* * *
“Ugh… I’m seriously dying here.”
In a ballroom filled with soft, graceful melodies, Eren leaned against a corner wall, scowling as he rubbed his aching back.
His eyes, brimming with resentment, were fixed on Ashard, who was casually greeting the nobles as if nothing had happened.
They had spent the night together, yet somehow he was the only one left broken.
A wave of betrayal swept over Eren as he wiped his dry face with one hand.
“Judging by the way you’re glaring at him like you want to kill him, I guess you’ve finally come to your senses?”
“Why’s he the only one who’s perfectly fine? It’s not fair.”
Eren brushed off Helid’s friendly banter with a cold shoulder, side-stepping away in a move that clearly signaled don’t come any closer.
It was both a warning and a declaration that he had no intention of associating with him further.
“Looks like your ankle’s all better, judging by how well you’re walking.”
The one who’d injured him had the nerve to comment so casually, and Eren’s brows furrowed deeply.
That wasn’t said out of concern—Helid’s fake smile, far too out of character, was proof enough.
Eren quickly measured the distance between himself and Ashard.
For a moment, he’d nearly dashed over.
Even in this crowded ballroom, that man wouldn’t hesitate.
Sure, the prince and princess had supposedly placed a controlling artifact on Helid, but Eren knew better than to trust that completely—he’d nearly been caught once before.
And besides…
“This is their world—the protagonist’s world.”
He still didn’t know why the original plot had changed, but one thing was clear: the direction it was heading wasn’t good.
It wasn’t that his actions had restored the story; no, it had twisted on its own, veering off-course completely.
“And that voice…”
Just thinking about the voice he’d heard during the hunting tournament made his hands tremble.
It was terrifyingly oppressive.
Just a voice, yet it had frozen his body completely.
There had never been any mention of Eren hearing such things in the original novel.
Which meant it wasn’t Eren hearing them—but Lee Seoyoon, the one who had possessed him.
That was the most likely explanation.
And whatever had spoken to him that day… it couldn’t have been a mere human.
But why?
Why had it spoken to him?
What did it mean by “We’ll meet soon”?
Nothing made sense.
Still, he was certain of one thing—whoever that voice belonged to, it was tied to this twisted version of the story.
From now on, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down—especially not in front of the main characters of this world.
The protagonist of this brutal novel—a main uke ruthlessly toyed with by its violent semes.
The designated victim of these madmen’s cruelty, doomed to be pinned beneath them, giving his body up for the readers’ pleasure.
But Eren glared fiercely at him, his gaze sharp and defiant.
“Like hell I will.”
This world might be a novel.
Everyone else’s fate might be predetermined.
But there’s always room for exceptions.
And the only true anomaly—the only one not bound by fate—was him.
The one who didn’t belong here from the start.
“Don’t come any closer, Count Yulta.”
Eren pulled something from his coat and held it up.
Helid’s lips stiffened when he saw what it was.
It was the artifact Melody had handed him before the ball began.
More precisely, a magic orb infused with her mana—one that could activate the artifact around Helid’s neck.
“You have the same thing, so I’m sure you know exactly what I can do with this.”
Helid stared silently at Eren, as if trying to make sense of how he had it.
And once he realized it must have come from Melody, his face twisted with rage.
“Tch. That damn princess.”
“……”
“I hadn’t planned on doing anything to you just yet… but now I’m regretting that.”
Helid’s glare was icy enough to freeze breath.
He clicked his tongue and muttered in a low, venomous voice.
“I should’ve locked you up tighter back then. That way, your pretty little face would’ve already been under me where it belongs.”
“Watch your mouth.”
A harsh voice cut in before Eren could react.
Ashard stepped in front of him, shielding him with a murderous glare aimed at Helid.
His hand was already clenched around Helid’s collar.
Before Eren could stop him, Helid sneered and spoke first.
“You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn to take him, Duke Fridit.”
Helid whispered it into Ashard’s ear, then roughly pushed his hand away and walked off.
“What did he say to you, Ashard?”
Eren walked up to him, but froze the moment he saw Ashard’s face.
His eyes were cold enough to cut through steel.
When he gently took Ashard’s wrist, he could feel his pulse pounding out of control.
‘What could he have said to make him this angry?’
Eren was certain—he had never seen Ashard this furious before.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Ashard quickly returned to his usual expression, but the rage hadn’t vanished.
His pulse was still raging beneath his skin.
“Shall we dance, then?”
He smiled, as if to ease Eren’s concern, and Eren gave a small nod.
He knew Ashard wouldn’t answer even if he asked again.
So instead, he took his hand and followed him to the center of the hall.
As they stepped into the spotlight, every pair of eyes in the room turned toward them.
“Is your back feeling any better?”
“Do you really want to ask me that? You wouldn’t let me go until right before we left.”
Ashard smiled at the jab, and in response, Eren stomped hard on his foot.
His ankle was still healing, and now his back throbbed too.
The nerve of him, asking such a thing when he knew full well what condition Eren was in.
But Ashard, unfazed, slid an arm around his waist and gently lifted him off the ground.
To the others, it looked like Eren was dancing on his own—but in truth, Ashard was the one moving him.
“Maybe this’ll earn me a little forgiveness?”
“…Not a chance. Don’t think you’re getting off that easily.”
Still, it was much more comfortable thanks to Ashard.
He didn’t have to move a muscle—he simply let his body follow Ashard’s lead.
“It’s probably best if you stay inside the mansion for a while.”
Ashard spoke after a long silence, his tone unusually earnest.
Clearly, what Helid had said earlier wasn’t nothing.
“All right. I’ll do as you say, Ashard.”
Normally, he would’ve grumbled and refused outright, but this time, he felt the same way.
Ever since he heard that strange, unfamiliar voice, an uneasy feeling kept creeping in.
“This might be the first time you’ve agreed to my request so easily.”
“…That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it, though? Every time I say something, you always object.”
Eren had no real way to refute that, so he said nothing.
More precisely, he couldn’t say anything because Ashard had looked visibly relieved the moment he answered with a quick “alright.”
While Eren, who knew the original story, understood that something was going wrong, Ashard seemed to be sensing it purely on instinct.
As the melody tapered off, signaling the end of the dance, Ashard gently set Eren down.
The moment his feet touched the floor, murmurs from the nobles rose around them.
When he turned his head toward the source of the commotion, the one at the center of all the attention was none other than Carlyle Firentium.
The moment the music ended, without a second’s hesitation, the person he approached was Eren.
“Count Nefendis. I’d like the next dance—with you.”
As he extended his hand, Eren’s eyes trembled faintly.
It was against the usual etiquette to invite someone to dance after they had just danced with the winner.
After all, doing so was akin to declaring, “I intend to steal your lover.”
It was practically a declaration of war.
The fact that it wasn’t Helid or Julius, but Carlyle who made such a bold move—left Eren completely thrown.
But only for a moment.
Eren’s gaze soon grew heavy.
What stirred within was a profound sense of dissonance.
He had thought it was just his imagination—but apparently not.
The person before him was nothing like the Carlyle he had known until now.
As if to confirm that suspicion, Carlyle leaned in and whispered softly.
“Such curious eyes, Eren. As if you have many questions…”
“…”
“Like whether Anasil being at the hunting grounds… was really just a coincidence.”
* * *
