Swish. Shhk!

Though the night was still and windless, the training grounds echoed to the sound of blades cutting through the air.

Invisible enemies fell beneath a succession of precise, merciless strikes — each movement swift and flawless.

Laila wielded her sword with such deadly force that merely watching her was enough to make one imagine flesh being torn apart. Her golden hair flowed like waves, following the elegant rhythm of her movements. Reflected in the silver blade were her proud, tranquil eyes and a beauty so radiant that she was compared to the moon goddess.

Yet that was not how the world remembered her.

They called her the Reincarnation of the Ancient Sword — a legendary warrior said to unleash hell itself upon the battlefield whenever she drew her blade.

Her prowess was so extraordinary that even the imperial court coveted her allegiance. And yet, for reasons unknown, Laila remained unwaveringly at Carlo’s side.

“Laila, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Carlo brushed back his sweat-dampened black hair as he approached, taking his time and speaking in a casual tone.

The mere sight of him brought a warm flush to Laila’s cheeks.

They said that a woman needed only to meet his gaze once to fall in love. For this reason, he was known as the Bewitching Basilisk.

He was tall and muscular, with features that seemed to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. Yet his true allure lay in his charm: his disarming wit, impeccable manners, and the teasing way he walked the line between seduction and audacity.

He was the man who stirred up scandal wherever he went and the Reincarnation of the Ancient Sword, who stood guard at his side.

They seemed perfectly matched, yet somehow they were not.

The world never ceased to wonder about the true nature of their bond.

“Carlo. When did you get here?”

Laila quickly sheathed her sword and grabbed a dry towel. Her palms were blistered, her hair was damp with sweat and she was wearing no makeup — an unflattering sight next to him. She covered her face with the towel as she spoke.

“A moment ago. I heard the sound of a blade when I came in.”

Despite her effort to hide, Carlo only smiled playfully and tugged the towel out of her hands.

“Ah—!”

He began to wipe her face, moving with the ease that only long familiarity can bring. Up close, his beauty took her breath away. Every time his crimson eyes, which stood out even more against his pale skin, swept across her face, her heart gave a sharp, electric throb.

“…I can do it myself.”

She must reek of sweat. Embarrassed, Laila reached for the towel—only for Carlo to pinch her cheek instead.

“Stay still. You’ll make that face of yours even uglier.”

“It’s easy to accept when it comes from someone as handsome as you—but that doesn’t mean I have to like it, you know?”

He was the kind of man so handsome that noblewomen would line up, begging just for a single meeting with him. So if he ever called someone ugly, one could only accept it as truth.

“Wow… I didn’t know you were capable of saying something like that.”

At Laila’s genuine remark, Carlo looked genuinely surprised. His crimson eyes widened for a beat before a bright, refreshing laugh escaped his lips.

‘Even his laughter has to sound that charming, huh?’

Laila turned her head away, feeling once again like the loser in the presence of the man she loved.

Then his hand brushed softly against her ear.

He was merely tucking back her disheveled golden hair, yet the gesture felt far too intimate—almost sinful.

“No need to be upset. I was only teasing. You really don’t see how beautiful you are, do you? It’s only because it’s you that I can joke like that.”

“…”

Moments like this always made her wonder if he truly knew how she felt.

Whenever she was overwhelmed by the pain of being seen as nothing more than a friend, he would win her over with a casual word or touch.

Perhaps he really did know, after all. After all, she had been his loyal friend for seven long years.

Laila was simple by nature. Carlo was the only person she knew, and wielding a sword was the only skill she possessed. She had never been good at hiding her aching, tangled feelings.

Neither of them was born in the Cerclezia Empire. Carlo was the young lord of a ducal house in the Adelina Empire. Seven years ago, Laila had lost all her memories in that land, and she had followed the man who had saved her across the border into Cerclezia.

No one had ever come searching for her. No one had tried to help her recover her forgotten past.

There was no reason for her to look back.

To Laila, Carlo was everything.

“I should dye your hair again. The silver’s starting to show.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it for you.”

“No, that’s fine.”

She was all too aware of how easily his touch shook her.

For some reason, Carlo disliked it whenever her silver hair was visible. He was the one who had suggested she dye it gold — a color similar enough to hide the silver sheen — and she had agreed without hesitation.

When it came to Carlo, her opinions never mattered. He was her beginning, her world, her everything.

Having never experienced love before, either giving or receiving it, she devoted herself to him completely and desperately. Whatever he said, she obeyed without question, regarding his words as her salvation.

“And now, you don’t even let me dye it anymore.”

There was a faint hint of hurt in his voice, and for a moment, Laila’s resolve wavered. However, she turned away, pretending not to notice, and started to put her sword back in its case.

“Let me see your hands.”

“…!”

She’d been hiding them since earlier, not wanting him to notice—but of course, he already had.

“Laila.”

She quickly clasped her hands together and took a step back, as though to indicate that she would never show him. Carlo’s brow furrowed and he looked irritated, as though her retreat were an act of defiance.

“I’ll take care of it inside. You don’t have to worry.”

Her tone came out colder than she intended. It was her small, silent rebellion against his kindness—the kind that always felt too much like that of a lover, yet never quite was.

“Ah!”

Carlo moved forward quickly and took her hand before she could pull away.

She could easily have avoided his touch — she was a master swordswoman, after all.

But Carlo knew.

He knew that she would never be able to dodge his hand.

A heavy sigh escaped him.

“Ha… You tell me not to worry, yet your calluses are split and bleeding again?”

Carlo Siren was always composed, and there were very few moments when he lost his smile.

This was one of them.

Whenever Laila was hurt or sad, or whenever he was haunted by the ghosts of his past, he would look at her like this.

‘You act so kind… as if you’re the one in pain. But then why…’

She wanted to grab him, to beg him to stay—but she held herself back. She already knew what kind of answer she’d get, and she didn’t have the strength to hear it again.

“Do you always carry medicine and bandages with you? Please, try not to get hurt anymore.”

Carlo treated her hand with practiced ease. Laila’s relentless training always left her injured, and tending to those injuries had long since become part of Carlo’s routine.

It should have been comforting — it always was. But tonight, it hurt more than ever.

Her chest throbbed painfully as she shut her eyes tight and forced back the question she didn’t want to ask.

“How was it today—with Lady Roselina?”

“….”

Carlo’s hands froze mid-motion, the sudden stillness sharp enough to make her shiver.

‘Why isn’t he answering?’

The longer he stayed silent, the more her heart burned.

“Did you… enjoy it?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Carlo’s expression twisted in response.

“She wasn’t feeling well today. So we cut things short, and I escorted her back to the duchy.”

‘Cut things short? You mean your little date.’

“Your date with Lady Roselina… was it nice?”

“Laila.”

His voice hardened. That single word, coupled with the sharpness in his eyes, was enough to constrict her chest. It was the same unspoken warning he always gave her—Do not cross that line.

He could be endlessly gentle, making her believe he would give her the entire world—

But when it came to this, his boundaries were set in stone.

“Whatever I do with Lady Roselina is none of your concern.”

He held her hands, wiped her face, and worried about her. Yet he told her not to care.

Laila’s heart, which she had struggled to hold together all day, began to tremble.

“Why not? Because I am merely the captain of your knights? Because I am no one—someone who has lost her memories, her family, and her home?”

“Why are you talking like that…!”

Carlo ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. It was a habit of his—a telltale sign of frustration or anger.

‘I notice every little thing you do—every habit, every sigh—and yet you don’t even care to ask why I’m this angry, do you?’

She would usually have backed down the moment he warned her. But tonight, something inside her refused to give in.

The man she loved had spent the day with a woman any man would go crazy over. Was she supposed to smile and pretend that didn’t hurt?

No, not anymore.

Most of all, she wanted to know the truth buried beneath his silence.

“Carlo, do you really like Lady Roselina?”

‘Or is it because of revenge?’

“….”

The air grew heavy and cold. A muscle tensed along Carlo’s flawless brow, and the calm façade he always presented began to crack.

Old and deep anger started to rise and spill forth from beneath his crimson gaze.

This was the real Carlo, hidden behind the charming smile of a notorious flirt.