"We have arrived, Young Master Seven. Your accommodations are prepared beyond this point. Please proceed."
The butler halted before a dim corridor.
Ahead was a cramped prison cell with a thin bed pushed against the corner and a cracked basin of water on the floor. The sink looked as if it had not produced a drop of water in decades.
Seven stared at the scene, blankly.
'…What the hell is this old man on about? Proceed? Into that? Does he think I'm blind? No— calm down, maybe this is some kind of test…'
"What is this…?"
He looked at the butler who only repeated himself with a deadpan voice.
"Please proceed."
"...?!"
In the novel he knew, such rooms were present in almost every household specifically reserved for criminals, thieves, deserters, and those deemed unworthy to walk freely.
Thankfully, he also knew what typical behavior should be done to respond in such situations.
"Hey, old geezer."
He grabbed the butler by the collar and tried to pull him down.
"Are you sure this is the right place? Try to concentrate a little, maybe you're finally going senile, eh?"
He wasn't joking. Truth be told, he had a rough idea; the butler was probably ordered to place him in a room befitting his status, and this cell was the 'only' place for a ringless 15-year-old child.
Thus with that provocation, he had expected the butler to suddenly go, "Ah, my mistake!" and show him a decent room.
Instead, the butler lowered his gaze for a long moment… then exhaled.
"…Right. My apologies, Young Master."
"See?"
Seven sighed out of relief; who would agree to stay locked up in this room along with food that even peasants wouldn't dare eat, when he's here as a banquet's guest?
He let go of the butler's collar.
"Let's go. I knew this was a mis— urgghgggkkh!"
A fist buried itself in his stomach before he could finish, knocking the air out of his lungs, sending him off the ground for a moment. Frothy red foam dribbled down his chin as his vision swayed like he was underwater.
Forcing his eyes, he looked up shakily; the butler was already wiping his knuckles.
"You… f-fu—"
More blood spilled before the words could leave.
"Y-Young Lord! Young Lord—! Let me go! Don't touch me! I said—"
Iria struggled from the knights' restraints, not allowing her to go near her Young Lord. One of them slapped her, muttering about her being noisy.
Seeing this, Seven tried to stand up.
But—
Thump!
A kick slammed into his ribs, sending him flying into the cell. His back struck the wall, landing on the blanket of the bed that smelled like it hadn't been washed for 7 centuries.
"Gghhk—!!"
Blood didn't just come from his mouth anymore; it trailed from his nose, and even the corner of his eyes!
The knights laughed as they dragged Iria away.
The butler, however, paused and glanced back, meeting Seven's unfocused gaze.
"Stay here and rot until the banquet ends, Young Master. It is the only place in this estate suited for something as worthless as you."
Clang!
The knight slammed the cell bars, closing it before walking out and followed the rest.
Seconds crawled by, as slow as the slowest snail, until seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours— there was nothing but silence!
All he could feel was his slow yet constant heartbeat, and the scent of his dried blood painting the wall where he struck, the blanket, his collar, and most on his chin.
'Fudging old man… doesn't he have some consideration for his child?'
He repeated the same thought again, but this time directed toward the Lordship as this might have been 'his' decision.
After all, the cell was already prepared upon arriving earlier; the dirty yet neatly arranged bed, the water on the basin; it was all arranged like someone expected him to be tossed here from the start.
He slumped his head, and he then laughed, sounding like a total maniac.
'This shit is way too overused, no wonder Seven Hart was proclaimed dead without much of an explanation about how he died.'
Again, Seven's death in the novel was vague with a sole purpose as the first child's character development, framed as some "external accident" so it wouldn't look suspicious that his own family got rid of him.
'...It was stupid of me to think I could use the banquet as a shield for my pre-written death. How did I not expect this…?'
Thing is, even if he knew it would happen, it's not like he could do anything; he was an extreme weakling! This world doesn't give a fudge about any of those 'cheating the system' scenarios.
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST.
That was the only rule, and the weak don't even deserve to be the dirt beneath their soles.
He clenched his hands weakly and leaned back against the wall, still laughing like someone who had finally understood how pointless everything was.
Until—
Step.
A single footstep echoed through the corridor.
His laughter died immediately; he forced his eyes open, vision blurring.
'Is it the butler? No… his steps didn't even make a sound as we arrived. The Lordship then…? But the footsteps are way too light for that.'
Step, step.
The sound grew closer.
"Seven…?"
'A woman's voice. Is it… Iria—?"
A figure finally entered his blurred field of view; she was a woman of such staggering elegance!
Her hair was as white as the purest strands of platinum mined from the deepest caves, glinting as if sunlight had fallen and refused to leave.
Her eyes were as blue as the bluest water in the bluest ocean, reflecting the bluest sky that could ever exist on the clearest day.
Even her skin was as pale as untouched snow, as smooth as the finest porcelain.
"E… Eden…?"
Eden Hart.
The first child of the Lordship, again the first companion of the MC, and a prodigy— the youngest to open four Zi Rings despite her age.
It was also the woman Seven had always admired from the sidelines of the novel's pages; one of the contributing reasons as to why he followed the novel for seven years.
That very woman was now standing in front of him!
However, Eden didn't say a word. She simply looked at him then placed a hand on her sword.
Cracka, cracka!
A faint blue light flared around her as her rings glowed, energy swirling around her like a silent storm.
Slash, slash!
The prison bars fell cleanly to the ground, creating a space big enough for her to get through.
Ignoring the pain— no, he couldn't feel any pain as of this moment thanks to the adrenaline rush, he still forced himself to stand up.
Step.
He fixed his gaze at her as she stepped inside, and…
"W-Wait— huh—?!"
…Eden hugged him.
Her arms were warm, and her hair carried that soft scent as if spring flowers had been distilled into a single perfume. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only the dizzying calm of being held.
More than anything, he enjoyed the cotton-like soft feeling pressing against his face.
Eden said nothing.
She did not speak. She did not even breathe audibly! She simply held him, tightening her hug like Seven's very existence might unravel if she let go.
Or at least, until she grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the wall, pressing the tip of her sword at his throat.
"Who are you?"
Her voice was way colder than her gaze, if that was possible, and even the prick of her sword on his neck was cold as if he was being touched by ice.
His mind spun.
'What? Isn't this body her precious younger brother? Did she somehow notice I'm not him? Nah… impossible… that never happens in novels unless the MC confesses it themselves—'
"H-Hold on— I don't under— ugghhkgh—!!"
She pressed the tip a little deeper.
"Don't take me for a fool. I know for the fact that you're not my little brother."
The faint blue light flaring on her rings darkened, her eyes locking in as her irises contracted.
"Let me ask you again. Who. Are. You?"
"L-Like I said, I-I…"
Unfortunately, before he could fully respond or try to explain that he's the 'real' Seven Hart… everything blurred together; he was losing consciousness.
The loss of blood finally had taken effect on him.