"…I might not mind doing it again. If it's you."
That one sentence kept looping in Gerald's head and, honestly? It was driving him mad.
To hell with those two weirdos.
And yet, he couldn't deny it—he was just as strange.
After all, Maya wasn't the first married woman he had ever touched.
Gerald told himself that as long as both parties agreed, there was no problem.
But he had already slipped too far down the rabbit hole, and the weight of consequences was gnawing at him.
So, this was all he could do:
Distract himself.
Maybe it was time to try for something stable—a real relationship.
He'd received a little "attention" about a week ago—from a female instructor.
Carla Salazar.
A competent woman, skilled in ecology and applied biology. Younger sister to the friend who had once diagnosed Gerald's mana fluctuation disorder.
Unexpected, to say the least.
Normally, no brother would ever suggest his little sister to a friend. Even without a reason, it felt… strange.
And yet, here they were.
Seated across from each other at a four-star restaurant Gerald had reserved that very morning.
She was, truthfully, a beautiful woman.
Her pale-blue hair curled softly, tied neatly to one side in a cute, almost girlish style. Her face was narrow—perhaps too narrow for Gerald's tastes—but it only sharpened her nose and defined her jawline all the more.
He had expected someone cold, dignified, fitting the professionalism she was known for.
Instead, Carla had been fidgeting nervously in her seat since the moment they sat down.
She kept stealing glances at him—caught between curiosity and anxiety.
"Um—"
"I—"
They both spoke at once, then stopped, awkward.
Gerald cleared his throat. "You first."
Carla flinched, lowering her gaze before mumbling, "Y-you… keep staring at me."
Did he? Damn it. His first "clean" date in a long while—with no hidden agendas whatsoever—and he was already messing it up?
He needed to recover with something—anything remotely charming. "I can't take my eyes off you."
"Eh."
Gerald instantly felt his face heat up. What the hell kind of corny line was that?
He wanted to crawl under the table. "I-I mean… you look beautiful tonight."
If he was red, Carla was crimson. She couldn't even bring herself to lift her face. "Y-you too."
Silence settled over them again.
The stagnant air made Gerald restless. What was this? They weren't teenagers anymore.
So, he coughed lightly and tried again. "So, how's work?"
"Eh? Oh. I suppose it's fine."
The silence pressed on him like judgment—every second reminding him he didn't belong in this kind of place, in this kind of situation.
And so does she.
Gerald began to wonder if Henry had tricked him. Did Carla even want to be here?
"Lady Salazar, forgive me, but… do you not want to be here? Did Henry force you into this?"
Carla froze—then shook her head with almost comical speed. "No!" The word burst out far too loud. She winced, then rushed to correct herself. "I-I mean, yes, Henry encouraged me, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to. I do. Very much." Her eyes flicked toward Gerald, gauging his reaction. "B-besides… hanging out with you, Lord Wolfgang, is sort of a dream come true for someone like me. A fan."
Oh? That was new. "You're a fan of mine?"
Carla stiffened, realizing what she'd admitted. "…Yes."
Gerald chuckled.
"I-is that… bad?"
Bad? He smirked, barely holding back laughter. "I just never thought I actually had a fan."
Carla stared at him like he'd claimed the sky was green. "Of course you do!" Once again, her voice came out too loud. She flushed. "You're an inspiration, Lord Wolfgang."
"Because I'm one of the Twelve Wonders?"
Not that he hated the title.
The original records called them the Eleven Wonders. Having his name added was… a big deal.
But that didn't mean everyone truly accepted him.
Even now, he could still hear the ill-whispers—sometimes spoken openly—by people who were supposed to be his colleagues.
And Carla's hesitation before answering only drove the sting deeper. "That's flattering, but—"
"No!"
Gerald blinked.
"Lord Wolfgang, didn't you once write that book, Regression of Reason: The Lewd Memoirs of a Rotten Man?"
Gerald winced. He wanted to deny it, but with a title like that, how could he?
He remembered perfectly. Right after the Resistance War ended, when everyone else had gone back to their lives, Gerald had been left behind.
In a world at peace—a world never meant for him—his purpose gone, he had felt empty. Lonely, maybe.
So he wrote. About himself—or rather, the man he had been in his past life.
Naturally, it had turned into a self-indulgent, embarrassing memoir with an edgy title. But writing it had made him feel whole again.
It hadn't sold well, despite his reputation as a war hero.
So hearing someone mention it now felt surreal—and oddly flattering.
"That was just foolishness from my past." Gerald tried to brush it off.
"But… you poured your heart into it, didn't you?"
Gerald frowned.
"I-I started reading it when I was fifteen. Back then… my father, my only parent left, had just died in the Resistance War. Henry and I were barely holding ourselves together. Henry was always the strong one, but me? I wasn't.
"I shut myself away for days—maybe weeks. Nothing reached me. Nothing but books.
"Henry must have noticed, because he started buying me more of them. One of those books… was yours.
"The protagonist… he wasn't a role model. He drank too much, he used drugs, he chased women. I hated him, in a way. But at the same time, there was one thing about him I couldn't ignore…
"…his refusal to give up."
Refusal to give up? You've got to be kidding me.
Gerald had expected anyone reading it to take away the obvious message: that scum like him deserved karmic punishment.
But refuse to giving up?
"…Of course, his suffering didn't justify the terrible things he did. But… realizing that someone so broken could still cling to even a shred of hope for tomorrow—it made me feel… ashamed."
Gerald snorted.
Carla flinched, trying to backpedal. "S-sorry, I shouldn't have said all that so suddenly—"
"Hahaha." To Gerald, it all sounded too absurd. The idea of having a genuine "fan."
And yet… something stirred.
"Lady Salazar…" He slid his hand across the table, gently taking hers. "You intrigue me. Would you like to continue this somewhere more private?"
At the very least, what followed could serve as a warning to her.