* * *

This time, I at least had the composure to observe his expression.

He glanced back and forth between my head and the strands of hair scattered on the floor before looking at me with a peculiar expression.

Hmm. Now that I think about it, although everyone else looked betrayed in the end, Cloden and Serta seemed to have… foreseen it to some extent.

Perhaps they found it strange even back then.

The real Tower Master and the fake one were both eccentric enough that it wasn’t questioned much over six years, but there must have been moments when something felt off.

Anyway, cutting only half my hair had left it messier than before.

For six years, no matter how neatly I tried to groom it, it always ended up looking a bit scruffy.

Maybe the problem wasn’t my hair but my face.

“I’ll escort you to the carriage.”

Serta bowed his head.

All the knights, attendants, and servants of the Tower followed behind me in a procession to see me off.

Serta and Cloden stood by the carriage after helping me inside.

As the door shut, a wave of tension crept in.

Tonight, I would meet the Fourth Prince at the ball.

The thought of what he might do already made my nose sting with a faint metallic tang.

The carriage rolled quietly along the path from the Tower to the palace, stopping at the venue of tonight’s ball—’The Palace of the Crescent Moon’.

Even from a distance, I could sense the commotion, but as the carriage bearing the Tower’s crest approached, the surroundings gradually grew quieter.

The carriage halted, and Cloden opened the door.

Holding Serta’s hand, I stepped down.

The once-bustling crowd froze as if doused with cold water, splitting like the Red Sea before me.

Without paying them any mind, I passed through and entered the ballroom.

Serta’s escort duties ended at the door.

When the doorman announced my arrival, the ballroom fell silent.

Then came the inevitable murmuring.

It was clearly something I didn’t need to hear, so I didn’t bother straining to listen.

I was used to observing through the hood I wore.

Glancing around, I took in the scene.

The faces of a few nearby people had turned pale, their gazes toward me filled with fear.

I heard faint sobbing, hastily shushed and reprimanded.

In my previous life, at my first ball, the obstructive hood and the suffocating atmosphere had left me clueless about my surroundings.

But after six years, I’d grown accustomed, even familiar with the names of the palace servants and the histories of the tableware in use.

Wherever I went, people knelt and then rose slowly as I passed.

Soon after, a cautious crowd began to gather around me, though no one dared to speak.

They all exchanged wary glances, fear etched on their faces.

Of course, it was only natural.

A quick glance at the polished wall confirmed what I already knew.

I looked like a grim, long-haired crow standing upright in robes.

A gloomy figure exuding such a dismal aura, capable of killing someone with just a blink—no wonder no one wanted to approach.

Yet, ignoring me wasn’t an option, so they hovered around like a swarm of bees.

Indeed, those surrounding me had formed a slow-turning circle as if performing a ritual.

Were they casting a spell?

Perhaps a protective charm for their safety?

‘Where was I supposed to go again?’

At my first ball, Cloden and Serta hadn’t accompanied me.

I must’ve wandered suspiciously, unsure where to go.

Where had I ended up?

I couldn’t afford to lose the momentum I’d built up.

Just as I was mulling over it, I noticed two particularly radiant figures in the distance—the Emperor and Empress.

They too had spotted me and were approaching.

I began to walk slowly toward them.

The circle of people surrounding me shifted like a giant jellyfish, moving with me as its small, central brain.

The Emperor and Empress had their own protective circle.

As the two circles merged, a path opened between them.

Through that opening, I finally stood before the highest figures in the room.

“Your Majesty, the Emperor. Your Majesty, the Empress.”

“Tower Master.”

Both of them bowed their heads lightly toward me. I returned the gesture in kind.

I don’t remember much of the conversation.

I likely just nodded or answered briefly.

That’s all I did in my past life, too.

But just as the Emperor opened his mouth—

“AAAAAAAHHH!”

“……”

Both the Empress and I turned to look at the Emperor.

His mouth hung open, his eyes darting around in confusion.

Only after a few seconds did we realize the scream hadn’t come from him.

We turned toward the commotion.

From the entrance of the ballroom, the sound of screaming grew louder, accompanied by the frantic shuffling of people making way.

Ah, no wonder I couldn’t recall what we’d talked about.

This incident had happened as soon as the ball started.

The Emperor, after a moment of stunned silence, finally roared.

“What in the world is this…!”

And “what in the world is this” was exactly right.

Through the parted crowd came a tall man in ceremonial robes, draped in a cape.

“……”

His appearance alone was breathtaking.

Golden hair, jewel-like red eyes, pale skin. Long lashes and exquisitely sculpted features.

Blushed lips.

Yet despite his beauty, there was nothing soft or delicate about him, thanks to his demeanor, expression, and sheer build.

He was almost a head taller than me.

His body, solid and muscular, must’ve weighed twice as much as mine.

Broad shoulders, a perfectly straight posture, and long, athletic legs revealed beneath his fitted ceremonial trousers.

His presence unmistakably screamed “knight.”

Though his expression appeared nonchalant, a firm resolve lay beneath.

I recognized his face instantly.

Of course, I would. In my past life, I had knelt before this man in my final moments, meeting his gaze head-on.

They say when you encounter a tiger in the wild, you freeze in terror.

I felt I’d experienced that firsthand. His eyes were fierce, like those of a beast.

That was when I learned red could appear fluorescent.

Now, a sidelong glance showed his gaze was more subdued than I remembered.

Then again, if he’d gone around displaying that terrifying look every time he caused trouble, he wouldn’t have lasted long.

Behind him stood a knight holding a golden tray.

I had been momentarily distracted by the man’s face, but the sharp metallic stench that followed made me instinctively wrinkle my nose.

On the tray, neatly arranged, was… the severed head of a wolf, its eyes wide open.

The Empress screamed.

The Emperor shouted angrily.

And the man who’d stormed into the ballroom with a wolf’s head in hand was none other than—

“Prince! Have you gone mad?!”

The Fourth Prince.

“Mad? That’s uncalled for, Father.”

The Fourth Prince responded, his tone light and his expression completely at odds with the situation.

“I simply caught a rare wolf and came to present its pelt to Mother.”

Everyone in the hall turned their gazes toward the wolf’s severed head.

Pitifully, the wolf hadn’t even been able to close its eyes.

Blood still glistened on its fur, leaving it damp and matted.

It was customary in this country to present the head of a hunted beast on a beautiful platter when gifting fur.

Preparing the pelt could take months, so showcasing the kill in advance was a way to leave an impression.

However, such displays were always conducted with decorum—after prior notice, at a designated venue, with the head covered, incense burning, and at a respectable distance.

Never like this—storming into a ballroom, holding a still-warm wolf’s head aloft.

This was the Fourth Prince’s style of causing trouble—utterly baffling.

* * *