at him.
“Seems you like the dessert.”
“Yeah. It’s really good. Did the chef make it?”
“Yes. Chef Dolvine’s skills are on par with the palace chefs.”
“Want a bite?”
As he held out his fork, Roman’s expression instantly turned frosty.
“I don’t care for sweets.”
“…Haha. You look scary when you say that.”
Watching Roman’s reaction, Anakin suddenly opened his palm.
What he missed the most after leaving the palace was… magic.
Even now, the ring of his mana circle still spun within his heart.
Anakin lay back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
If he refined and compressed his mana and chanted the spell…
“Ice Spear.”
A small chunk of ice formed in the air.
He floated it, gathering them together and playing with them in midair when Roman’s calm voice came from ahead.
“Do you want to learn magic properly?”
“Yeah. I did pretty well at the palace.”
He’d always placed first in exams, and even Mikhail—the head mage sent from the Magic Tower—acknowledged Anakin’s talent.
If he was going to live as the main character, he at least needed the power to protect himself.
That much had become painfully clear after the unpleasant incident at the royal banquet.
“Power comes with a price. Those who possess it must bear the responsibility.”
“I know.”
“If you’re confident, I could write a letter of recommendation for the school you want.”
An era of sword and magic.
Among them, magic was a realm of pure talent.
With enough training, anyone could get close to sword masters—but in magic, if you fell behind, you might never catch up, not even to their heels.
Many had charged into the field with confidence, only to hit the wall of their own limits and drop out in despair.
Maybe Anakin had already reached the peak of his magic ability.
It was no surprise that most mages from the Tower were commoners rather than nobles—magic was one area where only pure talent mattered.
But still… what would it feel like to cast powerful spells and be known as a strong force in the world?
Just imagining it made his chest tighten and his heart pound with excitement.
While he was caught up in those happy thoughts, a cold voice doused them like icy water.
“But Anakin, you can’t.”
…Huh?
“W-Why not?”
Dragging his small body up to rest his face on Roman’s desk, Anakin resorted to a rare tactic—what he called the “Pity Attack.”
But Roman remained completely unfazed.
“There are plenty of reasons. First, you’re an Omega. Second, it’s dangerous. Third, joining a school means leaving the family.”
Somehow, they all sounded like the same reason.
“…Is it because you don’t trust me?”
“…”
Roman said nothing and turned back to his papers.
That silence either meant it wasn’t worth answering… or that it was the answer.
Anakin was confused—why was someone who once prioritized the family’s interests when he got kidnapped suddenly acting like this?
“Please… okay?”
Even Roman, who was normally so cold, had one weakness—Anakin’s desperate expression.
When he looked up with those round eyes, as if on the verge of tears, Roman often gave in.
And just like that—Roman’s hand paused mid-motion.
Did it work?
“I refuse. You’re still far too young.”
* * *
