Right as the trio were about to leave the training room, Nero's eyes narrowed.
There, at the edge of the hall, stood the butler—the same old man who had driven them from the station. He had gone unnoticed until now, blending into the quiet background as though he were no different from the villa staff. But Nero's instincts screamed otherwise.
The man's appearance spoke volumes. Despite looking close to seventy, his physique was anything but frail. His frame was tall and straight, fine muscles hidden beneath the crisp black uniform of a butler. Faded scars ran across his forearms and neck, marks that time could not erase. His eyes were sharp, calm yet piercing, like a seasoned predator who had seen countless battlefields.
Nero's heart thumped in excitement. From the very first glance at the station, he had known this man was strong—dangerously strong.
"Excuse me," Nero called out, gripping the hilt of his training sword. "Would you… spar with me?"
