The smell of baked bread and hot coffee drifted through the inn's dining hall that morning.Warm light from the windows crept across the tables, catching the thin smoke curling off Kyle's cup as he sat alone — finally, finally — in peace.
He'd woken early, out of habit. Cleaned up, checked his blade, looked through the window at the still-waking capital. Then, after convincing himself that the world might let him have five quiet minutes, he came down for breakfast.
Coffee. Bread. Silence. That was all he wanted.
And for about forty blessed seconds, he got it.
Then came the sound of expensive boots on wood. Click. Click. Click.
He didn't even look up. He knew.
"Good morning," came a voice far too cheerful and far too proud for this hour.
Kyle sighed into his cup. "...No, it's not."
Seraphina sat down opposite him like she owned the place — back straight, chin up, hair tied in a perfect braid that shimmered like silver thread. She even waved a small lace handkerchief at a passing server.
"Coffee for me as well," she said, then turned to Kyle. "I assume you slept well?"
He gave her a flat stare. "Didn't think nobles did small talk."
"Only when it's necessary," she said smoothly. "I came to properly thank you for last night's… assistance. You were rather rough, but effective."
"Wasn't helping you," Kyle said, taking another sip. "Just wanted to get through the damn door."
Seraphina ignored that. "Still, it was commendable. I've decided to forgive your lack of manners. Not many can dispatch three grown men so easily."
Kyle raised a brow. "You hand out forgiveness often, or am I special?"
"You're… an exception."
"Lucky me."
Her coffee arrived. She took a sip, grimaced — too bitter, clearly not what she was used to. Meanwhile Kyle bit into his bread, perfectly content to ignore her existence until something caught his eye.
A faint glint from her collar — a small golden brooch, shaped like a winged lion clutching a sunburst.
He stared at it for a moment longer than he should have. That emblem… he'd seen it before. Long ago. Too long ago.
"...Aurelian, huh?" he muttered.
Seraphina's eyes flicked to him, cautious now. "Yes. House Aurelian of the Imperial Line. You've heard of us?"
Kyle leaned back slightly, cup still in hand. "Heard of you, seen you, fought beside one of you once. Your crest hasn't changed much in eight hundred years."
Her brows knit. "Eight… hundred?"
He didn't elaborate, just took another sip.
She frowned, studying him. "You speak as though you've lived that long yourself."
Kyle's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Maybe I have. Maybe I'm just old enough to remember when your kind didn't shout so much."
She leaned forward. "What do you mean by that?"
He ignored the question. "Tell me about your ancestors. The early Aurelians — what do your historians say about them?"
Seraphina straightened, clearly caught off guard but too proud to admit it. "Well… the first of my line was said to be chosen by the gods themselves. A warrior who united the eastern lands, established the Aurelian dynasty, and founded the Church of Radiance. A man of divine light."
Kyle's gaze dropped to his cup again. "Divine light, huh."
"Indeed. Why? You sound… skeptical."
"Because the man I met," Kyle said quietly, "didn't talk like a saint. He bled like everyone else. And when he died, there wasn't any god waiting for him."
Seraphina blinked. "What?"
He set his cup down, the faintest shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Your ancestor was a soldier. Fought in the southern wars under a false sun. Brave, sure. But he wasn't chosen. He was used."
She stared at him, uncertain whether he was mocking her or telling the truth.
"How could you possibly—"
"Don't overthink" Kyle interrupted, standing up.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them hung heavy — disbelief on her face, quiet exhaustion on his.
He picked up his coat, threw a few coins on the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, princess. Try not to get punched today."
And with that, he left the dining hall, leaving Seraphina sitting there — coffee untouched, mind spinning, the echo of his words gnawing at her thoughts.
After leaving the inn, he got a rather good thought, he looked like a roughed up guy from every angle in these worn out cloths with blood of the bandits he killed before so why not get a new pair infused with mana.
The capital's tailor district was too bright for Kyle's taste — all polished marble, perfume, and chatter that echoed off the cobblestones like the city couldn't shut up for five seconds.
He walked through it with that half-dead stare of someone who hadn't had enough coffee to deal with life. His old coat was ripped from the fight, boots muddy from the road, He looked less like an adventurer and more like a retired bounty hunter who lost his retirement fund in a fire.
So when he pushed open the door to Elanora Atelier, the silence that followed was loud.
Dozens of eyes — customers, assistants, and one very elegant elf — turned to look at him.
The elf behind the counter raised a brow, his silver hair tied neatly, green eyes glowing faintly under the lamplight.
"My, my," the elf said in a smooth voice. "I'm assuming you're lost, traveler. The blacksmith's district is two streets over."
Kyle grunted. "Need a suit."
"A suit?" the elf repeated, as if someone just requested armor at a wine tasting. "You're serious?"
Kyle just nodded.
The elf exhaled through his nose, muttering something in Elvish that probably wasn't polite, then motioned him over. "Fine. You're lucky I enjoy a challenge. You have coin?"
Kyle tossed a pouch onto the counter. It hit with a heavy clink.
The elf opened it, counted it, and — surprisingly — smiled. "You'll do. Follow me."
An hour later, Kyle stood before a mirror, dressed in deep black attire tailored so precisely it looked enchanted. A long coat with subtle silver embroidery, a dark vest, high-collared shirt, gloves — elegant but lethal.
He stared at his reflection and sighed. "...I look like some noble bastard's son."
The elf crossed his arms proudly. "You look presentable. And dangerous. Perfect balance."
"Can I look less... shiny?"
"No."
Kyle groaned. "I hate this already."
"You're welcome," the elf replied, collecting the rest of the payment. "And do try not to spill blood on it immediately, yes?"
"i don't know"
When he returned to the inn, the quiet he wanted was immediately murdered by one silver-haired headache sitting near the stairs.
Seraphina. Again.
She spotted him the moment he walked in. And worse — her eyes widened a little, just enough for him to know she noticed.
"Oh gods," Kyle muttered under his breath. "Not again."
She stood up sharply, that usual royal poise slipping just enough to betray the irritation. "You."
He kept walking. "Yeah, me."
"Wait—!"
Kyle didn't wait. He brushed past, heading straight for the stairs, but before he could reach the top step, a firm hand caught his wrist.
And somehow, despite her noble air, her grip was surprisingly strong.
"You don't just say something like 'I was there when your ancestor died' and walk away!" she snapped.
Kyle turned slowly, deadpan. "You sure about dragging men into your room, princess? People might talk."
"I don't care," she hissed, pulling him into her room before he could finish the thought.
The door shut.
Kyle blinked once. "...You really don't care."
Seraphina crossed her arms, glaring. "Sit."
"I'd rather not."
"Sit."
He sighed and flopped down on the edge of her bed with all the enthusiasm of a man heading to the gallows.
"Now," she said, pacing in front of him, "explain. What did you mean last night? How could you possibly know about my ancestor? Eight hundred years ago, you—"
Kyle rubbed his face. "You ever wake up too tired to deal with divine crap before breakfast?"
"Stop dodging."
"I'm not dodging. I'm ignoring."
She frowned, then paused — finally noticing the change in his appearance. "You... look different."
He cracked an eye open. "That a compliment or a threat?"
"You look like a nobleman," she admitted grudgingly. "Almost princely. It's... unsettling."
"Good. I hate it too."
She huffed, then crossed her arms tighter. "Who are you really?"
Kyle dug through his coat, rummaging through half a dozen pockets before finally pulling out a small metal card — his adventurer license. He flicked it toward her.
"Read it."
She caught it, turning it over. Her eyes widened.
"S–S rank?" she breathed. "There are only seven in the entire continent!"
"Eight," he said tiredly, flopping backward onto her bed. "They forgot me on the list."
"You— you're insane. How can someone that young—"
"Not young," he muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Just... old enough to be tired of all this."
She looked at him for a long moment, that calm, unshakable arrogance cracking slightly.
Kyle closed his eyes. "Now, if you're done interrogating me, I'd like to sleep before another idiot tries to save the world."
Seraphina opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw him already half-asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing slow and even.
She stared a little longer.
For someone so impossible, so infuriating, he looked almost peaceful like that.