A polite silence had blanketed the garden, the air suddenly fragile as glass. Vixtia's voice still hung in the air, saccharine-sweet and laced with poison.
The nerve of that neon-eyed banshee.
'What in the actual fuck?! What the hell kind of magic does Rosalee even have?!'
The thought screamed across Lollipop's mind, though his expression remained composed—barely.
He scrambled through the dusty corners of his memory—the game's fan wiki, the hundreds of lines of dialogue he used to skip, the branching narrative trees. Rosalee had been such a side character. Nothing major. No dramatic storyline. No CGs. Nothing about her magical affinity had ever been mentioned in detail.
Inside, he was spinning in every direction. His crimson eyes scanned the crowd slowly. Guests paused mid-sip, heads tilted, some grinning with anticipation. Others—particularly the women—smirked as if already tasting scandal.
'Okay, okay, breathe. Think.'
He rifled through half-remembered scraps of game lore. Magic was common among nobles. Showcasing one's affinity was a common courtly display. Fire, earth, wind, water—everyone had something.
But Rosalee…?
Lollipop's brow twitched ever so faintly.
'There was something… a throwaway line, I think…'
His memory sparked. A moment in the game. A player could speak to Rosalee before a dual at the Noble Academy—if they chose to fight her instead of Madeline or Allison. And if they clicked all the side-dialogue, Rosalee had once said, quietly:
"I-I may not be strong…b-but my water is enough to bring the l-likes of y-you down!"
However, before Rosalee could use her magic, the player will always one shot her because she wasn't the main goal of the dual. Just an excuse for Vixtia to jump in and "take revenge for her friend" and that's where the real dual starts.
'So, water? Maybe? Probably? Oh, hell!'
Lollipop realized with a mix of relief and dread.
'Rosalee's magical affinity is most likely water. Weak water magic, at that. Shit.'
It wasn't exactly the flashiest skill to show off at a high-society garden party.
'And if I mess this up, I'll look pathetic. Humiliated. Which is exactly what Vixtia wants.'
He closed his eyes for a second.
He took a deep breath.
It wasn't like he had a choice. The audience was waiting. Vixtia's smile was stretched too wide. Even Roland was watching with that sharp gleam in his golden eyes—the one that looked for weakness, for mistakes. For proof that Rosalee was still that desperate social climber he had always despised.
'Alright. You've faked orgasms. You've faked tears. You've faked an entire personality for months just to get a diplomat to pay double. You can fake magic, too.'
He dabbed at his lips with a napkin—slow, elegant, practiced.
Lollipop tilted his head slightly, eyes fluttering half-lidded in a show of soft thoughtfulness. A small, delicate smile curved across his face.
'Think, bitch, think.'
He handed his half-finished plate of desserts to a confused maid with a single wordless glance.
'You don't know how to use your magic? Doesn't matter. Don't panic. Just control the narrative. Like a performance. Seduce the silence.'
With a delicate breath, Rosalee glided toward the edge of the lawn—the demonstration circle set with polished stones and enchanted runes for safe casting. The hem of his rose-pink gown fluttered behind him, lace swayed like red mist around his calves, drawing whispers as the sunlight caught the shine of his crimson hair. The wind picked up as if cued, brushing back strands of long luxurious hair to reveal glowing red eyes that shimmered in the garden light.
Every step he took, slight tilt of his chin, and flicker of his gaze was a calculated blend of dignity and grace. And then he gave a smile, like a saint.
"I do hope everyone will forgive my forwardness…"
He said softly, his voice mellow and refined like spun velvet.
"I hadn't meant to steal attention from our hostess…"
His gaze flicked ever so slightly to Vixtia and then past her—to Duchess Gwendolyn.
"…nor from Her Grace, whose elegance humbles us all."
That line earned him a faint, surprised smile from the Duchess herself for a brief moment. Gwendolyn gave a single graceful nod, face unreadable yet undoubtedly pleased. Vixtia's lips twitched, and Lollipop knew he had undercut her move—softly, without breaking form. Even Roland had his eyes narrowed now, gold watching crimson like a hawk sizing up a dove.
"Still…"
Rosalee continued, letting his hand rise again with the slow finesse of a dancer.
"I would be honored to provide a modest display. A humble gift, if you will… in celebration of such a lovely gathering."
His voice dropped just a little. Warm. Hypnotic.
'Alright, bitch. You've bluffed through performances drunk, high, and hungover in a corset. You can do this.'
Lollipop stepped into the circle and knelt before the ornamental fountain with a swan statue at the center—a decorative fixture with water held in polished violet marbling shaped like lotus leaves and the size of a jacuzzi.
He exhaled slowly.
'Now or never, bitch.'
He raised one hand. Just one.
And focused.
And then—
Felt it—somewhere under his skin, a trembling tug. The magic was there. Weak, yes. Fragile. Like trying to pull thread through a needle in a moving carriage. But it was water. And water… listened.
He then raised both hands with reverence and whispered something soft—not a spell, exactly, but intention.
Move.
The surface of the water rippled.
Not dramatically. Not a whirlpool. Not a column of swirling glory.
But enough.
A single thread of water floated upward—thin as ribbon silk. It curled through the air like a lazy dragonfly. Then another stream followed. Two, then three—soft tendrils of liquid weaving together like strands of hair.
They twirled around Rosalee's hands, caressing his fingers as he moved them in a slow, balletic rhythm.
Then—
He opened both hands fully, palms up.
The three strands knotted into a single sphere, shifting and moving, until they formed the shape of a bloomed rose. Clear, delicate, glowing faintly blue in the sunlight.
Gasps fluttered through the crowd—not from awe of power, but from the beauty of it. The restraint. The refinement. The sheer softness of the display.
Rosalee smiled, his expression as tranquil as moonlight.
Then he released the water rose up into the air, and it gently fell back into the fountain with a soft, delicate blop.
Silence.
Then the applause came—not explosive, but warm. Scattered at first, then more unified.
Lady Madeline clapped slowly with narrowed yellow eyes. Allison looked impressed, though she tried to hide it.
Even Vixtia… paused.
She hadn't expected it to be beautiful.
Rosalee lowered his hands and bowed with the kind of languid grace that could only be learned by a courtesan who once seduced CEOs while wearing nothing but silk perfume.
"I do hope I was able to provide a small moment of peace."
He commented, then turned and stepped gracefully away.
He passed Vixtia without a glance.
And murmured under his breath just loudly enough:
"Thank you, Lady Vixtia… for your generous encouragement. I wouldn't have wanted to make an unfunny joke again."
Vixtia blinked. Her lips twitched. Then forced a stiff, approving nod.
"Of course… Lady Rosalee."
Ben, standing some distance behind with his arms crossed, blinked once. He said nothing, but Lollipop could feel his pale green eyes following him like a shadow.
From a distance, Duchess Gwendolyn clapped lightly.
"A gentle reminder of elegance through control…"
She praised.
"Very well done, Lady Rosalee."
"The pleasure is mine, Your Grace."
Lollipop gave one last curtsy, then returned to the dessert table as if nothing had happened. He plucked a chocolate cream puff from the tray and popped it between his lips, licking the cream from his finger without breaking eye contact with anyone who dared to stare too long.
'You don't need to be strong. You just need to be unforgettable.'
And as Crown Prince Roland Solarmelt case a scrutinzed glare at him with that complicated blend of suspicion, irritation, and interest…
Lollipop licked his thumb.
Smiled.
And helped himself to another pastry.
The moment Rosalee stepped away from the demonstration circle, now delicately nibbling on a raspberry tart, the atmosphere of the party shifted.
Lady Vixtia's sharp pink eyes glinted like polished blades. Her painted lips curled into something like a smile, but far more predatory. She could feel the gazes. The surprise. The brief moment of admiration Rosalee had stolen from her party—and from her mother.
She wouldn't allow it to linger.
"Now that the warm-up is over…"
Vixtia announced lightly, raising her voice to command attention.
"I suppose I ought to demonstrate what true magic looks like."
The crowd immediately turned, eyes sharpening with curiosity and expectation. Everyone knew Vixtia Aqualar's magic was prodigious. Her affinity with three of the elemental arts was the talk of high society—wind, fire, and water, all terrifying in their scope and beauty.
She strode confidently to the performance circle, raised her arms dramatically, and began to channel her magic.
Where Rosalee had conjured elegance, Vixtia summoned power.
A gust of wind swept across the lawn, spinning through the flowers and making skirts and ribbons flutter like startled birds. Water from the ornamental fountain surged upward, coiling in a great ring around her body. Flames sparked to life around her feet, dancing up her legs without burning her.
Then, with a whip of her hand, she twisted all three elements into a stunning spiral of color and force, before letting them crash back into the fountain in a roaring, controlled burst.
The applause was thunderous, and Vixtia curtsied deeply, triumphant. Her smug gaze scanned the crowd—until it landed on Rosalee, who was chewing a lemon macaron with only one arched brow raised.
He clapped, politely.
Nothing more.
Vixtia's teeth clicked softly in annoyance.
Next came Lady Madeline Boykins. Her movements were refined but not nearly as theatrical. She coaxed a cluster of daisies to bloom from beneath the manicured lawn and shaped a delicate water lily crown that she placed atop her braided bun. Earth and water bent to her will with gentle ease, earning soft applause.
Then Allison Hendrix took the circle. With a flick of her pale green braids, she summoned a graceful swirl of wind to lift a trail of petals into a temporary heart shape that hovered in the air before dissipating. A few guests cooed. She gave a quick curtsy, clearly shy and a little outclassed.
Then came a parade of young noblewomen and favored servants—each offering small flickers of talent. One created glowing orbs of light with minor fire. Another shaped a clay rabbit with earth magic. A third attempted to stir the air, but barely lifted her skirt. Some were met with cheers, others with kind smiles. But none had the flair of Vixtia… or the artistry of Rosalee.
Duchess Gwendolyn smiled through them all, maintaining her air of noble decorum. She stood at the edge of the circle with Crown Prince Roland, who seemed only half-interested as the afternoon sun crawled lower behind the hedges.
Finally, when the last girl had bowed and stepped aside, Duchess Gwendolyn turned to her golden-haired guest and raised a hand.
"I thank you all for your beautiful performances. If His Highness is so inclined…"
She said delicately, her tone refined as crystal.
"Would you honor us with a demonstration of the crown's strength in magic."
All eyes turned toward Roland Solarmelt.
Roland straightened with a slow nod. His golden eyes flicked briefly toward where Rosalee had been seated near the dessert table since her demonstration.
Their eyes met briefly. Sharp gold against shimmering ruby.
Lollipop had to admit—even as he picked up another custard-filled éclair.
'Damn. That man really is handsome.'
Far more handsome than Ben, if he were being honest.
'But… still not worth it. Mmm, maybe I could play with him though.'
He didn't look at him again.
Roland stepped forward.
Lollipop didn't watch as Roland, rolling his sleeves to the elbow of his white military uniform, stepped into the circle with all four elements at his command. The sapphire ribbon in his ponytail glinted in the light. He didn't see the way the prince conjured a rising stone platform that lifted him off the ground, only to surround it with blazing rings of fire, threads of swirling water, and gusts of air that shaped them into the form of a four-petaled elemental lotus.
It was breathtaking.
Powerful. Raw and effortless.
A perfect blend of restraint and strength.
He let it build, then slowly sank everything back into the earth. The fire died, the wind fell still, and the water flowed back into the fountain. The awed applause that followed nearly shook the garden.
But Roland wasn't listening.
His eyes scanned the crowd, sharper now as he straightened and dusted off his gloves. He glanced toward the dessert table—
And frowned.
Rosalee was gone.
His golden eyes narrowed.
'When did she leave?'
Without drawing attention, Roland moved toward one of the butlers near the back gate and whispered low.
"Where did Lady Rosalee go?"
The butler, startled, bowed quickly.
"Ah—Lady Rosalee received word of urgent matters at her family estate, Your Highness. She left not long before your demonstration."
Roland's jaw clenched slightly.
He gave a stiff nod.
"I see..."
As he returned to the edge of the lawn, Duchess Gwendolyn rose once more to thank all the guests. Roland stood beside her with practiced poise, but the gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes had dulled.
The party dragged on.
The drinks flowed, the cakes were restocked, and petals continued to drift down from the enchanted trellises—but Roland found his eyes scanning the crowd more than once.
'She didn't even say goodbye.'
He told himself it didn't matter.
But somehow, the tea had gone tepid, the air a little less crisp, the laughter a little too shrill.
And in the back of his mind, Rosalee's still, red eyes haunted him—not with longing, but with indifference.
Then he turned with a nod to the Duchess.
"Thank you for the event, Duchess Gwendolyn. I regret I must take my leave."
He didn't elaborate. Didn't glance at anyone else. Just walked, his boots crunching softly on the path, toward the gates.
The party didn't truly die until he was gone.
And no one would ever know he left irritated. Not with the guests. Not even with Vixtia.
But at Rosalee Florenzia.
And, quietly, at himself.
...
The Florenzia carriage rattled smoothly along the cobbled path as the duchess's estate disappeared behind them in the distance. Rosalee—Lollipop—lounged back against the plush velvet seats, one leg delicately crossed over the other, his rose-pink gown fluttering with the motion of the ride. He was slowly running one hand along the inside hem of his skirt, savoring the silken texture against his fingertips. His lips curled faintly in amusement as he thought of how annoyed the Crown Prince must have been once he realized his little "fan girl" had left without a word.
"Let him stew…"
Lollipop murmured under his breath, voice a low purr.
"I've had more exciting flings with a bag of sour candy."
Roland Solarmelt may have been handsome, powerful, and the crowned jewel of the empire, but for someone like Lollipop—who had tasted men of every kind—Roland was far too vanilla. Predictable. Chivalrous to a fault. It made Lollipop itch with boredom just thinking about it. If this were one of his old clients, he'd have long since ghosted him for someone more fun. More dangerous. More... of a challenge.
His gaze flicked across the carriage to where Ben Bell sat stiff-backed, arms folded in his lap like he was guarding a treasure. His pale green eyes were fixed firmly ahead, resolutely ignoring the fact that the passenger across from him was staring unabashedly.
Lollipop's lips curled. Now this was the kind of man that piqued his interest. Not because Ben was particularly handsome—though the chestnut-brown hair and angled jaw certainly didn't hurt—but because he was new. Uncharted. A quiet storm beneath rigid professionalism. The way he watched Rosalee earlier, like something was off but he couldn't quite say what, was enough to make Lollipop purr with satisfaction.
"So..."
Lollipop began, tilting his head just enough to let the delicate light from the window play off the curve of his neck.
"What did you think of my little magical performance today?"
Ben didn't turn his head, but Lollipop saw his throat tighten with a swallow.
"It was... unexpected…"
He said carefully, choosing his words like a man walking through a minefield.
"You handled it well. Especially considering you've never shown such confidence before."
"Mmm…"
Lollipop mused, his voice low and teasing.
"So you are watching me."
Ben glanced at him briefly.
"It's my job."
"A job that pays you to stare at my legs?"
The carriage hit a minor bump in the road, and Ben's shoulders stiffened. His ears flushed pink.
"I wasn't staring."
Lollipop smiled, slow and sinuous. He leaned forward just slightly, enough that the neckline of his dress shifted and gave the faintest suggestion of soft skin underneath.
"No? Then what were you doing, Mister Bell?"
Ben narrowed his eyes.
"Wondering how Lady Rosalee suddenly turned into someone I don't recognize."
"Careful now…"
Lollipop warned silkily.
"If you stare at me too hard, I might start thinking you've got a crush on me. Is that why you've been keeping your distance? Or maybe you're hiding some secrets? Afraid I'll catch on?"
Ben didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the passing scenery.
Lollipop let the moment hang before casually asking.
"What's your magic, Mister Bell? You watched mine. I want to see yours."
Ben gave a reluctant sigh.
"Wind."
"Ooh. Dangerous."
Ben raised his hand and, with a brief flick of his fingers, summoned a small, contained current. The wind whirled gently around the inside of the carriage—soft, playful.
And then, with a traitorous flick, the gust caught the edge of Rosalee's gown and flipped the entire hem skyward.
For the briefest moment, time froze.
Ben's face went beet red as he panicked and immediately dispersed the magic.
"Lady Rosalee—I apologize—I didn't mean—"
Lollipop, completely unbothered, sat with one leg still lifted over the other, revealing a flash of smooth thigh and a garter of rose-pink silk. He slowly lowered the hem with a lazy grin, catching Ben's stammering eyes with a sultry, mocking gaze.
"If you wanted to see up my skirt, Mister Bell, all you had to do was ask. For a fee."
He said sweetly.
Ben's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. His face was so red he looked like he might combust on the spot.
Lollipop laughed, low and rich.
"Relax. It's a joke. Mostly."
Ben sputtered something inaudible and turned his face to the window.
But Lollipop saw it. That flicker. That glint of something dangerous blooming beneath the butler's professional shell.
He would tease him. Push him. Toy with him like a piece of caramel melting on his tongue. Because right now, in this world, Rosalee Florenzia had no allies. But if he could tempt the loyal servant, stir the man behind the mask...
Well, that would be his first victory.
And Lollipop never played a game he didn't plan to win.