The next morning felt almost ordinary. Sunlight filtered lazily through the tall windows of the mansion, painting pale gold streaks across shelves of forgotten tomes.
Petunia—or rather, Ryo—sighed as he sat at the long dining table, conjuring his breakfast with a flick of his fingers. The silverware arranged itself, bread toasted itself golden, and a decanter of crimson wine poured smoothly into his glass.
"I may have gone too far yesterday," he muttered, staring at the shimmering liquid. "Scaring him like that… now I've lost a customer. What kind of shopkeeper terrifies his own clients?"
His words carried a tinge of regret, but before he could sip his wine, it happened.
A whisper. Not from outside, not from the books, but inside his mind.
"Come… step into another corridor. There awaits something far more delightful."
Ryo froze. The intuition again. The same voice that had guided him to Garrick's book.
He rose, leaving his breakfast untouched. His feet carried him deeper into the labyrinth of shelves, past corridors he swore he had walked a thousand times. Yet now, there it was—a door.
A door that should not exist.
Its frame was carved from obsidian wood, inlaid with veins of silver that pulsed faintly, like veins under skin. The handle was cold brass, but warm to the eye, as if it had been polished by hands that did not exist.
Ryo tilted his head. "A bar? The Astral Veil…? There was never such a place here."
The words etched above the door shimmered faintly—letters that rearranged themselves when he blinked, as though testing what language he understood best.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open.
The mansion air—dusty, solemn, suffused with silence—vanished. Instead, warmth hit him first. A low hum of laughter, faint music played by invisible strings, and the scent of spiced wine and tobacco drifted through the room.
It was a bar. But not one built for mortals.
The interior glowed with amber light from chandeliers shaped like floating constellations. The floorboards were dark oak polished to a mirror's sheen, reflecting figures that weren't quite human. At the edges of his vision, patrons faded in and out—silhouettes drinking in silence, their faces blurred as if unseen by design.
And at the heart of it, behind a counter of black marble, stood a woman.
She was unlike the others—solid, real, undeniable. Her hair was raven-black with a subtle shimmer of violet, cascading over shoulders clad in a tailored coat of deep midnight blue. Her eyes were silver, almost luminous, as if the moon had taken form within them.
She smiled when she saw him. A smile that was not welcoming, not threatening, but knowing.
"Welcome, Librarian," she said, her voice soft but resonant, like velvet brushing steel. "It took you long enough to find The Astral Veil."
Ryo blinked, instinctively glancing back at the door. But when he turned his head again, the corridor was gone. The bar was all that remained.
"…Who are you?" he asked cautiously.
The woman leaned against the counter, pouring two glasses of a shimmering, golden drink that seemed to move on its own inside the crystal.
---
The low hum of the bar surrounded Ryo like a dream. For the first time in months, he wasn't alone—yet he still felt a strange barrier separating him from the laughter and clinking glasses of the patrons. The mortals here seemed ordinary. Merchants with tired eyes, warriors with scarred armor, adventurers telling tall tales of near-death escapes.
It almost looked too ordinary. Too alive.
Then, his eyes caught a small wooden door at the back of the counter. Its brass handle gleamed under the constellation lights above. Unlike the rest of the bar, a plaque was nailed crookedly at its center.
"Staff Only."
Ryo's heart skipped a beat. The moment his gaze locked on it, he felt the familiar pull of the mansion's aura. That door was no mere decoration. It was a passage—his passage.
No one else in the bar seemed to notice it.
The bartender followed his gaze and smiled knowingly. She placed a crystal glass before him, filled with golden liquor that shimmered like molten sunlight.
"You see it, don't you? That door doesn't open for just anyone."
Ryo turned sharply. "…You know about it?"
She leaned forward across the marble counter, her silver eyes glinting with moonlight. "Of course. That door exists because you exist. You, Librarian, are its keeper."
For a moment, Ryo said nothing. The intuition inside him was louder than ever. This woman was not a stranger. She belonged here, tied to him somehow.
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
The woman straightened, her smile softening as she placed her hand over her chest. She bowed—not deeply, but enough to signal allegiance.
"My name is Selvara Noctis," she said. "Once a shadow without form, bound to the shelves of your Mansion. But now… I stand as your attendant, so long as you bear the title of Librarian of Fate."
Ryo blinked, stunned. "My… attendant?"
Selvara nodded, her raven hair falling like ink over her shoulders. "The Mansion chose you, therefore it also gave me shape. I am here to keep The Astral Veil in order, and to serve as your bridge to the world outside. Patrons may come and go, but only you may pass through that door."
Her hand gestured subtly toward the Staff Only door.
"You will find, my lord, that this bar is more than a gathering place. It is your stage, your mask, and your gateway. Should you wish to mingle with mortals, this is where you may begin. Should you wish to retreat… the Mansion waits beyond that door."
Ryo stared at her, half in disbelief, half in awe.
"…So I really am stuck in some kind of twisted web novel scenario," he muttered under his breath.
Selvara's lips curled into a sly smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are exactly where you were always meant to be."
She raised her glass in a quiet toast. "To the Librarian of Fate. May your shelves never empty."
And for the first time, Ryo lifted his own glass, clinking it against hers.
---
Cling!
The silver bell above the entrance rang softly as the heavy oak door opened. A woman stepped inside, her presence immediately drawing every pair of eyes in the room. She moved with the practiced grace of high society, her gown whispering across the polished floor.
Her attire was unmistakably noble: a gown of deep sapphire velvet embroidered with golden filigree in swirling motifs, each thread catching the lantern-light like tiny constellations. A corseted waist gave shape to her silhouette, and a lace choker adorned with a single sapphire jewel rested against her pale neck. Long satin gloves wrapped her arms, ending just below the elbow, while her shoes—black leather with silver buckles—clicked with authority at each step.
Selvara Noctis, behind the counter, was the first to address her."Ehem. What may I prepare for you, madam?" Her tone was polite, but cool.
The noblewoman remained silent for a heartbeat, her violet eyes slowly drifting past Selvara and locking onto Ryo, who sat quietly at the far end of the counter.
"You," she said at last, her lips curving into a smile. "You are rather handsome, sir."
Ryo blinked. "…Me?"
She leaned gracefully against the bar, lowering her voice to a velvet purr. "Make me a glass of Solstice Éclair. But I want it prepared by him, not you."
Selvara's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation sparking in her silver eyes. To her, the words were less a request and more an insult—a deliberate dismissal of her place. But before her anger could manifest, Ryo lifted a calming hand.
"It's fine," he said simply. "I'll make it."
The moment his fingers brushed the bar's polished surface, an unseen tide of knowledge surged into his mind. Recipes, proportions, the origins of the cocktail—every detail unfurled as though a forgotten library had opened inside his thoughts.
He reached for a crystal glass, its surface etched with starlit patterns. As he poured the first measure of amber brandy, his voice carried softly, almost like a lecture.
"This drink, Solstice Éclair, was first conceived in the courts of Caelvaris during the reign of King Aldren II. It was meant to capture the fleeting brilliance of the longest day of the year. Brandy for the warmth of the sun, spiced liqueur for the fire of celebration, and a dash of silver-infused syrup… to honor the moon that follows."
The liquid swirled under his practiced motions, glowing faintly as though the memory of summer had been distilled into a glass. With a final flourish, he struck a flint, letting a brief flame dance above the rim before it subsided into a shimmer.
Ryo slid the glass gently toward her. "Your Solstice Éclair."
The noblewoman's eyes widened briefly, then softened into amusement. She picked up the glass with her gloved hand, taking a slow sip.
"Mmm… perfect. Just as I imagined," she purred. Her gaze lingered on Ryo, sharper now, almost predatory.
"As I suspected… you are quite fascinating. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Evangeline Duskborne, wife of Baron Duskborne. Though I carry his name, do not misunderstand—my marriage is bound by politics, not passion."
Her lips curved into a sly smile, her words dripping with playful insinuation."And I, dear sir, have no interest in playing the faithful wife."
---
The door slammed open with such force that the silver bell above it gave a tortured, metallic cry.
BAM!
Every patron froze, mugs and dice suspended mid-motion. A man stormed inside, tall and broad-shouldered, his black velvet coat lined with silver thread, the crest of House Duskborne glinting upon his breast. His thick beard bristled, his dark eyes burning with fury.
"Evangeline!" His voice thundered like a storm across the bar. "So this is where you slink away to?"
The noblewoman did not flinch. Instead, she sipped the last of her glowing cocktail with infuriating calm, before setting the glass down with a delicate clink.
"Baron Duskborne," she replied smoothly, her tone laced with mockery. "You always did have a talent for dramatics."
The Baron's eyes shifted, locking onto Ryo with barely contained rage. His fist slammed against the marble counter, making bottles tremble.
"You!" he barked. "How dare you sit in the company of my wife? Do you think yourself fit to court the Lady of House Duskborne?"
Ryo blinked, taken aback. "…What? I—"
"You will not speak!" the Baron roared, cutting him off. His hand went instinctively to the hilt of the ceremonial blade at his side, though he did not draw it. "You dare flirt with what is mine? I should cut you down where you stand!"
Selvara's hand tightened around the stem of a wine glass, her silver eyes narrowing dangerously. "Control yourself, Baron. This is a place of peace."
The Baron sneered. "Peace? There is no peace when dishonor festers under my own roof!" His accusing glare returned to Ryo. "You think me blind? I see it in her eyes. The way she looks at you! Admit it—she has lain with you!"
Lady Evangeline laughed softly, a sound sharp enough to slice through the thick air. "Oh, darling. Always so insecure. Must every glance I spare another man mean infidelity? Or perhaps…" her gaze flickered mischievously to Ryo, "…perhaps you are right to be afraid."
The Baron's face turned crimson, veins bulging on his temple. Around them, the patrons sat frozen, watching a drama far too dangerous to interrupt.
Ryo felt the weight of every eye upon him. The intuition inside him whispered—this was no ordinary quarrel. This was a spark that could ignite something far larger than the confines of the bar.
---
The cheerful chatter of the patrons died instantly. Silence spread as Baron Duskborne accused his wife with eyes burning like coals. The lady only sighed softly, as though she had endured his temper too many times before.
"Baron Duskborne." The voice that cut through the silence belonged to Ryo—Mr. Petunia. Calm. Cold. As if untouched by the storm.
He did not rise from his seat. He simply set down his wine glass and fixed his gaze on the Baron.
Their eyes met.
In that instant, the bar seemed to transform. Towering shelves of books loomed like phantoms, their pages rustling in an invisible wind. A chorus of whispers filled the Baron's ears—whispers of fate, judgment, and endings.
"I am no ordinary man," Ryo said, his tone steady as stone. "I am the Librarian of Fate. Any baseless accusation you hurl in this place will only stain your name. Do you wish to test whether your destiny should be written to its final page… right now?"
The Baron froze. His breath caught in his throat. His powerful body trembled though he fought to stand tall. The aura of the Librarian seeped into his soul, stripping him bare. Every secret, every shame, every fear seemed laid open under that gaze.
Sweat trickled down his temple as he bowed his head low. "Forgive me, my lord," he rasped. "My blind fury clouded my judgment. I beg you… do not inscribe my ruin into the book of fate."
Ryo raised his glass again, sipping it with unshaken calm. "Leave, Baron. Treat your wife well—before her final words are written by another's hand."
The Baron clutched his wife's hand, trembling, and hurried out of the bar. The room, once silent, filled with whispers again—fearful, awed, reverent.
Silvara smirked faintly, polishing a glass at the counter. "Just one look, my lord… and a roaring lion becomes nothing more than a frightened kitten."