༺ Welcome Back (2) ༻

The Saint Grenn Manor stood tall, a testament to wealth, power, and bloodline prestige.

Within its great halls, where chandeliers dripped with opulence and velvet curtains hung heavy with age.

The air was thick with murmurs of politics, war, and the slow decay of empires.

In a grand chamber, beneath the flickering glow of candlelight, a gathering of men sat around a polished obsidian table.

Not a single word was wasted. Not a single breath was misplaced.

At the head of it all, Gale Saint Grenn sat, exuding a presence that was both regal and terrifying.

He did not raise his voice, nor did he need to.

Every word he spoke was a decree carved in stone.

The wine in his glass shimmered a dark crimson, almost black beneath the dim lighting.

He swirled it absently, his eyes flickering to the men seated before him—high-ranking officials and confidants of the Imperial Court.

They were all powerful men.

"Drink," he said finally, his voice like a knife cutting through the air.

"Drink and listen."

The men obeyed.

Gale leaned back, fingers tapping against the glass.

"The Wretched Faith dared to touch what is mine."

His words were calm, measured—but the sheer weight behind them sent a chill down the spines of those gathered.

"They sent a marionette to the Obsidian," he continued.

"A puppet. A hollow thing, carved from flesh, imbued with a false soul—an imitation of something greater."

He brought the wine to his lips but did not drink.

"It dared to raise its hands against my son."

Silence fell.

The very mention of Noel Saint Grenn—the fragile yet cunning son of the household—made the air feel heavy.

Gale placed the glass down with a slow, deliberate motion.

"The Wretched Faith is a disease. A festering rot that refuses to be purged.

I've allowed them to exist for far too long, watched from the shadows as they played their little games in the dark corners of the Empire.

But now..."

His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, tight enough to crack the delicate material.

"Now, they have taken the first step toward their own destruction."

A man across from him—cleared his throat, hesitant.

"Lord Grenn... do you believe this was a deliberate move against your household, or merely an unfortunate circumstance?"

Gale's gaze snapped to him.

He flinched—a grown man, a war-hardened soldier, shrinking under that stare.

"There is no such thing as an 'unfortunate circumstance' when it comes to my family..."

Gale said, his voice soft, almost gentle—a sharp contrast to the violence lurking beneath.

"...If a snake coils itself around my son's throat, I do not waste time questioning its intentions. I cut off its head."

A cold, sinking feeling settled in the room.

Another man—a high-ranking official from the Imperial Court—cleared his throat.

"Do we have... any concrete information on the person responsible for this attack?"

Gale exhaled, slow and measured. He reached into the folds of his coat, pulling out a single thin sheet of parchment.

The candlelight flickered as he unfolded it, revealing a detailed report—a bounty.

"Her name," he said, "is Sasha Mont Claire. She is no ordinary assassin. She is a tool, a doll given false purpose, shaped by the hands of those who whisper of rebellion."

He placed the parchment down, allowing the men to scan the details.

"A mimicry of life," Gale murmured.

"A thing that should not exist."

One of the Imperial Commanders frowned.

"Are we certain she is truly part of the Wretched Faith? If she is merely a puppet—"

"Then we will burn the puppeteer alongside her," Gale interrupted, voice sharp.

"I want her hunted down. I want her ripped apart, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of her existence but the ashes of her sins."

The way he said it—so calm, so absolute—made it sound like a fate worse than death.

He tapped the parchment once.

"A thousand Arl for her capture. Double if she is delivered to me alive. No traces. No witnesses. Let the Wretched Faith know what it means to harm a Saint Grenn."

The room was silent, save for the distant sound of fire crackling in the hearth.

One of his closest confidants, a man named Lord Orpheus, finally spoke.

"...And what of your son, my Lord?"

Gale exhaled slowly.

"He will be fine. He is... resilient."

Resilient. A lie.

Gale knew better than anyone that Noel was far from fine.

He knew about his son's frailty, the miserable condition of his body, the way he endured it all with that same detached expression.

A father's love was not blind.

It was a curse, a thing that weighed heavy on the heart.

And Gale carried that weight every single day.

"...There is a party being held at the Obsidian," he said after a pause.

"A celebration for his return. I must prepare to attend."

One of the officials hesitated before asking, "Will... your son be aware of the bounty?"

Gale smiled—a terrifying thing, devoid of warmth.

"No."

He pushed the parchment forward.

"You have your orders. Do not disappoint me."

***

༺ [Noel's POV] ༻

A week had gone by.

Not much had happened—only that I remained at the Obsidian, where I was taken care of as I recovered.

The Obsidian was vast, far larger than I had imagined. It was not just a headquarters but a fortress, a city within a city, filled with towering office buildings and vast residing quarters where officials lived, either temporarily or permanently.

There were sprawling training grounds, labyrinthine archives, and heavily-guarded meeting halls, all laced with an air of unwavering authority.

Despite my time here, I still felt like a foreigner.

A stranger in a world that wasn't mine.

I spent my days learning, observing—trying to make sense of the world I had been thrust into from a mere train ride.

There were political intricacies I barely understood, unspoken laws I struggled to grasp, and the complications of my new body that I was still coming to terms with.

And more often than not, I found myself staring at the status window for what felt like hours.

The Authority I Had...

White energy swirled around my palm, a cold, whispering force.

I focused.

The energy took shape, morphing, twisting—until a small butter knife formed in my grasp, its blade as delicate as glass.

And then—

Blood ran from my nose.

The dagger shattered into nothing, like it had never existed at all.

I coughed, the taste of iron coating my tongue.

My vision blurred.

My fingers trembled.

I couldn't even form a simple butter knife without this happening.

Then came the mana burns.

A searing pain crept through my veins, leaving behind a trail of fire beneath my skin.

My body screamed in protest, the very fabric of my being unraveling for a mere sliver of power.

And then, as if to drive the message deeper, the status window pulsed before my eyes.

[Warning: Forcing your body to use mana greatly reduces your life span!]

I closed my hand into a fist, nails digging into my palm.

Useless.

I had inherited a broken body. A body that rejected its own potential.

Noel had already spent years researching ways to cure himself. His notes, his findings—they were all at the Velorian Imperial Academy.

If I could get my hands on them… if I could study them… maybe I could find a way.

Even if it only added a few more years to my life—

It would be worth it.

[Character Setting: Dark Romance Fantasy]

There was still much I didn't understand, but one thing was certain.

I was different.

I had been checking the profiles of others—at first, out of curiosity, but now, with growing unease.

Every single one of them had a setting under "Romance Fantasy."

Even minor figures—Phoebe, Claire, people I had assumed were background characters—all had it.

It meant their lives would likely end well.

They were meant for happy endings.

But then there was me.

[Character Setting: Dark Romance Fantasy]

A setting no one else seemed to have.

Even before checking, I had suspected it.

Noel's past relationships were all disasters.

His senior manager.

His childhood friend-Claire—now working closely with him. Yet their bond was fractured.

His ex-fiancée. A relationship that had crumbled before it could even begin.

Everything was falling into place.

Noel wasn't just unlucky. His very existence had been structured to ensure that he could never have a normal, fulfilling relationship.

Did Hana know about this?

She had played this game before. She had spent hours on it, enough to know its intricacies. Had she ever noticed that Noel Saint Grenn was different? That his fate was set apart from the rest?

But then again…

I had never actually seen him in the game.

Fixing these relationships… was that what I was meant to do?

Would it even be worth it?

In my past life, relationships weren't my strong suit.

Even small friendships were difficult to maintain as Ju-Won.

The only one who had ever tolerated me for a long time was my ex-girlfriend.

She had been patient. She had stayed by my side, even knowing my issues, my insecurities, my self-doubt.

And yet—

I let her go.

I told myself it was for her sake. That she deserved better than me.

I worked tirelessly, trying to build a stable future so I could be enough for her. But no matter how hard I tried, I never truly believed I was worthy.

And so, before she could walk away first—

I ended things.

She cried. She told me she didn't care about the future, that she wanted to stay. But I forced her out.

After that, we never spoke again.

But I still saw her—from a distance.

I heard the rumors. That she had moved on, that she was seeing someone else. I saw her smile across the office floor, the happiness in her eyes.

And that was enough for me.

Even after five years, I never had anyone else to live for.

Except Hana.

She was the only one left.

***

I remember Hana being in the hospital bed, the IV drip attached to her arm.

Her body was frail, but her gaze was sharp—a reprimanding look only a sibling could give.

"You broke up with her?"

She asked, arms crossed despite her weakness.

I let out a slow breath, leaning back in the chair beside her.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I shrugged.

"She seems happy now."

Hana's frown deepened.

"You're such an idiot."

I laughed. A real laugh.

"I know."

She sighed, then reached out, pulling my head against her shoulder.

I stiffened.

She patted my hair.

"You're always doing this. Thinking that you're not enough."

I didn't respond.

She tightened her hold.

"One day, you need to stop pushing people away just because you think they deserve better."

***

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling as I wiped my eyes.

That conversation…

That alone reminded me of how it felt to have broken relationships that were never mended.

Is that why I was here?

If so—

I would not let Noel's life end the same way mine did.

He deserved a happy ending.

And I would make sure he got one.

The door creaked open.

I turned my head, and there she was.

Claire.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked.

I blinked, momentarily forgetting I was supposed to be getting ready for the party.

The sun was setting outside. The world was bathed in gold and crimson.

For a moment, I let myself forget everything.

Even if it felt like it all only ever happened to me.

I looked at Claire.

She was smiling.

For a fraction of a second, I saw her bloodied face, a staff piercing through her skull.

Then, just as quickly, the image vanished—replaced by the flowery, current version of her.

I smiled back.

Yeah.

I will live.

Not just for this body.

But for those around me as well.

That alone is enough to make you happy, Hana.

The first step was deciding whether I should leave the Imperial Security Department.