Woon and Victor weaved through the throngs of nobles, their laughter and the clinking of glasses filling the grand hall. They drank, they socialized, and eventually, they found themselves face-to-face with the golden-haired man who'd delivered the opening speech.
"Hey, Victor, how're you doing? Is the ball to your liking?" the man said, his gaze sweeping over Victor and pointedly ignoring Woon.
Victor, usually so boisterous, replied with an uncharacteristic calm, "It's good."
'What's with this dude?' Woon thought, a smirk threatening to break free. 'He's acting all cool and mature. Trying to impress someone?'
"Thank goodness for that! By the way, care to share a drink with me?" The golden-haired man pressed, still excluding Woon from the conversation.
"I can't," Victor said, a subtle shift in his posture, "I have a friend here with me."
The man's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation barely concealed. "A friend, huh? He's carrying a weapon; he seems to be your guard! And you're using that as an excuse to refuse a drink with me?" His gaze flicked between Woon and Victor, a hint of anger now more visible.
"No, he is my friend," Victor insisted, a touch of steel in his voice. "We just met here coincidentally."
"Is that so? What a shame. I'll ask you again next time!" the man said, turning on his heel and walking away, his rigid back clearly broadcasting his displeasure. He was royalty, unaccustomed to refusal.
"Who was that, anyway? He seemed like a big shot noble," Woon asked, nudging Victor.
"He's the first prince of this kingdom," Victor replied, taking a long sip of his wine, his gaze distant.
"So that makes him royalty?!" Woon's eyes widened. "Dude, we are so dead! You just refused a drink from a royal!"
"Calm down," Victor scoffed, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "If we're going to talk about our positions in this kingdom, I'm higher than him."
'Just what is his identity?' Woon pondered, a new wave of curiosity washing over him. "Whatever, man. Do what you want. I'm just gonna enjoy the drinks."
"Let me tag along!" Victor said, a smirk playing on his lips.
As they moved toward the center of the hall, the weight of countless gazes pressed down on them. A prickling sensation ran down Woon's spine.
"Fucking hell, dude, why are people staring at us?" Woon whispered, leaning closer to Victor.
"Maybe because you're the only Easterner here," Victor mused, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Your face probably stands out."
The whispers began, a low, persistent hum that swelled like a buzzing hive. It started as a trickle, then became a torrent, rushing from one person to another.
"Why is Sir Victor talking to a commoner?"
"Has the Hellsing family truly fallen?"
The hushed voices, laced with mockery and baseless assumptions, circled through the crowd, each whisper adding to the growing hum of judgment.
'Damn it, they won't stop talking behind our backs!' Woon felt a flush creep up his neck. "Bro, I think it'd be best if I left now."
"Why would you leave because of those people?" Victor's voice was firm, almost challenging.
"Yeah, I can't drag your image and reputation through the mud!"
"Then I'll leave too, if that's the case," Victor countered, his gaze unwavering. "I can't leave a friend hanging alone, can I?"
"Are you sure, dude? This event seems pretty important."
"Nah, it's nothing," Victor dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Let's just get out of here."
Woon and Victor began their exit, but just as Victor reached the grand doors, he paused, allowing Woon to step out first. Then, he turned, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces still alive with whispers and sidelong glances. A profound disappointment, cold and sharp, settled on his features, twisting his lips into a grim line.
"I'll remember this," Victor said, his voice cutting through the air like ice, the words a stark contrast to the elegant setting. He then pulled the heavy doors shut with a resounding thud that echoed through the stunned silence that followed.
Jol and his party, sensing the sudden, palpable tension in the room, quickly made their own discreet exits.
"What... what did you just do?" the golden-haired prince stammered, his earlier anger replaced by shock and disbelief.
"All of you just made him leave like that!" he repeated, his voice laced with profound disappointment. "It's a miracle that one of their family members even attended this event, and then all of you just made him leave!"
The crowd shifted uneasily, a collective wave of panic rippling through them, the whispers now tinged with genuine fear.
"Well," the prince declared, his voice colder than before, his disappointment now a heavy cloak, "we'll end the event now. All of you may go home!"
As the chastened nobles began to file out, an old man, seated on a high throne at the far end of the hall, watched them leave.
"Your Majesty," a chamberlain approached him, bowing deeply, "I am sorry. This event was meant to deepen our relationship with the Hellsing family, but it completely failed."
"Don't bother," the old man said, his voice weary. "What's done is done. Just clean up this mess and go back to work."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
After the tumultuous ball, Woon and Victor walked side by side through the capital's streets. Thousands of lights, in every imaginable color, glowed softly against the deepest night.
"Damn, what am I supposed to do now? I left the team!" Woon muttered, his mind racing, wondering what had become of Jol and his party.
"Don't worry about it," Victor said, a calming presence beside him. "Just come with me to our residence."
"You have a house here?" Woon asked, surprised.
"Yeah, our main house is established here. Let's take the carriage to go faster."
"Sure, why not? I'm tired too," Woon said, letting out a cavernous yawn.
They rode in a comfortable carriage, journeying to the other side of the capital. Though it was an hour-long ride, it felt remarkably swift to Woon, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. Upon arrival, they stepped out, and Woon's jaw nearly hit the ground. Before him stood a castle, nearly as grand as the main capital castle itself. He'd known Victor was from some powerful noble family, but this... this was beyond anything he'd imagined.
'What the hell? Is this for real?' "Dude, you are so god-damned rich!" Woon exclaimed, his voice hushed with awe.
"Let's go inside. It's cold out here," Victor said, a small smile playing on his lips.
They entered, and Woon found himself walking through a path illuminated by a magical scattering of fireflies, twinkling and lighting their way to the castle's entrance. After a long walk, they finally stepped inside. Woon was surprised to find not a lavish, overly ornate interior, but a simple, elegant beauty. As they went through the hallway and ascended a grand staircase, he saw a seemingly endless row of guest rooms.
"Woon, you can pick any of the rooms there!" Victor said, gesturing broadly.
"Yes, sure, thank you!" Woon replied, still slightly overwhelmed.
"I'm going to sleep too. This night was too boring," Victor said, already heading off.
Woon chose the second room on the right. Inside, he found a dream-like space: a king-sized bed, bookshelves lining the walls, and charming decorations. He practically dove onto the bed, his body sinking into the impossibly soft mattress.
"This is the life!" he sighed contentedly.
As he lay there, his eyes caught sight of a bottle of wine and a glass on a nearby table. He got up and settled onto the plush couch.
"Sebastian," Woon declared, adopting a ridiculously exaggerated noble accent, "pour me a glass of wine."
"Yes, sir!" came the immediate, enthusiastic response from his internal, dual personality.
He poured the wine with an imaginary flourish, then sat cross-legged, holding the glass aloft.
"Mmm, the smell of money!" he murmured, sniffing the rich aroma before taking a deep, satisfied gulp. He sighed again, this time with genuine enjoyment.
"Time to go to sleep," he announced, finishing off a few glasses.
Woon went straight to bed, the wine-induced comfort washing over him. He sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, the day's chaos and revelations fading into the background, his only priority now the blissful oblivion of rest.