Part 1
A hush fell over the streets of suburban Yortinto as an imposing carriage swerved in front of Lydia and Philip's motorcar, blocking their path. Onlookers gawked—carriages rarely overtook automobiles, yet this one had done so in a dramatic, almost theatrical fashion. The carriage driver hopped down, doffing his cap as he beckoned someone inside to disembark.
Philip's pulse quickened. Is this another ex-fiancée? Another assassin? He glanced toward the driver's seat, where Lydia sat rigid, her gloved hands clenched on the wheel. She clearly recognized the coat of arms on the carriage—and looked anything but pleased.
At last, the carriage door swung open. A slender figure in a lavish white military uniform stepped onto the cobblestones—boots clicking softly. Silver and gold trim gleamed along the uniform's collar and cuffs, marking a high rank. The onlookers' jaws dropped at the sight. This newcomer radiated an almost otherworldly beauty: pale, flawless skin; delicate, perfectly symmetrical features; and long, flowing blond hair that brushed gracefully against polished epaulettes.
Philip's breath caught. A breathtaking lady officer? Another ex? Or…? His stomach knotted with dread and curiosity. The uniform reminded him of a 1900s cavalry officer from his old life, but this face was too refined, too pretty to belong to most women. Whispers rippled through the crowd:
"Good heavens… an imperial colonel, is it?"
"That's the famous Colonel of Hearts! Even that uniform can't hide such delicate beauty!"
"Is it possible for someone to look that perfect…?"
Philip felt a flash of panic. No, not another old flame, right? The old me sure got around… He braced himself for a confrontation, mentally tallying how many highborn ladies old Philip might have flirted with or upset. Lydia avoided his gaze—like she knew far more than she was letting on. But suddenly, Philip noticed something: the figure's chest was conspicuously flat.
The uniformed visitor paused, emerald-green eyes scanning the crowd, then narrowing at the motorcar. Tension spiked in the air. For a moment, Philip pictured some scorned noblewoman flinging a glove at him for a duel—or, worse, crying betrayal.
From the back seat, the System, now in a cutesy bunny form, twitched her ears mischievously.
"Careful, Host," she teased inside his mind. "Could be your next heartbreak."
Philip swallowed hard, heart pounding as this mysterious "lady" strode forward. The onlookers parted expectantly. Sunlight glinted off crisp white fabric, and a ceremonial sabre at the figure's hip clinked with each step.
Then… the stranger stopped halfway, those striking green eyes narrowing in confusion at the ducal crest on the door and at Philip, who sat in the passenger seat, his broader body wedged against the dashboard. The brow furrowed slightly, as though asking, Is this the right person?
Philip froze. The stranger's face—chiseled yet mesmerizing—wore a puzzled scowl. She's probably not an assassin, he told himself. But… oh dear. Another ex?
The System's laughter echoed in his mind.
"Why so jumpy, Loverboy? That's not a woman."
Philip almost jerked upright. Not… a woman?
"Nope," the bunny answered, whiskers quivering. "That's a man. A flamboyant, ridiculously gorgeous man named Kendrick."
Philip stared, jaw slack. A man? He blinked, now noticing the jawline's sharper angle and the uniform's cut over a lean, muscular frame. Holy smokes, he'd taken him for a lady!
A swirl of old Philip's memories threatened to surface, but before he could process them, the figure in white came closer, frowning in cautious recognition. The atmosphere buzzed—not with hostility but with a lingering question: Is that really Philip?
Lydia, still in the driver's seat, glanced back. "Master Philip," she murmured, forcing an even tone despite her tension, "perhaps… greet our visitor?"
Philip's heart hammered. He opened the passenger door, easing himself out with a faint wince. His heavier body made simple motions feel clumsy. Even so, he managed a semblance of dignity, standing on the street next to Lydia's motorcar.
Part 2
As soon as Philip straightened, the crowd collectively held its breath, braced for drama. The tall, blond colonel in white took a half step forward, emerald eyes flicking over Philip's round cheeks and less athletic build.
For a heartbeat, the colonel's gaze hardened, as though he was about to demand answers. The hush felt thick enough to cut with a knife. Even the local policeman, stationed down the road, paused midstride, hand inching toward his baton as if a brawl might break out.
The colonel's gaze bounced from the ducal crest on the motorcar to Philip's face, frustration and confusion mingling in that arresting stare. At last, the colonel spoke—uncertain but with a rich baritone voice: "Philip, buddy… is that really you?"
Philip managed a crooked smile. "I—yes, it's me," he said, still self-conscious about his changed appearance. "I, uh, had a bad accident not long ago. So I might look a little… off."
The colonel froze, lips slightly parted. Then his eyes searched Philip's face—one second, two, three—before a radiant grin suddenly swept across those flawless features. "It is you!" he exclaimed, tension dissolving. "But wow, you look so different! I almost didn't recognize you."
The bystanders relaxed, muttering, "Ah, they know each other?" Some ladies in the crowd sighed in disappointment—no scandalous duel or tearful confession, apparently.
But the colonel—undeniably male, in all his startling beauty—beamed like a proud parent. He closed the distance in two strides, raising his voice in gleeful greeting. "Philip! Old friend! What in the world happened to you?"
Philip blinked. Old friend? The words sparked another wave of memories.
From inside his mind, the System's bunny giggled:
"Meet Colonel Kendrick of the ancient House of Nernwick—flamboyant, gorgeous, and the very person your grandfather warned Lydia to keep you away from."
"Kendrick…" Philip echoed. And then it all flooded back:
Two teenage boys, hearts hammering as they snuck out after curfew to fence by lantern light.
A canteen full of aristocratic bullies who called Kendrick a "princess," mocking Philip as Kendrick's "peasant knight" for his newly ennobled heritage.
A near-brawl when someone tried to shear off Kendrick's long hair; Philip leapt in, fists swinging, enduring detention but winning Kendrick's eternal gratitude.
Their graduation ceremony as top cadets: Kendrick wearing a sweetly radiant grin, Philip smirking with fierce ambition. They were unstoppable back then, ready to conquer the world.
A warmth pressed against Philip's chest as these mental snapshots glowed in his mind. Kendrick was… a true friend to the old Philip.
Part 3
The local policeman, relieved that no blood feud was erupting, dropped his guard and strolled away. Meanwhile, Lydia sat rigid in the driver's seat, clearly torn between obeying the Duke's directive—keep Philip away from that man—and watching this reunion unfold.
"You look so different," Kendrick observed, his voice dropping to a quieter pitch. His gaze flicked from Philip's plumper cheeks to the sleek motorcar. "Have you been devouring entire pastry shops, or what?"
Philip flushed. "It's… complicated. My life took a turn."
Kendrick tilted his head thoughtfully. "After that Empress fiasco, rumors said you disappeared. Some folks claimed death by embarrassment, others swore you were locked up in a tower. I even feared you'd drowned yourself at the bottom of a lake."
In Philip's head, the bunny System hopped with glee:
"He is the epitome of a womanizer. He is famous for a 'harem' of ladies who somehow all get along despite knowing of each other's existence and the fact that he is engaged already. After the Empress fiasco, your grandfather suspected your downfall stemmed from imitating him."
Philip suppressed a sigh. Makes sense now.
As their conversation turned amicable, the onlookers began dispersing. A few griped that the drama ended too soon; others savored the comedic mix-up of "beautiful colonel or disgruntled ex?" The policeman offered a final polite nod and wandered off.
Kendrick turned to Lydia, who still had one hand on the steering wheel, her posture stiff. "I'm sorry for blocking the road," he said. "But I saw the Redwood crest and just had to say hello. You know me."
She pursed her lips, managing a restrained nod. "I do indeed."
With tension dissipating, more recollections flitted through Philip's mind: midnight cram sessions, dawn horseback races, late-night pastry heists. The carriage driver coughed discreetly, reminding everyone they still obstructed the thoroughfare. The footman stood at a distance, awaiting instructions.
"So," Kendrick said, glancing from Philip to Lydia, "why not chat somewhere quieter? There's a café a few blocks down—something about 'mirror-lattés.' Are you free?"
Lydia's posture went taut. "Master Philip does have other errands," she began with all the firmness of a protective chaperone.
Philip hesitated. A part of him wanted to stay low-profile—per his grandfather's orders. But a stronger urge longed for the comfort of an old friend after so much isolation. He glanced at Lydia, silently seeking approval. She winced but didn't say no. That was all Philip needed.
"All right," he agreed softly. "But just a short chat. We do have orchard supplies to collect."
Kendrick's eyes shone like a child offered candy. "Excellent. Follow me, or I'll follow you—whatever works for your mechanical beast. I promise not to cut you off again."
Some pedestrians frowned as the flamboyant colonel hopped back into his carriage. Lydia, still at the wheel, nodded for Philip to climb in. The System bunny scrambled onto the back seat—still invisible to everyone else—and wiggled its nose conspiratorially at Philip.
They made a short drive through calmer lanes lined with neat row houses, halting at a charming corner café. A red-striped awning bore the sign Swan Twilight Tea & Mirror-Coffee. Several small tables occupied the sidewalk, patrons enjoying hot drinks and sweet pastries.
The arrival of a regal carriage and a motorcar side by side immediately drew attention. Curious eyes followed the ducal crest on the auto, then fell on Kendrick's stunning face as he disembarked. People whispered, recognizing his rank or moniker, "Colonel of Hearts." They tried to remain inconspicuous, peering over newspapers or from behind teacups.
Kendrick claimed an outdoor table with an air of casual confidence. Philip sat opposite him, noticing how a group of young women on a nearby bench practically swooned at the colonel's every gesture, hushedly marveling that they'd met him in person. Even a few older men exchanged grudging nods of approval, one muttering, "Never seen a colonel so…," and trailing off.
Lydia hovered at the edge of the sidewalk, arms folded, her eyes scanning for unwanted eavesdroppers. A flustered waiter approached with menus in hand.
"Now," Kendrick said, leaning in conspiratorially, "tell me everything. I tried mirror-calling after that whole Empress meltdown, but no dice. Did the Duke lock you up, or did you—like some rumor implied—try to end it all?"
Philip shot Lydia a sheepish look. She averted her eyes, as though she'd never heard of any rumors. "I nearly drowned," he explained carefully. "And… well, I've been dealing with partial amnesia. So sorry if I seem… off."
Kendrick's face fell briefly, then he brightened. He reassured Philip that no matter what, he'd have friends—and, apparently, some adoring ladies—to lean on. Life, he declared, was too precious for despair. "People said heartbreak, depression… I envisioned you locked in a tower. So I'm just thrilled you're here, alive—yes, a little rounder, but definitely alive." He flashed a grin to soften the tease.
Philip let out a wry chuckle. "I've had close calls, but none self-inflicted. Life's complicated."
"It always is," Kendrick said. "Let me guess: your grandfather brands me a terrible influence. Everyone knows about my… unconventional arrangement with my fiancée. Perhaps he thought that I did drag you into scandal again?"
Philip noted Lydia stiffen at the word "scandal." "That's… part of it," he admitted. "But not everything."
Kendrick clapped a hand on the table in mock outrage. "I won't let them hide you. Scandal be damned; we've been friends too long."
A nervous waiter arrived with steaming cups of coffee. Philip took one, admiring the faint swirl of mana in the foam. Kendrick tasted his, setting it down dramatically.
"Not bad. Anyway, rumor in the capital says higher-ups wanted you gone after your public moment with Celestica." He snorted. "But Celestica allegedly found your devotion to Rosetta endearing. She didn't see why you should be punished. The military, on the other hand, needed you far from the press to bury the scandal."
Philip's cheeks burned at the memory. "She didn't get upset. Lucky me. My grandfather's relieved I wasn't arrested or stripped of rank, but… it's basically a demotion in disguise."
Kendrick rolled his eyes. "What a bunch of stiffs. You gave them the comedic highlight of the year. If our greatest weapon can't endure a harmless hand-kiss, we've got bigger problems."
Philip grimaced, recalling just how easily he might have been obliterated if she'd taken offense. "Yeah… I guess so," he murmured.
They talked a bit more, reminiscing about Kendrick's recent campaigns in Osgorreich against the Arussian Empire, which earned him a colonel's rank, until the bill arrived. Kendrick insisted on paying, ignoring Philip's protests. A few starstruck customers lingered, too mesmerized to leave.
Eventually, Lydia gave a pointed cough. "Master Philip, the orchard supplies?"
Kendrick rose in a flourish, half the patrons turning to watch his golden hair catch the sun. "Right, right. I shouldn't hog your time." He winked at Philip. "But if you vanish again, I'll crash your estate gates."
Philip managed a lopsided grin. "I'd like that. Just… call first, or you'll send Lydia to an early grave."
Kendrick laughed, snapping a jaunty salute Lydia's way. "Understood, dear lady."
She pursed her lips—though the corner of her mouth quirked in mild amusement. With that, Kendrick turned, his hair gleaming as he returned to his carriage. His footman helped him aboard. Onlookers watched in fascination as the carriage set off, the House of Nernwick crest glinting.
Philip and Lydia returned to their motorcar. The System-bunny hopped in first, invisible to everyone else. Philip climbed into the passenger seat, eyes trailing after Kendrick's carriage until it disappeared around a distant corner. At least I've got a friend in this world. Memories of Robert, Mia, and Tom flickered briefly, ghosts from a past life.
Emotion welled in Philip—relief, nostalgia, gratitude, and a sting of unease. He'd reconnected with someone who truly cared about old Philip. Yet that ally was flamboyant, scandal-prone, and precisely the sort his grandfather wanted him to avoid.
In his thoughts, the System gave a breezy mental shrug.
"Hey, that went pretty well—no swords, no jilted lovers, and no arrests. Congrats on reuniting with your flamboyant buddy."
Philip breathed out. "Yeah… I guess so." He stared at the now-quiet café. "He's surprisingly supportive."
"He's a real friend," the bunny replied. "But watch your step—between assassins, money crises, and your secret Familiar, you've got enough chaos. One flamboyant colonel can topple the tower."
Philip grimaced. She wasn't wrong. But he couldn't deny it felt good not to be so alone.
Lydia started up the motorcar, guiding them back onto the road. "Master Philip," she murmured, eyes on the street, "you won't let him lead you into… questionable activities?"
Philip chuckled. "Relax, Lydia. I'm not exactly in shape for that."
Her lips curved in a faint smile. "That's a relief."
They set off for the orchard district, winding along cobblestone streets as onlookers returned to daily life. Philip peeked over his shoulder, half-expecting Kendrick to barrel through again in some comedic flourish. Only dusty roads and passersby met his gaze.
Then, out of nowhere, an intense memory ignited in Philip's mind—like a single frame inserted into the film of his life. He saw a stunning woman who looked uncannily like Kendrick: the same blond hair, an equally perfect face, that graceful demeanor. She wore a glittering green gown that shimmered in dim light, her cheeks tinted a soft pink. Both hands wrapped around old Philip's, and she gazed up at him with shy devotion.
For an instant, Philip's blood ran cold. Wait… was old Philip and Kendrick…? His heart pounded, imagining scandal. But then the vision sharpened, revealing a distinctly feminine curve—a generous bosom impossible to replicate on a man.
He released an inward sigh of relief. Oh, thank the heavens… definitely not Kendrick.
But if it's not him, Philip wondered, who is this mysterious woman—and why does she resemble him so closely?