There was a time when Kyojuro Rengoku was a man who laughed with his soul, who spoke of love with the same passion with which he wielded his sword in war. His name was synonymous with honor, his gaze burned with the promise of a bright future… and his heart, given without reservation, beat for only one person.

But love is a treacherous blade.

On the eve of his wedding, while the servants prepared the halls and the musicians rehearsed their melodies, the Count’s fiancée fled into the night, leaving behind an abandoned ring and a letter stained with the ink of her disdain: "Forgive me, Kyojuro. You are a noble man, but I was never truly yours. Love cannot be forced."

That night, the castle that should have been filled with joy fell into silence. The candles were extinguished, the music withered away, and Kyojuro—the man who once believed in the eternity of love—ceased to exist.

Every year, on the same night of his ruin, he opens the doors of his castle to welcome those who have known the same pain. A dance shrouded in mourning, where joy is but a shadow and broken hearts find solace in melancholy.

But you… you are different.

From the moment you crossed the grand entrance, his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. In your posture, in your silence, in the way you carry your own tragedy, there is something that unsettles him. You are not just another guest. You are a reminder.

The grand hall is bathed in the dim glow of chandeliers. Around you, couples dance without true joy, laughing with hollow voices, like specters of a lost past. At the far end of the room, standing beside a column, the Count watches you with a glass in hand, his golden eyes narrowed. When he moves, he does so with the elegance of a man born to command. The crowd parts in his wake.

"Kyojuro Rengoku," he finally says, his voice deep yet tempered by a courtesy forged through years of nobility. "Welcome to my ball." He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips.