* * *
Anakin asked with a hint of regret on his face, staring at Roman’s cold and resolute expression.
“…Then, does that mean you’ll let me next year?”
Fourteen might’ve been a bit young, but he was still old enough to enter the Academy or a school.
Swallowing nervously, he looked up at Roman, who seemed to consider it for a moment—before shaking his head.
“It’s too dangerous. There’s no one there to protect you. You can’t even bring an attendant. How exactly do you plan on surviving?”
“I don’t need an attendant. I’m way more capable than you think…”
“Anakin. I already said no.”
That businesslike, icy stare.
It was obvious Roman made the decision with the family in mind.
If Anakin entered a school and failed, returning in disgrace would stain the family’s name.
That’s probably why Roman was so adamantly against it…
“……”
Anakin bit his lip and glared at Roman with resentment.
It was something he’d never have dared to do before, but humans are creatures of adaptation, and Roman was slowly becoming more familiar.
Roman’s right eyebrow twitched slightly, clearly displeased with Anakin’s attitude.
“Seems I’ve been too indulgent with you lately.”
With just that one sentence, the atmosphere turned to ice.
Anakin clenched his fists in response to Roman’s frigid tone.
“You don’t even talk to me unless I come to you first. So what if it’s dangerous…?”
“Anakin. Don’t push me beyond my patience.”
Even as Roman pressed his fingers to his brow in frustration, Anakin wouldn’t back down.
The emotional distance between them that never seemed to shrink—it made him angry.
Made him feel abandoned.
All the pent-up feelings he’d been holding back suddenly exploded.
So he blurted out what he shouldn’t have.
“You’re not worried about me. You’re just scared I’ll tarnish the family’s name.”
Roman’s fierce glare met Anakin’s head-on.
Just a short while ago, he couldn’t even look Roman in the eye.
But maybe spending a few days together had given him the courage.
Anakin was about to say something else when it hit him—the tightening in his chest, the pounding in his head. His eyes clenched shut.
The source: Roman’s pheromones.
The oppressive aura of an Alpha, weighing down like a physical force.
“Ah—!”
Anakin gasped for breath.
The Alpha scent, heavy and domineering, crashed over him.
As the pressure suffocated him, he instinctively covered his mouth and collapsed to the ground.
Roman, who had been seated, jumped up in alarm.
“Anakin!”
Facing an Alpha’s pheromones head-on was no easy task for an unawakened and unstable Omega.
Especially not for someone like Anakin, who was still reeling from the trauma of that banquet.
Roman quickly rushed over and pulled him into his arms, trying to calm him down.
He hadn’t meant to release his pheromones—it happened without realizing it.
But the effect was undeniable: it had terrified Anakin.
As Roman withdrew the blazing force of his pheromones, all that was left was Anakin’s small, trembling body.
That tiny frame, covered in cold sweat, shivering in fear—it shook Roman deeply.
He’d seen Anakin in worse shape at the banquet, yet somehow…this was more shocking.
He didn’t understand why.
At the banquet, Roman had only acted because Anakin was a member of the family.
If he didn’t step in, it would’ve been a hassle.
That was their relationship.
But somewhere along the way, Anakin—who used to flinch and avoid him—started to approach.
With a look of curiosity.
A glimmer of affection.
He’d started bringing coffee he made himself, smiling sweetly, clinging with strange bits of charm… all those gestures that Roman didn’t quite understand.
Maybe it was desperation.
Roman had simply gone along with it without thinking too hard.
He’d wondered if Anakin was just love-starved—but no, Anakin was adored wherever he went.
He wasn’t lacking in affection.
Then why?
Was it because Roman had saved him?
Was this pure gratitude?
Did Anakin approach him thinking he wouldn’t be harmed?
That naïve faith—that a single rescue meant Roman wouldn’t hurt him—was almost laughable.
To Roman, Anakin had only ever been a tool—an ornamental beauty meant to elevate the family’s prestige.
‘That’s all he was. So then why… why am I trying to comfort him now?’
“…Nngh…”
As Roman embraced him gently and patted his back, Anakin’s panicked breathing gradually eased.
Omegas really were such simple creatures.
Roman, now calm, lifted Anakin’s face to check his condition.
His eyes were wet, rimmed with red, lashes damp with tears.
Roman’s heart clenched.
He must never be seen by another Alpha like this.
“You okay?”
Anakin nodded weakly, then pushed Roman away.
“…I’m fine.”
Roman reached out, brushing back the hair stuck to Anakin’s sweat-soaked cheek, but Anakin flinched violently and rejected his touch.
Roman froze at the reaction.
Something felt… wrong.
“Anakin…”
“……”
Even Anakin looked startled by his own instinctive defensiveness.
He hesitated, then pulled away from Roman’s arms, his body still swaying.
“I-I think I just got a little scared. I’ll go rest. See you… later.”
He left like he was fleeing.
The room he left behind was hollow—its warmth vanished, leaving only emptiness.
Though he’d said “see you later,” Anakin didn’t go back to see Roman again after that day.
Maybe he’d rushed things too much.
He’d approached too quickly, made unreasonable demands about the academy, and now Roman was surely disappointed.
Maybe that was why he’d lashed out with such aggressive pheromones.
Would it have been better if he’d just stayed still?
He was like a baby herbivore, scared senseless when the predator he thought wouldn’t bite suddenly bared its teeth.
The thought made him feel pathetic.
“So weak…”
He let out a dry laugh, lying on his bed with his arm covering his eyes.
Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the window.
The sky outside was so clear and vast… and yet here he was, unable to learn magic, stuck as some frail young master. It was miserable.
He wanted to explore, to grow stronger in this fantasy world he’d been dropped into.
That had to be better than wasting away trapped inside this house.
The novel was fiction, the original plot just a frame.
But this world… this was his reality now.
He had to carve out his own life.
He couldn’t just surrender to fate.
Still… a part of him clung to the faint hope that maybe, right before he died, he’d be sent back to his original world.
Even if he knew that was nothing more than a fantasy.
Anakin closed his eyes and pondered.
If he asked the Count or Countess for a recommendation letter to the academy, would they turn him down instantly?
Maybe they’d be even more opposed than Roman.
They were prone to coddling him far too much.
That left only Roman—and the sycophantic retainers constantly trying to curry favor with him…
Some of the retainers feigned admiration while letting their greedy gazes leer grotesquely over his soft skin.
The memory of their disgusting stares made him frown.
Just thinking about it brought back the headache and dizziness.
He had vomited everything he ate that day…
Yeah, for now, let’s just be satisfied with hiring a private tutor to learn magic.
Entering a magic academy can come later.
“Young master. It’s time for dinner.”
“…Alright.”
With a solemn expression, Anakin descended the stairs.
The table was set with several kinds of appetizing steaks and fresh bread.
The Count sat at the head, with the Countess and Roman seated beside him.
Anakin took his seat in the remaining spot.
“Oh my, Anakin. You’re here. How have you been feeling lately?”
The elegant Countess—his mother—asked, dabbing delicately at her lips with a handkerchief.
“I’m alright. I think I’m slowly getting better.”
At that, Roman—who had just picked up his knife—froze momentarily.
The Count, a handsome middle-aged man with strong brows and sharp eyes (who looked quite a bit like Roman), continued speaking in a calm tone.
His overall demeanor was one of cold composure.
“Don’t overexert yourself.”
It was hard to believe that such a man had once secretly visited Anakin at night out of concern.
Truly unbelievable.
“Actually, I wanted to ask… may I start learning magic again?”
Anakin seized the chance and posed the question he’d been holding back.
“Magic?”
The moment the word came out, Roman’s gaze shot toward Anakin.
“I still remember what I learned at the palace. I’d really like to study it again.”
“But your health is still…”
The Countess Maria looked to the Count with a troubled expression, as if unsure what to do.
The Count looked at Anakin coldly for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“If that’s what you want, I suppose it can’t be helped.”
“Really? Thank you, Father!”
The Count had a soft spot for Anakin—no, not just a soft spot. He was openly lenient.
The fact that he visited Anakin in secret despite his busy schedule proved how much he cared.
With the biggest concern now addressed, Anakin could finally enjoy his meal in peace.
After everyone had left the table, Roman suddenly called out to him.
“Anakin.”
It was a first.
Roman had never initiated a conversation like this.
* * *
