Director Noa’s play, *When Love Descends Like the Setting Sun*, ended with a line so iconic that it needed no introduction. But of all people, Roswitha seemed to have those three words burned into her memory.

She had always thought it was just a fanciful line Leon had come up with to create an impressive ending for the play—fleeting, insincere affection meant solely for the stage, something trivial to move on from.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to bring it up again now.

Did this mean… that line wasn’t just an impromptu addition dictated by the moment?

Could it have been that this scoundrel, cloaking his intentions in performance, had been revealing something honest from the depths of his heart?

Hard to say. Truly hard to say.

Roswitha curled her lips into a coy smile, folding her arms across her chest in a teasing show of indifference. “What line? I don’t recall.”

Leon froze for a moment. “You’re losing your memory already, and you’re only just over two hundred years old?”

“Ugh, seriously!”

Seeing this man’s refusal to play along, Roswitha felt an impatient twinge. “I mean, there were so many lines. How could I possibly remember every single one of them?”

“But the last line—there’s no way you didn’t remember that one.”

“Well, I didn’t. What are you gonna do about it?”

Roswitha’s deflective retort carried a familiar air of casual dominance. The worst part? Leon had no ready counter to it.

It wasn’t that he had no willingness to argue sense with her. It was simply because…

When the dragon queen decided to abandon reason, she embodied a kind of rare beauty, akin to a headstrong teenager pouting in defiance.

And this wasn’t a side of her he saw often.

Naturally, Leon decided it was worth savoring while it lasted.

“Fine. If you forgot, you forgot,” Leon said with a shrug, turning his head as he sheepishly rubbed the tip of his nose.

Roswitha rose an eyebrow and bumped his shoulder in exasperation. “Are you going to repeat it or what? It won’t kill you to say it again, would it?”

For all her circling around the matter, the truth was simple—she wanted to hear Leon say those three words one more time.

After all, they both knew what the so-called “final line” of the play was. That much was indisputable.

But to truly satisfy her, Leon had to utter it again, word for word.

Roswitha shot him an expectant look.

She thought, *Well, since he had already thrown a direct pitch once, making it twice shouldn’t be impossible, right? Right?*

“I won't say it,” Leon muttered obstinately.

The queen frowned, her displeasure evident. “Why not?”

Leon faltered, refusing to directly answer Roswitha’s question.

But she wasn’t an idiot—there had to be a specific reason behind his reluctance. One that went beyond his usual stubbornness.

She could sense it, the way he seemed to hold something back whenever he tried to express his feelings. Something subtle but deeply personal was stopping him from just coming out with it.

“Is it… embarrassment?” Roswitha ventured. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just the two of us here. Only I can hear you.”

Her tone softened considerably as she spoke.

The silver-haired dragon queen wasn’t one to coax others into speaking, to be sure.

But just this once, she didn't mind making an exception—if it meant hearing that line again.

“No, it’s not that.” Leon shook his head. “I wasn’t embarrassed before, even when there were hundreds of dragons in the audience. Why would I be now?”

“Then why won’t you say it?” Roswitha pressed.

“Because! —Because…”

“Hmm?”

Leon lowered his gaze, fidgeting with his fingers as he hesitated. “Because it’s been a whole week since the play ended, and you… you still haven’t responded to that line.”

Roswitha froze, caught completely by surprise.

That was the reason?

For a moment, she was utterly at a loss.

Listening carefully, though, she could get a faint undercurrent of grievance in the usually unrelenting voice of this renowned Dragon Slayer.

This man, who always prided himself on his supposed “brute strength,” possessed a surprisingly delicate, perceptive side to him.

Roswitha’s silvery eyes softened. She lowered her gaze, gently laying one hand atop Leon’s.

After a brief silence, she spoke in a quiet, measured voice.

“It… It’s not that I didn’t want to respond. I just thought it was nothing more than a line from the script… I didn’t realize it was—”

She hesitated, biting her lips. A rosy hue crept across her cheeks.

“That it was what you really wanted to say to me.”

Leon didn’t respond, but neither did he pull away.

Roswitha raised her eyes, studying his profile. That ever-stoic expression had a strange, subtle vulnerability to it now.

Her silver pupils wavered, betraying a moment of hesitation. Then she made her choice.

Carefully, she placed her hand on Leon’s shoulders, leaning in closer.

The soft curves of her bosom pressed lightly against his strong arm as her lips moved to his ear.

“Leon Casmode…” she whispered, her breath warm and tantalizing, “I love you.”

Her voice was low, carrying a seductive sense that left a tingling warmth on his skin.

Before Leon could even process her words, she followed it up with a kiss on his cheek.

Then, taking his chin lightly between her fingers, Roswitha turned Leon’s face towards her and locked eyes with him.

“And now, I’ve responded to you.” Her voice was gentle yet resolute.

Their gazes locked, their breaths intermingling. Beneath the close proximity, they could both hear the growing intensity of each other's heartbeats.

Such straightforward words—“I love you.” For a pair as habitually guarded and stubborn as these two, such a confession felt almost earth-shatteringly bold.

But when emotions surged beyond words, no expression could carry more weight than these three simple syllables.

Faced with her candid response, Leon didn’t know how to react. Frankly, neither did Roswitha herself.

For a couple unaccustomed to such earnest vulnerability, they felt like they’d wandered beyond their depth.

After a long, awkward silence, Leon exhaled audibly through his nose. “Doesn’t count.”

Roswitha arched her brow. “What doesn’t count?”

“That response,” Leon clarified. “It doesn’t count.”

What are you talking about! Was this man looking to push his luck?

Her hand darted up to tug his ear. “Why doesn’t it count, hmm?”

“Ow! Will you let go?!”

“Not until you give me a justification. Why doesn’t it count? Explain. Now.”

Damn it! I, the queen, have lived over two hundred years, and this is the first time I've said "I love you" to a man.

I thought you would be moved to tears of gratitude, only to find you captive being so obstinate!

If you fail to give me a justification, I won't let you go! Casmode!

Leon grimaced, albeit more from frustration than pain. “Because… because I said mine in front of a whole crowd. You’re just saying yours here, when it’s only the two of us. It’s not the same.”

“You—ugh!”

Roswitha wanted to argue, but her words caught in her throat.

Was it possible… he had a point?

Declaring affection publicly did carry an incomparable weight compared to private confessions.

“Fine,” she huffed after a moment. “What do you want me to do, gather up my Maid Squad and guards, then tell you in front of all of them?”

“That’d be perfect,” Leon replied slyly, flashing a cheeky grin.

Roswitha shoved his forehead in annoyance. “Dream on. You’re lucky that you got to hear me say it this once. Don’t expect anything more.”

“Really? Just this once?”

“Absolutely. There won’t be another time, ever.”

“And if there is?”

Roswitha shrugged exaggeratedly. “What can you do about it?”

Leon blinked, momentarily baffled by her nonchalant response.

The very next moment, however, she seized his collar, yanking him forward until their noses were practically touching.

“If there’s a next time, you’d better respond to me just like I did for you. Got it?”

Her tone was commanding, hard-edged—oozing the energy of a president.

But Leon wouldn’t cave that easily.

With a quick movement, Leon reversed their positions, gripping her wrist and pressing her back against the headboard. His deep eyes stayed fixed on hers as mischief danced in his gaze.

“Nope,” Leon said, his voice low and teasing. “I don’t get it, Your Majesty. Mind explaining it to me… in more detail?”

As her scent filled his senses and the heat between them continued to rise, an undeniable tension curled around them both.