༺ Welcome Back (3) ༻

"Please... please, I don't want to die like this!

...I-I-I have a family—I'll atone!

I-I-I-I'll do anything!

Just give me another chance, I beg you!"

His voice cracked, desperation clinging to every syllable.

"Please!" 

Before him stood a woman draped in black, her long, silken hair cascading down to her ankles like a dark river.

Her eyes, outlined with deep black liner and shadow, made her stare even more piercing.

Black lipstick curled against her pale skin as her tongue ran across the corner of her lips.

She looked entertained, amused by his pleading. 

She stepped forward, slowly, the sound of her heels clicking against the pristine white marble floor.

The man gasped as her delicate hand hovered lightly over his head. 

He swallowed hard, his breath catching.

"P-please..." he whimpered one last time. 

Then—silence.

His pupils dilated, his body stiffened.

The fear that had twisted his face melted away.

Instead, his mouth curled into a serene smile, his wide eyes turning a deep, empty black, save for the iris, where a black love heart pulsed softly. 

A deep sigh left his lips, his expression full of devotion. 

"Oh, my love..."

He whispered, stretching his arms wide as though embracing something invisible.

"So beautiful... beyond words... death is nothing in your hands."

His voice was steady now, almost reverent.

Tears streamed down his face, but they no longer carried fear—only adoration.

"Your beauty is divine... more than this wretched body deserves. To die by you, to become one with you... it is an honor—" 

His head burst. 

A sickening sound of bone and flesh rupturing echoed through the room as blood painted the pristine white walls in deep red.

His body slumped lifelessly.

The black-haired woman slowly withdrew her hand, droplets of blood sliding down her fingertips.

She barely spared the corpse a glance as a door creaked open behind her. 

Three figures entered. 

They were identical to her—long black hair, black lips, black eyeshadow, and the same otherworldly beauty.

Two others followed behind, their presence just as eerie, their steps light against the marble floor. 

The long room stretched before them, and at its center was a grand table, pristine and white, made for a family feast.

The chairs, identical in color, were already occupied. 

Dozens of women sat around it—identical, unmoving.

Their black eyes stared ahead, unblinking, their hands resting neatly on their laps. Not a single breath, not a twitch of a finger. 

The only color in the room was the blood splattered across the walls and the slow red trail left behind as a few more of their kind emerged, silently moving to clean the mess.

One wiped the wall, another dragged the lifeless body away, the blood streaking across the floor like ink on untouched paper. 

The woman who had entered last finally spoke. 

"The confidant of House Velmora… he has loose lips..."

She murmured.

Her voice was smooth, yet it carried something unsettling.

"The Mage House should be more careful with whom they trust.

Or perhaps..."

She trailed off, tilting her head slightly.

"...perhaps they no longer have the loyalty they claim." 

At the far end of the table, seated in a grander chair than the rest, was a figure shrouded in swirling black fog. 

It sat perfectly still, only the shape of lips visible within the darkness.

The air around the figure felt heavier, suffocating, as though they swallowed the very concept of light.

When it finally spoke, the voice was just a slow, knowing whisper that sent chills through the room. 

"It seems House Velmora... does not wish to ascend in the upcoming selection for the Saint Household." 

A pause. 

"No matter..." 

And just like that, silence reclaimed the room.

***

༺ [Phoebe's POV] ༻

I sat at my desk, surrounded by stacks of documents.

The air was thick with the scent of paper and ink filling the empty space.

The clock on the far wall ticked steadily, but my thoughts were already elsewhere.

I scanned through the latest reports on Diplomatic Security Coordination, a file detailing the measures in place for protecting foreign dignitaries, high-ranking nobles, and members of the royal family.

There were risk assessments, names of rival nations to keep an eye on, and intelligence reports on known terrorist factions.

The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders as I flipped through each page, but my mind drifted.

It always did these days.

Noel.

I leaned back slightly, fingers pressing against my temple. Noel Saint Grenn.

He was different.

Usually, Noel was someone confined, poised—unshaken no matter the case.

The Noel I knew was precise, calculated, always composed even when the world around him wasn't.

But when I visited him at the infirmary after the attack… he was anything but composed.

He had looked anxious, his face pale, his skin damp with sweat.

I could tell, just from the way his golden eyes darted around, how uneasy he was.

That look he gave me… it wasn't the usual detached, cold gaze I had grown accustomed to.

It was fear.

I couldn't place why. Was it the attack? Had it shaken him so badly?

But then again, we hadn't seen each other in three years.

Three long years apart, and now suddenly he was back. Had the military changed him?

No. That couldn't be it.

I had trained in the military before joining as a civil servant, and I knew firsthand—if anything, the military hardened its cadets, not softened them.

Yet, Noel… if I had to put it into words, he felt lost.

Confused.

Still, I was glad he was okay.

I let out a quiet sigh and rested my hands on the table, my fingers grazing the paper before me, but I didn't read it anymore.

Instead, a memory drifted in.

***

The pathway outside the Obsidian.

The atmospher was dull and cold that evening, soft pink petals falling from the trees, decorating the ground like a dream.

The wind carried them in slow, swirling patterns around us.

Noel stood beside me, his tall frame still, his posture unwavering as always.

The cold evening breeze rustled through his black silky hair, catching strands of mine as well, making them dance together.

It had been so long since we'd had a moment like that.

Maybe we never had one at all.

I turned to him, studying his profile—the sharpness of his jaw, the way his golden eyes reflected the dying sunlight.

He was unreadable, as always.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"How long will you be in the military?"

His gaze remained ahead, steady as stone.

"Six years."

I frowned inwardly but didn't show it.

"Six years? That's… a long time."

A brief pause. Then, "My father had it reduced to three."

That surprised me.

Noel's father, despite being strict, was known for his expectations.

To have his son serve the full term would have made sense, but instead, he pulled him out early?

"Why?" I asked.

Noel's eyes flickered slightly, almost imperceptibly.

"He thought I would die if I stayed there any longer."

The wind blew stronger, sending more petals spiraling around us.

Noel, dying.

It wasn't impossible—his illness was something even I didn't fully understand. But to hear it from him, spoken so plainly… it made something in my chest twist.

I clenched my fists, trying to push away the thoughts.

And then, before I could second-guess myself, I spoke.

"I know it may seem out of nowhere, but…"

My throat felt tight, but I pushed through.

"I like you, Noel."

He didn't react.

I swallowed hard.

"I like you."

The words hung between us, delicate yet heavy. The petals swirled around our feet as I leaned forward, my heart hammering in my chest.

A quick peck.

Soft. Barely a second. But enough.

I pulled away, my eyes meeting his.

His golden irises held nothing—no warmth, no surprise. Just stillness, as if the moment never even happened.

A horn echoed in the distance.

Noel turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward the entrance.

"My ride is here."

He stepped forward.

"I'll be going now."

And just like that, he left.

I stood there, arms wrapped around myself, the cold air biting at my skin as the wind carried away the petals at my feet.

***

Back in the present, I let out a quiet, bitter laugh as I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath.

Was it too sudden?

He had just gotten out of a relationship with his fiancée.

Maybe I should have waited.

Maybe I should have held back.

But at least I had said it.

Even if it meant being left with nothing.

I stared at the ceiling, blinking back the sharp sting in my eyes.

I had hoped—just a little—that when he returned, he would give me an answer.

When I visited him at the infirmary, I thought he'd say something.

Anything.

But he didn't.

Once again, I was right back where I started.

"..."

I decided not to cry. Even if a few tears slipped down, just for a bit… I wouldn't let them ruin my makeup. The party was starting that evening, and I couldn't afford to look anything less than composed. 

I took a slow breath, steadying myself as I reached for a tissue, dabbing carefully under my eyes. No smudges. No weakness. 

A knock came at the door. 

I straightened my posture, smoothing my dress before calling out, "Who is it?" 

A voice responded from the other side.

"Ma'am, your car is awaiting outside to head to Mister Grenn's Welcome Party."

***

༺ [Noel's POV] ༻

The address given for my welcome party was The Grand Cathedral of Saint Luxor, the main hall of all Imperial Ministries.

The name alone carried weight.

It was an important place—perhaps the most important in the empire, where policies were signed, nobles held secret meetings, and where only the highest-ranking officials of the empire gathered for critical discussions.

Tonight, it wasn't a place for politics, but a hall transformed into a grand reception—for me.

As the car rolled past the grand iron gates, the structure came into view, illuminated by golden chandeliers that hung over the massive stained-glass windows.

The Cathedral was built with a blend of white marble and gold accents, its towering columns standing like silent sentinels of history.

The intricate carvings on the walls depicted past rulers, saints, and victories of the empire, all meticulously engraved in a way that seemed to whisper of power and authority.

Beyond the entrance, the long staircase leading up to the main doors was filled with nobles and officials dressed in their finest.

Their voices mixed into an indistinct hum, polite laughter and chatter filling the air as they greeted one another before making their way inside.

The variety of carriages and luxurious vehicles parked outside only added to the grandeur—each more extravagant than the last.

Expensive emblems and family crests marked the carriages, showcasing the prestige of those attending.

Looking at it all, I realized something.

I had never experienced anything like this before.

Attending such high-ranking events?

Riding in a luxurious car?

Back then, my greatest concern was just making it through each day, earning enough to live comfortably.

Now, I was the center of this entire gathering.

I would've been nervous.

In fact, I was nervous.

But thanks to my character trait, [Calm Demeanor], my expression remained steady.

No shaking hands, no darting eyes. Just composed, as if this was natural for me.

And then there was [Refined Fashion Sense].

I glanced at my reflection in the car's side window.

A perfectly tailored white blazer with golden linings, the cuffs and buttons shining under the entrance lights. A crisp white shirt underneath, paired with matching white pants. A black tie adorned with a golden emblem, and polished black shoes to complete the look. Even my black gloves, adjusted neatly, added to the effect. The black walking cane in my grasp? A final touch of elegance.

…And then there was my hair.

Or at least, what it used to be—slightly ruffled and carelessly left as it was, just like in my previous life.

But the moment I saw it that way, my trait [Perfectionist] kicked in.

A sharp pain struck my chest—actual pain. It was unbearable to let it stay like that.

So, I had styled it back, smooth and refined.

As the car came to a stop, the chauffeur stepped out and walked around to open the door.

He gave a slight bow as I exited, and for a moment, I took in the sight before me.

Alright. Play the part. Act like Noel Saint Grenn.

I had already acted unlike him in small moments, slipping into my old habits as Ju-Won.

I could only hope no one had noticed.

Possession wasn't a foreign concept in this world, and I didn't want to find out what happened to those caught.

'There will be a lot of important figures here…' I thought.

'I need to act like one of them.'

And yet, deep down, I knew the truth.

I wasn't some noble. I wasn't some high-ranking figure.

I was just a suburban nobody. A worker. A man who had earned just enough to live simply, comfortably.

I smiled slightly at the thought.

If Hana were here, she would've loved this kind of event.

She always called these grand noble gatherings "generic," but she adored them in games and shows.

If she were here, she'd be watching with shining eyes, eating all the expensive food, making fun of the dramatic noble drama unfolding before her.

With a deep breath, I stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the Grand Cathedral of Saint Luxor.

And then, the first person I saw...

Nestled among the most powerful individuals in the empire, a man stood with unmistakable presence.

White hair. White mustache. Dressed in regal attire fitting of his status.

"..."

I clenched my gloved fingers around my cane.

One of the biggest reasons I needed to act like Noel as best as I could…

There was no one more observant than a father.

A father who would notice the slightest shift in energy from his child.

If he knew… if he even suspected that a random lowly soul had taken over his son's body—

It would be over for me.

His gaze locked onto me, unreadable.

Then, he smiled.

"There's my boy."

He stepped forward.

"Long time no see… son."