The invitation sat on my desk, pristine despite the number of times I had unfolded it.

  Silver Floret.

  Every name listed there represented a future I had already seen once.

  I exhaled slowly and picked it up again. The paper was expensive—mana-infused fibers, faintly fragrant, meant to leave an impression even before the gathering itself began. Typical noble subtlety.

  My eyes moved down the list, slower this time.

  My gaze lingered on a single name.

  Raine Aquilon.

  Ice. A deviation born from water.

  Rare, but not dangerous by itself.

  What worried me lay deeper.

  A body that carried power it was never meant to hold.

  The same imbalance.

  The same ticking limit.

  She didn’t know it yet.

  And even if I told her outright, she wouldn’t believe me.

  No one would—without reason, without trust.

  That was why this gathering mattered.

  I didn’t need influence.

  I didn’t need favor.

  I needed a connection.

  Enough that, when the time came, my words wouldn’t sound like madness.

  Enough that she would listen—before it was too late.

  You might wonder why I would go so far just to save her.

  Even knowing it would alter the future.

  The logical answer was simple.

  She was strong.

  Strong enough that, until her death, she held the undisputed first seat in the academy.

  Losing someone like that weakened the entire future.

  But logic wasn’t the whole truth.

  In the novel, she had been my favorite character. Quiet, composed, overwhelmingly talented—yet never arrogant.

  And she died. Not because she was careless or foolish, but because fate had been unkind.

  Perhaps that was why her end had lingered with me even after I closed the book.

  And now that I stood inside this world, knowing what awaited her, I couldn’t pretend indifference.

  If I could change even one such ending—

  then maybe this life wouldn’t just be a repetition of tragedy.

  I folded the invitation carefully.

  This wasn’t just a social gathering.

  It was my first step toward saving her.

  ___

  The gathering was scheduled two weeks from now.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Long enough to prepare.

  Short enough that ignoring it would be a mistake.

  I hadn’t attended any social gatherings in either of my lives.

  No banquets. No salons. No polite circles where every word carried weight.

  Strength, effort, results—those were things I understood. First impressions, on the other hand, felt like an entirely different battlefield.

  If I wanted to leave a good impression, guessing wouldn’t be enough. I needed guidance. Adult guidance.

  With that thought, I headed toward my mother’s office.

  The familiar corridors of the estate eased my nerves a little. This wasn’t a dungeon, nor a court filled with strangers—just home. The place where I could still ask questions without consequence.

  I knocked once and stepped inside.

  My mother looked up from a stack of documents, surprise flickering across her face before giving way to a knowing smile.

  “…So,” she said, setting her pen aside, “the Silver Floret is finally making you nervous?”

  I straightened unconsciously.

  “I don’t know how these gatherings work,” I admitted. “If I’m going, I don’t want to embarrass the family.”

  Her expression softened, the teasing from earlier replaced by something steadier.

  “Then you came to the right place,” she replied. “Sit. Let’s start with the basics.”

  I nodded. “I received the invitation today. It’ll be my first time attending.”

  Her expression softened, worry and pride mixing in equal measure. “You’re young, but… it’s about time. These gatherings aren’t just social events. They’re foundations. Bonds formed there often decide future alliances.”

  Mother leaned back in her chair, fingers interlaced, eyes gleaming with far too much amusement for my comfort.

  “Since it’s your first Silver Floret,” she said lightly, “I suppose I should give you some advice.”

  I had a bad feeling about this. “About… etiquette?”

  “About ladies,” she corrected, smiling sweetly.

  I froze. “Mother.”

  “Listen properly,” she continued, completely ignoring my protest. “When you speak to a young lady, don’t interrogate her like you’re reviewing a report. No staring, no overthinking every word, and definitely don’t jump straight into magic theory.”

  “…I wasn’t planning to,” I muttered.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You say that now.”

  I sighed. “Then what should I do?”

  Her smile softened, losing its teasing edge for just a moment. “Just be polite. Introduce yourself. Ask simple questions. And most importantly—listen. People can tell when you’re genuinely paying attention.”

  I nodded slowly, committing it to memory like any other lesson.

  Then she added, far too casually, “Oh, and if you happen to meet a girl you like, don’t look like you’re about to face a battlefield.”

  I choked. “That’s not—!”

  She laughed, standing up and patting my head as she passed. “Relax. You’ll do fine. You’re more sincere than you think.”

  As she left the room, I stared after her, torn between embarrassment and something warmer I didn’t quite know how to name.

  …Why did preparing for a noble gathering feel more terrifying than a dungeon?

  Later, I visited Father at the magic tower. The upper levels hummed with quiet mana, the air faintly warm from ongoing experiments. He listened in silence as I explained, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful.

  “Silver Floret, huh,” he muttered. “I attended a few when I was younger. Exhausting, but useful.”

  He glanced at me. “Don’t try to prove anything. Nobles your age are eager to measure themselves against others. Let them. You just observe.”

  “And if they challenge me?” I asked.

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Then show enough skill to earn respect. Not enough to invite envy.”

  Practical advice. Very him.

  As I left the tower, their words echoed in my mind.

  The day of the gathering arrived sooner than I expected.

  Silver Floret was held in the very heart of the kingdom—where the crown’s influence reached every noble house, openly or otherwise. A place where titles mattered, but composure mattered more.

  I wasn’t traveling alone.

  The carriage carried more than just me—Sir Aleric rode alongside as my guard, his presence steady and reassuring, while the butler handled everything else with quiet efficiency. No unnecessary words. No wasted movements.

  We headed toward the nearest portal station connecting to the capital.

  From the outside, the portal looked deceptively simple—a circular frame of inscribed stone, runes faintly glowing as mana flowed through carefully carved channels. But the moment I stepped closer, my instincts warned me otherwise.

  It was my first time passing through a portal.

  The entire process took less than a second.

  One moment I was standing within the inscribed ring, the next the world folded—then returned. No sound, no sense of motion. Just a brief distortion, like reality had skipped a breath.

  Yet in that fraction of a moment, something inside me stirred.

  Mana brushed against my senses as we passed through. Not the wild, turbulent kind—but refined, deliberate. The portal’s mana didn’t clash with me. It resonated. As if recognizing a familiar rhythm.

  My soul reacted before my mind could.

  When my feet touched the stone floor on the other side, an instinct surfaced—clear and undeniable.

  I hadn’t felt anything like this the first time—when the dungeon trap had forcibly torn me through space.

  Back then, there was only disorientation. No resonance. No response from my mana.

  That was before I became aware of dark energy.

  Now that I had grown accustomed to handling dark energy, the reason became clear.

  The resonance wasn’t coming from the portal itself, but from the way space folded around mana.

  If I could perceive it…

  Then, with time, I could replicate it.

  I could do this.

  Not now. Not perfectly. But the principle was there. Folding space. Anchoring coordinates. Passing from one point to another without traversing the distance in between.

  Teleportation.

  I kept my expression neutral, even as my heart beat a little faster.

  This wasn’t something I had learned.

  This was something I understood.