Dante stood frozen, his eyes locked on the red-haired girl as she kissed the boy with all the passion in the world.
She was the one he had loved for as long as he could remember—even if he'd always known someone like her was far beyond his reach.
He wouldn't have been upset if she simply didn't want a low-class guy like him.
But seeing the girl he loved fall for a man whose only qualities were his looks and status—a man with a rotten personality underneath—that pain cut deeper than any weapon ever forged.
He couldn't stand watching that painful scene any longer, so he slipped away quietly and sat beside the lake, hoping the calm water would settle the storm in his chest.
"I told you so."
A familiar voice echoed behind him. Dante turned and saw his closest friend, Marco, standing there.
"So you have no reason to stay here anymore, right? Then let's go on an adventure," Marco said.
Dante didn't answer. He only stared at the lake with a heavy expression.
Seeing this, Marco sat down next to him.
"Look on the bright side. Even if you don't have romance, you still have bromance."
"I don't know, Marco… I still can't get over it. Why did she have to like that guy?" Dante murmured.
"You're asking why she liked him? Because that girl is a bitch," Marco replied instantly.
"Hey—watch your mouth. She's a noblewoman."
Marco let out a short laugh.
"So what? She's a noblewoman, big deal. If she's dumb enough to fall for a guy like that, she doesn't deserve respect."
He slung an arm around Dante's neck and added.
"And you—always obsessing over one woman. You should've known from the start. A commoner like you ending up with a noble like her? Impossible."
Marco picked up a stone and tossed it into the lake.
"You throw a rock into the water hoping the whole lake will overflow. It won't. It's impossible."
"Impossible?" Dante repeated, turning to look at him. "And how is your 'dream' any different from what I'm doing?"
"My dream can come true," Marco said, standing up with sudden confidence.
Dante burst into a small laugh at the reaction, then looked back down at the rippling water.
Marco sighed before dropping down beside him again.
Dante watched the man settle in, still unsure where this conversation was going.
"If I were doing this alone, sure, it'd be impossible. But with my brain and your talent, my dream can actually come true," Marco said.
Dante turned to him. "So you want me to go on an adventure with you?"
"Don't take it the wrong way. I'm not being selfish," Marco insisted. "If my dream comes true, yours will too. Whatever it is."
Dante lowered his gaze. He had never thought much about dreams. "I don't have any," he said. "But… if helping you reach yours is something I can do, I don't mind."
Marco grinned, the kind of grin Dante had seen countless times—reckless, unrealistic, but somehow hard to ignore.
"It won't be boring. Once we set out, I'll make you famous. Money, power… one day you'll be king. And then you can appoint me as a lord somewhere far away and pay me enough to live a lazy life forever. That's my dream."
Dante blinked. Only Marco could say something so absurd with a straight face.
"Then why don't you become king yourself?"
"Because being a leader means responsibility," Marco said, almost whispering the last word like it was cursed. "Too much work. Unless you're a mad king who ignores everything—then I'd just get beheaded."
A breath of laughter slipped out of Dante.
"Make me king? If you plan to leave this city, make sure you survive this winter first."
Marco puffed his chest out. "I've got a plan. What? You don't trust me?"
Dante didn't answer immediately. With Marco, trust was never the problem—surviving his plans was.
"I trust you. But can you at least give me a more concrete plan?" Dante asked.
"You finally asked," Marco said, sounding genuinely pleased.
What followed was a long, animated explanation. Dante listened as Marco laid out every step—each detail stitched together with a kind of enthusiasm he rarely saw from him. For a moment, the usual recklessness was gone; in its place was a strange clarity. The plan was bold, risky in several places… but surprisingly solid.
Risk had never bothered Dante. If anything, the unknown was the only thing that still stirred something alive inside him. And more importantly—he had no desire to remain here any longer.
The setting sun bled orange across the sky. Wind brushed through the treetops, making the whole world feel like it was whispering its goodbyes.
Later, after packing their meager belongings onto the cart, Dante stood beside Marco, both of them looking back at the town where they had been born and raised.
Dante never imagined he would leave this place. And he certainly hadn't expected to see Marco standing there with tears running freely down his face.
"I thought I'd already gotten over it," Marco said, voice breaking.
Dante didn't speak. He only watched—quietly, painfully—as his friend trembled under the weight of leaving everything behind.
Since he could remember, Marco had always been by his side. Even after Dante entered the Arnis household as a servant, that bond never changed. He was the one who convinced his superior to hire Marco as well—it felt natural to keep his closest friend near.
Marco was sharp, clever in ways most people overlooked, yet he always shrank when faced with strangers. He liked to joke that his only real talent was motivating other people to shine, never himself.
"How long are you going to cry? If you keep this up, I'm not driving the cart," the old man grumbled from the driver's seat. He was the one Marco had somehow persuaded to help them escape this place.
Marco sniffed, awkwardly wiping the tears from his face before scrambling onto the cart beside Dante.
Dante watched him for a moment—his friend still trembling with leftover emotion—and exhaled quietly. Leaving home was painful, but at least… he wasn't doing it alone.