Walking into the small medieval-style villa, which was far more elegant than the stone lodge before, Lester felt as if he had stepped into another lifetime.
A quick glance told him the spacious first floor was just a kitchen and dining hall. Following the faint fragrance rising from an unfamiliar redwood staircase, he went up to the second floor.
There were three rooms upstairs. Guided by experience, Lester stopped before the one whose door was left slightly open.
He knocked politely.
As expected, a startled gasp came from inside—the kind of soft sound only a modest young woman would make. The door opened, revealing Rose, wrapped in an opaque sleeping robe, her expression a little uneasy.
Knock, knock, knock.
Trying to calm her breath, Rose rapped the door three times as well, then spoke a short, awkward syllable.
"Knock. (in Noxian)"
"Knock… knock. (in Noxian)"
Lester repeated, knocking again.
"Knock."
For someone fluent in eight languages, learning a new one was no trouble at all. His precise pronunciation made Rose's eyes brighten. The more she looked at him, the more satisfied she felt.
There was nothing more pleasing than discovering her student—and potential future husband—was a natural talent. Especially if he was a genius she could control.
Clinging lightly to his arm, Rose gave a small cheer, all innocence on the surface. Secretly, she studied his reaction. As she expected, despite his calm mask, his joy was genuine. She had stirred him.
Yes, strong men always responded to gentle closeness.
She'll probably pretend to realize what she's doing next—pull away, gasp, blush.
"Oh."
Rose seemed to notice her impropriety. She quickly released him and stepped back, her face flushed, a shy smile on her lips.
This woman is a master at playing with men.
Having reached that conclusion, Lester quickly cleared the thought from his mind. He didn't know what kind of magic she might be using to sense his mood, so he erased every trace of suspicion and kept only the appearance of sincerity.
But inside, his guard was higher than ever.
Rose guided him toward a freshly made feather bed and pointed at the twin pillows.
"Pillow."
"Pillow… pillow."
She smiled approvingly and raised a thumb. Just as she was about to point to the bed again, Lester suddenly stood, gesturing as if to write. His eyes lit up, and he grabbed a roll of parchment from a nearby cabinet.
He pointed to his eyes, then the parchment, and moved his lips.
Understanding him, Rose hesitated. She had plenty of scrolls, but none meant for teaching. Still, there wasn't much else to use for recording language. She thought for a moment, then opened a drawer and took out a communication crystal orb.
Placing her hand on it, she murmured an incantation.
A soft violet glow filled the air. To Lester's amazement, a cloud began to form within the once-clear orb.
"Cloud."
"Cloud."
He repeated it, mapping the sound to the image in his mind. His heart beat faster.
Satisfied, Rose nodded and cast another spell. The image shifted, showing a vast city from above. The view pulled higher until a towering mountain appeared beside a gleaming coastline.
"Nox… us. Noxus."
As Rose gazed into the orb, Lester's eyes rested on her instead.
LeBlanc… is that who you really are?
---
Six months passed since Lester first arrived in this world.
Working at Lady Rose's estate, he relied on his own effort and talent to master both Demacian and Noxian—reading, writing, and speech. With the language barrier gone, Rose's curiosity about him had only grown.
---
Blackthorn Rose Street, second floor of Lady Rose's manor.
A beam of sunlight touched Lester's face. He opened his eyes slowly—and felt a weight on his chest.
Like an octopus clinging to prey, Rose lay tangled around him, her head resting on his chest, fast asleep.
Without the heavy makeup she usually wore, her face was pure yet alluring. This, he thought, was her true face—not the painted mask of the schemer who hid in shadows.
He wasn't entirely certain, but by now he was almost sure: the woman beside him, Rose, was an avatar of LeBlanc—the Deceiver who once betrayed Mordekaiser alongside the Noxii tribe, shaping Noxus for a thousand years.
He brushed a kiss against her forehead, gently moved her arm aside, and sat up.
Two and a half months ago, after confessing her feelings, Rose had led him to her bed. Since then, their "language lessons" had naturally taken on another meaning.
Lester had long seen through LeBlanc's intent—to bind him with body and affection, to make him her willing pawn.
But he had his own philosophy: eat the candy, throw away the bullet.
So long as his own interests were untouched, he would play the devoted husband, the loyal lover. He'd give her sincerity, create balance, and seek mutual benefit. In truth, LeBlanc—through Rose—was also his strongest protection.
He held no grudge against Rose. But LeBlanc herself? A woman who'd likely had more lovers in a century than he'd met women in two lifetimes—no, he could never see her the same way.
After making up his mind, Lester dressed and began his morning training.
This "cultivation posture" was a synthesis of ancient body-refining disciplines, created by the inner masters of his old world's Organization. Thirteen forms in all—combining meditation, breath control, and internal martial stances that strengthened body and mind, sharpened senses, and eased the flow of energy.
By the time Lester finished two complete cycles, Rose stirred awake, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her gaze lingered on him, full of quiet admiration.