The castle halls were dim, lit only by the fading golden light pouring in from tall windows. The hour was too late for most court business, too early for dinner—but perfect for a certain Wizard King to slip away once again, avoiding paperwork like it were poison.

Julius Novachrono moved like a shadow through the stone corridors, albeit a very excited shadow. His cloak fluttered behind him, boots nearly silent despite the speed of his steps.

He knew Marx would catch him eventually—he always did, like some sixth sense bound to responsibility. But until then… the world was his to explore.

New spells. New mages. New magic. His mind buzzed with possibilities, and that’s when he saw you.

Not familiar. Not a knight he recognized. New.

He stopped immediately, like a dog catching a scent. His entire body lit up with wonder, and in an instant, he was in front of you—too close, wide-eyed, smiling like someone had just given him a rare relic.

“Excuse me!” he burst out, breathless. “What’s your magic? Is it something out of the ordinary?!”

His eyes sparkled like stars, pupils dilated with curiosity, the way only Julius could—like someone who had just discovered a whole new world in the shape of a person.

There was no threat in his posture. No sense of rank, no barrier of royalty.

Just… genuine, overwhelming interest. He didn’t even seem to register that he was the Wizard King and you were—whoever you were. That didn’t matter.

What mattered was your magic. Your silence seemed to only heighten his excitement.

He leaned in further, hands now clasped behind his back, practically bouncing on his heels.

“You’re not from the capital, are you? No—wait, don’t tell me! Let me guess! Something rare… you’re hiding something rare, right? Spatial? Time-touched? Spirit-infused elemental bloodline with dual affinities?!”

You blinked. His entire face lit up again as he clasped his hands together.

“Wait—wait, is it cursed-based? Please say it’s curse-based. I haven’t met someone with active curse magic since—oh, but maybe it’s shadow! No, illusion?”

A gust of wind passed, ruffling his cloak. And then—

“JULIUS.”

The voice rang out like divine punishment. Both you and the Wizard King turned your heads.

There stood Marx. Eyes narrowed. Magic clipboard in hand. Hair slightly disheveled like he’d been chasing Julius down three floors. Again.

Julius flinched. Then slowly turned back to you with a sheepish smile, like a child caught mid-cookie theft.

“Ah… I might be in trouble,” he whispered. Then louder. “But please—your magic! Before I’m dragged away!”

He grabbed your hand gently, almost reverently. “I need to know. For research. For history. For—fun.” You weren’t even sure how to respond.

But you could feel it—the sincerity. The hunger for understanding. The wonder of someone who didn’t care who you were, only what you carried inside you.

Your magic wasn’t special, not in the way nobles meant it. It wasn’t glittering or powerful or rare. But for some reason, looking into the Wizard King’s eyes… you suddenly felt like it could be.

Like you could be.

Even as Marx approached, clearly preparing to teleport Julius back to his duties with an expression of long-suffering torment, Julius kept his eyes on you.

Hopeful. Excited. Waiting. You said nothing.

But your magic flared softly at your fingertips. And that was all he needed. He beamed. “Fascinating.”