After finishing his preparations, Seo-jun had to be personally escorted by the head butler—he'd been standing there too long, lost in thought.
His gloomy expression and slow steps finally pushed the famously stern and cold butler to speak up—even though Adrian Hanwick was the young master he disliked the most.
"Sir, are you feeling unwell?" the butler asked without turning around, continuing to walk ahead.
Seo-jun offered a faint smile and shook his head.
That did little to ease the man's concern. The butler stopped abruptly and turned, fixing his young master with a sharp stare.
"What is it?" Seo-jun asked, slightly startled.
"Sir, would you prefer to have dinner in your room tonight? You do not appear well. If you wish, I can arrange it and inform Madam."
The concern was genuine—something the butler rarely displayed.
Seo-jun's smile softened. He even reached out and lightly patted the butler's right shoulder.
"Relax. I'm fine. Don't worry about me too much."
He paused briefly.
"If I may ask… who is the important guest tonight?"
The butler resumed walking, then stopped at the second step of the staircase and gestured toward the dining hall.
A well-dressed adult man stood there, radiating quiet authority. Beside him, the Crown Prince waved brightly in Adrian Hanwick's direction.
"That gentleman is the Chancellor of Finance, Sir Benedict Crowell," the butler explained.
"A longtime friend of the master. They have relied on one another since their youth, sir."
The name made Seo-jun's heartbeat grow heavier.
Sir Benedict Crowell.
In the history book he once read, that man had been one of the most persistent figures in helping the Sebastian Hanwick family recover from bankruptcy after Edmund fell ill. Wise. Steadfast. Almost a moral compass in turbulent times.
But that was history.
And history… was shifting.
"So I can't afford to lower my guard," Seo-jun murmured quietly.
"Disaster may still come. But the ending… might change, if I change it first."
He stepped into the dining hall.
His arrival was warmly received—especially by Crown Prince Ernest Aurelion, who looked unusually delighted. Ernest's smile was wide, friendly… almost too friendly.
That alone unsettled Seo-jun.
In his memory, Ernest had been sharp, calculating, manipulative—not the kind of man who waved like an old friend at a marketplace.
Margaret beamed proudly at her beloved son and gave a subtle signal.
"Sit, dear. Don't forget to greet His Highness Ernest Aurelion and Sir Benedict Crowell," she whispered.
Seo-jun stood straight beside his chair.
"Good evening, Your Highness Crown Prince Ernest Aurelion. Good evening, Sir Benedict Crowell. I hope tonight's meal pleases you."
His tone was calm. Measured.
Once seated, the praise began flowing freely. Margaret could not stop boasting about her son's transformation. Even Sir Benedict appeared impressed.
"Edmund," Sir Benedict said with a light chuckle,
"how did you turn the least promising child into such a fine young man? I hear he's even managing business affairs now? Back then, he'd run off the moment you told him to study."
He laughed openly. "Remarkable."
Edmund joined the laughter.
"You're right. And if you ask me how… I truly don't know." He looked at Adrian with a mixture of pride and quiet bewilderment.
"It all changed so suddenly. Like a dream."
The words left a strange weight hanging in the air.
Seo-jun felt it—the shift.
Ernest's gaze was no longer entirely cheerful. Behind that warm smile was something else.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Weighing.
And perhaps… already planning.
While their parents filled the room with loud voices and exaggerated laughter, Seo-jun chose silence, focusing instead on the food before him.
He was nearly finishing his last bite when Sir Benedict's voice called out.
"Adrian."
Seo-jun looked up, his expression neutral.
"Yes… Sir?"
At that, Sir Benedict burst into laughter, joined quickly by Edmund.
"Did you hear that, Edmund?" he said between laughs.
"He's so polite it gives me chills. Adrian, have you forgotten how you usually address me? Since when do you call me 'Sir' so properly? You sound like an entirely different person."
Seo-jun's brow twitched slightly.
Uncle? Since when had Adrian called him that so casually? Was there a part of history he had missed?
His face, however, remained composed.
"You're right… Uncle," he said evenly.
"Ever since the incident at the casino, parts of my memory have felt… blurred."
Sir Benedict froze for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked sharply toward Edmund.
"What?" His voice rose.
"How is that possible? Were you poisoned?"
The concern in his tone sounded… excessive.
Seo-jun noted that carefully.
"I'm not sure," he replied calmly.
"It all just happened."
A brief silence settled over the table. Sensing it, Edmund quickly stepped in.
"But since then, he's become much more reliable, hasn't he?" Edmund said proudly.
"At least this family has another potential heir… to replace Alaric, my eldest, who's been brainwashed by that bishop."
The words landed heavily. Too heavily for a dinner table.
"Isn't it a good thing that Alaric is close to the Archbishop?" Crown Prince Ernest Aurelion chimed in casually.
"Being the Archbishop's right hand is quite an honorable position, wouldn't you say?"
The room went still.
Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting his temper. Sir Benedict offered a stiff smile and quickly apologized on the Crown Prince's behalf. Margaret lowered her head, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes—longing and disappointment mingling quietly. Lucien suddenly found great interest in his plate. Rowan let out a small laugh and nodded, as if unaware of the wound that had just been reopened.
Seo-jun simply shook his head faintly.
Ernest scratched the back of his head.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked again, his tone almost innocently sincere.
Sir Benedict patted the Crown Prince's shoulder with a diplomatic smile.
"You said nothing wrong, Your Highness," he replied carefully.
"It's merely… a sensitive matter. Young Master Alaric is the legitimate heir of this family. He was raised for that role since childhood—just as you were raised for the throne."
Ernest nodded slowly.
Then he made it worse.
"But Adrian is here now, isn't he?" he said lightly.
"So there's no need to dwell on it."
Edmund immediately grabbed the back of his neck and leaned against his wife's shoulder, somewhere between a headache and exhaustion.
Seo-jun nearly laughed at the reaction—but stopped himself. His gaze shifted to Ernest, who was still smiling warmly in his direction.
Incredible.
Is he truly this foolish?
Or is he pretending to be?
Ernest's eyes were far too steady for someone unaware of the damage his words caused.
If he was as manipulative as the history books described…
Then this wasn't stupidity.
It was provocation.
And that was far more dangerous.