Lucivar sat on the bench right outside the dormitory, near the lobby.
He stood out more than usual this evening.
Not for his usual edge or danger, but for the rare polish in his appearance.
He wore a light carmine shirt, the fabric crisp and neatly tucked into slim, black pants that hugged his legs perfectly, tracing his lean frame with effortless precision. A pair of black loafers completes the look, understated yet elegant.
Even though it was a simple look, the ensemble lent him a dashing sharpness.
In his hand is a handheld masquerade mask shaped in an asymmetrical flame—one side flares upward like demonic horns, while the other is smooth and sharp like a blade. Made with obsidian and red material, the mask matched his clothes perfectly.
Bakar told them that the birthday party has a theme—Masquerade Ball.
Naturally, everyone is going to bring a mask with them.
He said that he visited where the birthday would be held and even talked to someone there.
