“You are the seed of a demon!”

‘Was I born this way, just as my father—the Emperor and the man who shared my blood—claimed? Or…’

“My poor son. Please, in all things, put yourself first.”

‘Was it because of my mother’s dying words, spoken before she abandoned her young son and left alone?’

As a child, when his memories were still faint, he tormented himself in despair, thinking he lacked the qualities of a “wise ruler.” But as he grew older, he realized that having a terrible temper was far more useful for survival.

“I forgave you! So why? Why did you betray me again and try to kill me?”

“Such weakness is unfit for the Emperor’s throne!”

The betrayal of his longtime servant—who had been by his side since birth—became a defining moment in his life.

“…So, in the end, I chose to lose.”

“Yes. You should let your younger brother win.”

At that moment, as Raylin and Kertan’s conversation concluded, Aiger abruptly broke the brief silence.

“How long do you plan to sit around here?”

Before Kertan could respond, Aiger spoke in a detached tone.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to handle all my subordinate’s work for them.”

His voice, already tilted with sarcasm, twisted further with his words.

Kertan’s muscles tensed for a split second.

Before the Crown Prince, he maintained a rigid posture, never allowing his gaze to waver. But today, perhaps because of his reunion with his younger sister, he had let his guard down.

“I apologize.”

Without excuse, he bowed his head neatly.

As Aiger watched the top of Kertan’s lowered head, an inexplicable, deep-seated fire flared in his dark blue eyes.

Raylin, who had blinked in surprise at Aiger’s sudden sharpness, quietly closed her parted lips.

She had seen emotions flicker across his face—first ‘annoyance,’ then ‘confusion’—before they vanished.

Before Aiger could notice, she quickly averted her gaze, missing the fleeting glimpse of ‘jealousy’ that momentarily surfaced behind his irritation and confusion.

Unlike Raylin, who could see emotions as words, Kertan couldn’t. But he still sensed that Aiger was displeased because of him.

He didn’t know why… or rather, did he?

“She is my fiancée.”

When he asked about the lady of the Greuga family, His Highness answered with nothing more than those words.

And when Kertan had rushed frantically to the Greuga estate in search of his sister, he had heard an excited voice exclaim behind him,

“Goodness, His Highness dotes on his fiancée so much!”

At that moment, the memories clashed in Kertan’s mind, and he realized—ah.

He had been oblivious.

No man would be pleased to see another man chatting happily alone with the woman he cherished.

And since they were engaged, he should have been even more cautious.

Kertan understood the situation and reflected on his actions, but a stifling feeling settled in his chest for some reason.

Perhaps it was because he had eaten too many sweets today—something he usually never indulged in.

Aiger’s mood worsened as he watched Kertan obediently lower his head.

He couldn’t shake the thought that he had been petty toward his subordinate for no reason.

“I’m leaving.”

With that remark, Aiger disappeared like a mirage before Raylin could bid him farewell.

Raylin, staring blankly at the empty space he left behind, turned her head at Kertan’s voice.

“I’ll take my leave as well.”

“Ah, right. Your sister will stay in the annex until she fully recovers.”

“I sincerely appreciate it.”

Kertan offered a polite bow before immediately opening the door and stepping out.

With the Crown Prince gone, he couldn’t afford to linger here any longer.

He consciously quickened his pace as he left the room.

But for some reason—one he couldn’t quite understand—he hesitated and turned back.

Beyond the silently closing door, strands of golden hair shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, scattering like powdered gold in his vision.

***

“Uwaaaaaah!”

“Kill! Kill!”

“Hey, Number 13! I bet my entire fortune on you today!”

Blood splattered. Sweat dripped. The deafening roars of the crowd and the grating screams pierced the air.

A corner of the gladiator arena, where, as always, the place devoured countless spectators, leaving them breathless with excitement and exhilaration.

Catherine furrowed her brow, lost in thought.

Wrapped in a shabby robe with her hood pulled deep over her face, she quietly stepped back. No one paid her any mind.

Nor did she care for them.

No, she couldn’t afford to.

“Not here? He’s not here?”

Catherine muttered the same words repeatedly under her breath before abruptly lifting her head.

She stared intently at the list of gladiators for today’s match, muttering in disbelief.

“Why isn’t he on the list?”

Just an hour ago, when she had arrived at the arena, she had been in an excellent mood.

Soon, a highly profitable mine would be hers, and the day she would obtain the heroine’s mighty sword wasn’t far off.

But now, her plan—to lure Kertan using the bait of his younger sister—had crumbled before it could even begin.

Kertan was…

“Number 12 isn’t on the list? What’s going on? Don’t tell me he’s sick or something?”

“What? I haven’t heard anything like that.”

“Look over there! Number 12 isn’t listed! The guy who never missed a match is missing!”

A passerby clicked his tongue in exasperation at the two men noisily discussing the matter in front of the roster.

“Tsk, tsk. He disappeared ages ago, and you’re only now catching on?”

“Is that true? It’s been a while since I last came to the arena, but…”

“Then where did Number 12 go? Was he injured?”

Catherine was very interested in the answer to that question.

Unconsciously, she had started to move closer to the group, but now she halted abruptly.

“Well, I heard he’s recovering from a serious injury.”

“I knew it. Damn… Guess I’ll bet on Number 5 today instead.”

Catherine’s frown deepened as the two men, unable to find Kertan, grumbled and placed their bets on another fighter.

Recovering?

Kertan?

That Kertan, who clenched his teeth and fought despite injuries so severe that even the officials tried to stop him, just to earn enough money to search for his sister?

If he was genuinely unable to fight because he was recovering, then chances were he was utterly unconscious.

In that case…

“There’s no point in meeting him, is there?”

Her reason for seeking Kertan was simple: she had planned to offer to fulfill his most desperate and ardent wish in exchange for his formidable combat skills.

But he was useless to her if he was in no condition to talk.

And yet, leaving just like this felt like a waste of an opportunity.

Sneaking out wasn’t difficult, but the fact that things weren’t going as planned and that she was being thrown off course irritated her immensely.

“Sigh… Times like this, the original novel is useless.”

In the original story—centered around Julia, a typical sunshine heroine—Kertan was an important character, but his past was never detailed.

It was only natural, then, that she had no idea what he was doing or where he was at this point, before Julia even appeared.

Even so, Catherine was angry and frustrated at Kertan for deviating from the boundaries she had set for him.

How dare a mere character in a novel do this to her?

A side character at that—one who wasn’t even the male lead, just a fool hopelessly entangled in the heroine’s web—yet he was making her go through all this trouble!

If Raylin could hear her thoughts, she would have clapped her hands and called Catherine a lunatic, the kind of deranged person who would kill out of paranoia.

Seething alone, Catherine tried once more to assess Kertan’s usefulness.

To escape from that damnable family, to use her knowledge of the original story, and live comfortably, she needed a certain level of combat prowess.

And Kertan was the perfect pawn—someone she could use without spending a single coin.

She loathed the idea, but ultimately, she had to admit she needed him.

“I’ll look into it further first.”

She couldn’t just give up meeting Kertan based on hearsay from gossiping busybodies.

So she roamed the bustling arena, seeking out those who looked like they had been around for a long time, and discreetly inquired about Kertan.

“Number 12? That guy’s dead!”

“Ah, Number 12? I heard he was sick.”

“Hmph! Don’t even mention that bastard! What? You don’t know why? He left the arena! Do you have any idea how much money I bet on him? That traitor!”

“Hmm? When is he coming back? Who knows? Hey, hey, don’t go throwing punches like that!”

“Number 12? They’re still keeping the number, so the rumors about him leaving must be nonsense.”

“He’s gone! He’s gone! His number is empty, right? They’re just taking their time picking a replacement because the last guy was a monster!”

After spending the entire afternoon scouring the arena for information, Catherine was bewildered.

Everyone seemed to know something and spoke confidently—yet all their stories contradicted.

If someone had said they heard it through a friend, an acquaintance, a friend of a friend, or a family acquaintance, she would have just let it go.

Gladiator No. 12, Kertan, was one of the most famous men here, and with fame always came rumors.

But when everyone insisted they had heard it firsthand and spoke with absolute certainty…

“Catherine Sillion. Call the manager.”

In the end, she revealed her identity.

“Huh? W-what?”

The employee, who had been about to stop Catherine from ascending the VIP-only staircase while she was wrapped in a shabby robe, was instead caught off guard and pointed at. He could only blurt out meaningless sounds with a dumbfounded expression.

Catherine tilted her chin up, her already sharp gaze turning even more piercing as she spoke again.

“Why are you just standing there like an idiot? I told you to fetch the manager. How many times must I repeat myself?”

“Oh! Y-yes, yes!”