Seraphina approached silently from behind, her steps light as always. She held a folded towel in one hand, her expression unreadable, like carved porcelain. Just a glimmer of concern in her eyes.
"You fought well," she said quietly, offering him the cloth. "Your father may have smiled today... for the first time in years."
Naomi didn't take it.
He didn't even turn to look at her.
Instead, his hands clenched slowly at his sides. His voice came out low — steady, but heavy.
"Seraphina…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"Yes, my lord?"
He turned toward her — and for the first time, she saw something different in his eyes. Something that wasn't pride. Or arrogance. Or even fear.
It was... truth.
"I'm not Nel."
There was a pause.
A long one.
The towel slipped a little in her grasp.
"What?"
"I'm not him," Naomi said again. "I'm not your master."
"...Is this a joke?" she asked, voice suddenly tight. "Because I don't—"
"It's not."
Seraphina's brows drew together. Her body tensed.
"My lord, if this is a game, you've taken it too far."
"I'm serious," he said. "I can't lie to you anymore."
Her hand dropped. The towel hit the floor.
She stepped closer — calm on the surface, but her shoulders shook just slightly.
Then, with one quick movement, she reached to her waist and drew her dagger.
The cold glint of steel caught the torchlight.
She pressed the flat of the blade against his neck.
"Say it again," she whispered. "If you're not Nel… where is he?"
Naomi didn't flinch.
"I don't know," he said. "I only know that... I woke up in his body."
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"No. No, that doesn't make sense. That's not how this works."
"I was dying," he said. "In my world. I saw the light fade, and then — I opened my eyes here. In his body. In this world."
The blade trembled in her hand.
She pushed it harder. A thin cut opened across his neck. Blood trickled down.
"Then who are you?" she said, barely above a whisper.
"Naomi," he replied. "That's my name. From my world."
"Where is my master?"
"Gone. Maybe. I don't know. All I know is… I didn't take his body on purpose."
Seraphina's chest rose and fell. Her breathing was sharp now, unsteady. She stared at him — as if trying to see something beneath his skin, something left of Nel.
"No," she said. "No, I trusted you. You started to change. You weren't cold anymore. You were fighting. Protecting people. You smiled at me."
"That was me," Naomi said. "It wasn't pretend."
"But it wasn't him."
She backed away two steps — then suddenly reached forward and grabbed his collar, pulling him off balance.
"Come with me," she said coldly.
She dragged him — not roughly, but without giving him a choice — into the corridor leading toward the training estate's inner chamber. No guards. No servants. Just stone walls and torchlight.
She shoved him into the room and shut the door behind her.
"Now talk."
Naomi steadied himself.
"I told you. I died. And then I woke up in this world. I hunting down a group of kidnappers — got blown by bomb. I bled out. Then I woke up in a mansion. In Nel's body."
He tried to explain everything — not in details too complicated for her world, but in ways she might understand.
He kept it simple. Honest.
She stared at him the whole time.
And when he finished... she slapped him.
Hard.
His head turned with the force of it. The side of his face stung.
But he didn't move.
Seraphina's shoulders shook. She was silent — and then she laughed once. Just once. Hollow.
"So that's it," she whispered. "All this time, I thought my master was becoming someone better. And instead... I was guarding a ghost."
Naomi lowered his head.
"I never meant to lie. I was trying to survive. I didn't know how to tell you."
"You should have told me from the beginning."
"Would you have believed me?"
Seraphina didn't answer.
Her eyes were red now. Not quite crying. But close.
"I trusted you," she whispered. "I defended you. I believed in you. And now you tell me he's gone?"
She turned away — toward the door.
Naomi stepped forward.
"Seraphina—"
"Don't."
Her voice cut the air.
She didn't turn to face him again.
"You're not my lord anymore. You're just wearing his face."
She stepped out into the hall, her back straight, but her hand still trembling.
"You're just a stranger wearing his face."
Naomi said nothing.
What could he say?
She turned sharply on her heel.
"I will pack my things. By dawn, I'll be gone from this mansion."
His chest tightened.
He wanted to stop her. To call her name. But he couldn't.
She needed to walk away.
And he needed to let her.
As she disappeared down the corridor, Naomi leaned against the wall.
He touched the side of his neck, where her blade had left its mark.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Naomi stood there, alone in the quiet chamber, blood drying on his neck.
He didn't wipe it.
He just stood still — staring at the empty space where she'd been.
The black lizard sat quietly on the wooden beam, its violet eyes glowing dimly in the candlelight. It had watched the whole scene unfold—the confession, the heartbreak, the quiet devastation in Naomi's eyes.
Then, in a soft voice that echoed only in Naomi's mind, the lizard finally spoke:
"Why did you tell her the truth, Master?"
Naomi didn't lift his head. His voice was low, heavy.
"Because I had to. If I really die in this world... I need to know I at least kept her safe."
The lizard didn't respond. It curled its tail around its body, as if shrinking from the weight of its master's pain. Naomi had just burned one of his last bridges, and they both knew it.
He returned to his chamber alone. The silence was thick.
For a long while, Naomi sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. The distant cheer of the duel, the heat of victory, the roar of nobles—it was all gone now. The room felt colder than before.
He laid down, arm over his eyes, but his mind kept whispering the words Seraphina had said:
"You're not my Lord. From now on, I will be leaving this mansion."
He'd expected resistance. Rage. But not the look in her eyes—that quiet betrayal. That pain.
How could she possibly understand? The man she'd protected, respected... maybe even loved... was gone.
And in his place was a stranger wearing his face.
A knock broke the silence.
Naomi sat up quickly.
"Seraphina?" he called out, almost hopefully.
But he caught himself. She was gone.
He opened the door.
It was a young maid. She bowed politely and held out a scroll and a leather pouch.
"My Lord Nel," she said. "The Duke has ordered preparations for your journey. This is a map, and some funds have been set aside. A few horses await in the northern stable."
Naomi accepted them quietly.
"Thank you. I'll let the guards know before I leave."
The maid nodded and left with grace.
He shut the door and leaned against it.
Alone again.
This time, he didn't fight the loneliness. He welcomed it like an old friend. In his old world, he had walked alone through city streets filled with crime and filth. He'd fought monsters with human faces. He thought dying would finally bring peace—but instead, it brought him here.
"I don't know why I was sent to this world," he whispered to the ceiling.
"But I'll find the answer. Even if the gods stay silent. Even if no one believes me… I'll find it. Mother, if you're out there watching, I'll make you proud—no matter what world I'm in."
Meanwhile, far above the palace, on a quiet balcony beneath a sky full of stars, Seraphina sat with her sword resting across her lap.
She hadn't moved in hours. Her eyes were locked on the stars, but her heart was drowning.
She had once believed Nel would be her equal—someone she could fight beside, protect, challenge, maybe even grow old with. But now?
Now, the truth was crueler than death. Nel hadn't died. He had… disappeared. Left his body behind like a coward—giving it to someone who already knew how to survive.
She gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.
Was that what it meant to be a Lord? To vanish when things got hard and leave everything behind?
A soft voice broke her thoughts.
"Seraphina? Why are you sitting alone in the cold?"
It was Lady Elira, the duchess—Nel's mother. Her gown shimmered faintly in the moonlight as she approached. Her face was calm, but her eyes were wise.
"You always followed Nel like a shadow. Now you sit here alone. What happened?" she asked gently.
Seraphina didn't turn her head.
"He's not Nel," she whispered.
"He's an impostor. He… he took my Lord's body."
A long silence followed. The night wind stirred Elira's hair.
Then, the Duchess spoke:
"I know."
Seraphina turned sharply.
"What?"
Lady Elira's eyes softened.
"I've known for a while now… That boy isn't my son. But he carries the same weight in his eyes."
To be continued…