* * *

The door opened from the outside.

Serta, dressed neatly in the uniform of the knights, stepped aside, revealing a row of escort knights standing in line beside him.

Ateol descended silently to the ground.

Watching him, it seemed as though the carriage was merely a hand’s breadth or two from the ground.

But the truth was, jumping down carelessly from that height could easily sprain an ankle.

Ateol held his hand out to me.

Reluctantly, I took it, letting my weight shift naturally onto him as I stepped down.

When my feet touched the ground, I found myself steadied without a single wobble.

Surprised, I glanced briefly at Serta.

It was oddly more stable than when he helped me.

Thanks to that, I landed on the ground with not a hair out of place.

I adjusted my hood and took a quick look around.

Someone once asked if I could see clearly while wearing the hood like this, but with the right knack, you could see everything.

The large cathedral-like building at the center of the plaza was used for royal appearances, important announcements, or moments when I had to stand before the people.

From the plaza, only the balcony and the stained-glass windows were visible.

The pathway to the entrance and the gardens were sealed off like the palace grounds.

The high buildings blocked any view of the crowd, but the noise came through loud and clear: murmurs, cheers, laughter.

I knew well how the atmosphere would change the moment I stepped onto that balcony.

Pulling my hood lower, I held Ateol’s hand as we walked down the pristine marble path.

Delicate white flowers bloomed on either side.

Their name, Heathche, came from the tenth month of the year.

I remembered those flowers because they were one of the countless minor inconsistencies in this novel’s setting.

Originally, they bloomed briefly during Siloni’s month, a season of alternating dry and wet periods.

But thanks to the author’s disregard for such trivial details, these flowers bloomed in the middle of winter, in spring, and even in summer.

There were repeated descriptions like, ‘The frail petals of Heathche swayed in the cold winter wind’ or ‘The heavy summer rain made the white flowers bow deeply.’

Nobody else seemed to care about these inaccuracies but me.

Not that this novel was particularly popular to begin with…

In reality, Heathche flowers only bloomed for a fleeting moment and withered quickly.

If it rained this month, they would grow sodden and fall off, leaving behind smooth leaves when the month changed.

Inside the building, a grand staircase curved upward to the balcony, the marble steps intricately inlaid with illustrations.

It reminded me of the European cathedrals I’d only seen in photos.

I’d never been big on traveling, but I had an odd fascination with European cathedrals, spending days staring at their pictures.

I never managed to go because of financial constraints—and then I died.

But now, here I was, seeing more than enough to satisfy me.

Cheers to reincarnation trucks.

I stepped onto the first stair, and before I knew it, I was at the top.

Circular gray walls adorned with colorful stained glass, a sharp-domed ceiling, and long pillars intricately carved with various designs surrounded me.

As I stood there, gazing silently at the grandeur, nostalgia swept over me.

It was a spontaneous moment of reflection, but since it perfectly aligned with my past self’s actions, my synchronization gauge increased.

A small sense of accomplishment, at least.

Two knights guarding the door to the balcony bowed their heads as I approached.

Ateol spoke.

“May I open the door for you?”

I flinched. I hadn’t even realized we were still holding hands.

I withdrew mine awkwardly, and Ateol just smiled, taking a step back while staying close, as was his duty.

Serta and the other knights stood further away.

If the balcony doors opened, the crowd filling the plaza would come into view.

Taking a brief breath, I nodded.

At Ateol’s signal, the knights grasped the golden handles and slowly pulled the heavy doors open.

The muffled clamor spilled in like a tangible force.

“The Tower Master!”

Amidst the noise, a single distinct voice pierced through.

I couldn’t tell who said it, but unlike the reverence reserved for the Emperor, Empress, or Crown Prince, there was something different about their tone—something less awestruck and more uneasy.

Accompanied by Ateol, I stepped onto the balcony. The plaza fell silent the moment I appeared.

This was a familiar scene.

At first, I used to panic, wondering if I’d done something wrong, but the truth was simple—they were just afraid of me.

A shadowy magician with long hair and a face hidden beneath a hood.

Honestly, if I were in their shoes, I’d feel the same way.

I might be on their side now, but who knew how long that would last?

For that reason, unless there was a clear task, like today, I avoided standing before crowds.

The people who needed me would come to me anyway.

I raised one hand casually.

Though far below, their faces were clear to me.

The moment my hand moved, they all flinched in unison.

At the tip of my outstretched fingers, a small petal materialized, swelling from the air before gently falling.

That single petal marked the beginning.

Pale flowers began to descend like a light drizzle, quietly covering the ground.

Rain falling from a cloudless sky, flowers blooming where no soil existed.

From tomorrow, a ten-day rainy season would begin across the continent’s northern hemisphere.

The rain spilling from the gods’ urn would enrich the earth, but ten days of relentless downpour could weigh heavily on the heart.

That’s why, on the day before the rainy season, the Tower Master would come to make it rain flowers.

The people gathered up the blossoms, decorating their homes with them to symbolize the sun shining even during the rains.

I had no idea when or why this tradition began. Like many things in the novel, it was just stated as fact.

Curious after reincarnating, I tried to research the history of the Tower Master’s ceremonies, but all the records simply described what the Tower Master did, not who they were.

No details about individual personalities, no lineage of predecessors—just actions.

Filling in the gaps in this world’s flawed setting was sometimes part of living here, but not always.

It was about fifty-fifty.

“Tower Master.”

A low voice interrupted my thoughts.

Ateol again.

Only then did I realize I’d been making flowers fall for far too long.

Lowering my hand, I saw the people below cradling armfuls of blossoms.

As the flower rain subsided and the noise gradually calmed, their gazes shifted to Ateol, who stood near me.

Their confusion was apparent.

Though one of the most beloved members of the royal family, Ateol rarely appeared at events like this.

It seemed people had assumed the figure beside me was the Crown Prince.

Now that they realized otherwise, their murmuring grew.

Ignoring the noise, I extended my hand toward Ateol.

He knelt before me.

“On behalf of the Empire, I extend my gratitude to the Tower Master.”

Ateol, holding my hands in his, lightly touched his forehead to the back of my hand, then kissed the back and tips of my fingers.

Even as the crowd murmured, when I withdrew my hand and bent down to kiss Ateol’s forehead, they finally erupted in cheers.

A kiss on the forehead, of course, symbolized a blessing. By blessing him, who had conveyed gratitude on behalf of the Empire, I was essentially blessing the Empire itself. And yet…

[Affection Meter: Ateol
+10
22%

Ateol sees you as “■■■ ■■■■.” ]

This is turning out quite interesting, isn’t it?

* * *