"Oh dear, just sipping coffee feels so dull. It just occurred to me that the palace just sent over some pastries. Let's have them together!"

Weier took out a beautifully crafted gift box.

"Pastries?"

"Yes, it seems that the palace's pastry chef specially made some chocolates. You can't buy them no matter how much money you have. His Majesty personally ordered them to be sent over as a reward for the hardworking president recently."

Weier clenched her fist secretly.

Given the president's love for sweets, encountering chocolate like this—how could anyone care about Moen Campbell?

Especially when there's the added factor of "personally sent by His Majesty."

"Chocolate, huh? Then let's have some together."

Sure enough, upon hearing the word "chocolate," Celicia's eyes flashed slightly. She no longer pressed Moen for answers, instead stepping back, looking somewhat eager.

Hmph, with my understanding of the president, I, Weier, definitely have the upper hand here.

Seeing the two of them separate, Weier smiled with satisfaction and opened the gift box.

One by one, intricately designed chocolates rested quietly within small compartments.

Each piece had been specially molded into heart shapes, making them look delicate and adorable.

Celicia reached out her slender fingers, picked up a piece, and placed it into her cherry-like lips. Her cold expression immediately softened with a satisfied look.

Sure enough, in moments like these, you show a certain cuteness, don’t you?

Watching Celicia's profile, Moen smiled faintly.

Then, without hesitation, he too picked up a piece of chocolate and put it in his mouth.

Bitterness and sweetness blended with a unique fragrance, dissolving instantly on his tongue.

And as his teeth lightly bit into it, a strong aroma of wine, mingled with the chocolate’s fragrance, surged straight to Moen’s senses, making him instantly perk up.

Wait—this is liquor-filled chocolate?

On his palate, the fusion of chocolate’s melting juices didn't come across as cloying sweetness; instead, there was an unusually refreshing and clean sensation.

Relying on his experience, Moen almost immediately identified it as a high-quality premium wine.

The kind that costs over ten thousand Emil per bottle. Just one piece, and Moen’s taste buds and stomach were heating up.

This pastry chef doesn't disappoint, does he? While chocolate already counts as an expensive luxury dessert in this world, accentuating it with such a premium wine highlights sheer extravagance.

"Exquisite flavor."

Moen sincerely praised.

"The blend of wine is so precise—it makes you forget you’re eating chocolate and instead feel like you’re appreciating a work of art. If only it were paired with Weston’s top-grade coffee—it would be perfect."

"…"

"…"

Hmm?

Moen frowned, a little puzzled.

Such an elegant and cultured review, and yet no one echoed his thoughts?

At the very least, there should’ve been *some* reaction.

“Plop.”

Well, it caused a reaction—just not the one Moen was expecting.

Weier’s hand jerked, throwing one of the ridiculously expensive chocolates to the ground. Her delicate face began to stiffen.

“Moen Campbell… what did you just say? This… this is liquor-filled?”

“Yes.”

Weier's strange response made Moen even more confused.

Is it really that shocking? It’s just liquor-filled chocolate, nothing extraordinary.

But then, Moen noticed that Weier's gaze had shifted past him, landing on Celicia. Her expression, at first blank with disbelief, quickly morphed into terror.

Moen froze for a moment before quickly turning around to look at Celicia.

In his sight, Celicia still maintained the pose she had just adopted—having delicately placed the chocolate in her mouth, gently licking her fingertips. She appeared elegant and tranquil.

But through the flickering candlelight, Moen clearly saw that Celicia's fair complexion had begun to take on a pinkish tint.

Not just her face—every inch of her exposed skin was now suffused with a faint rosiness, transforming this icy beauty into something akin to a freshly blooming peach blossom in the early spring, tender and dazzling.

And most notably, Celicia’s eyes, typically cool and rational in Moen’s mind, were now melting like thawing ice into an unfocused, glazed-over daze.

"Is she… drunk?"

What the hell? Drunk from a single piece of liquor-filled chocolate?

Even breathalyzers wouldn’t detect this amount of alcohol!

"The president… she can't handle alcohol at all…" Weier stammered, trembling.

Moen froze again, as if a bolt of lightning struck his mind. Memories buried deep resurfaced.

That small but critical detail from his earliest plans, the reason he had been forced to use tea.

**[My body can't handle alcohol, not even a drop.]**

Yes, that's exactly what Celicia had said back then.

But… this was too long ago! You don’t bury a plot point this far back; the readers won’t know what's happening!

Is the long-forgotten setup suddenly coming back to haunt me?

Moen turned back and looked at Weier, whose round face was now pale with fright. He asked, stunned:

"Since Celicia has dietary restrictions, shouldn’t you have checked in advance?"

"This is a gift directly from the palace! How could I dare open it before giving it to the president?"

"...Does His Majesty know about Celicia’s alcohol issues?"

"I wouldn’t know. I’ve never lived in the palace, so how would I know?"

Faced with Weier’s constant denials, Moen felt utterly helpless.

The highest likelihood was that this was a simple mix-up. His Majesty might know Celicia’s aversion to alcohol, but the pastry chef who prepared the chocolates likely didn’t, inadvertently sending over liquor-filled chocolates.

As for any alternative explanation… seriously—what would be the point? Was His Majesty deliberately trying to get his daughter drunk?

"One last question."

Moen swallowed, his face solemn as he looked at Weier.

"Even when drunk, Celicia will surely maintain her high-class, royal elegance, right? A mere bout of intoxication would mean she’ll just sleep it off peacefully—no bizarre behavior or anything out of the ordinary. Right?"

"…"

"MAYBE?"

"…"

After an agonizing silence, Weier’s expression also turned serious. She looked deeply into Moen’s eyes.

And then…

She ran.

With lightning-fast speed that left Moen dumbfounded and ashamed by comparison, Weier bolted out.

Moen stared blankly for a second before realizing what had just happened. Instantly, he sprinted in pursuit, as if he were racing in a hundred-meter sprint.

But—

*Bang!* The door slammed shut, nearly causing Moen to collide into it!

Terrified, he pounded on the door, only to discover that magical energy surged across its surface.

Weier had even activated the protective enchantment array for the room in her haste.

"Weier, what are you doing? I'm still inside! Open the door and let me out!"

"…Sorry, Moen Campbell. I can't open it."

Weier’s apologetic voice came from outside the door.

"The president… her behavior after drunk is quite terrible, so…"

"What nonsense…"

Moen almost coughed up a mouthful of blood. "Seriously? It’s just getting drunk! No matter how bad you would react…”

*Zing—*

A sharp sound cut through the air, interrupting Moen mid-sentence.

Sweat immediately formed on Moen’s forehead as he slowly turned his gaze.

At that moment, an ice-blue sword blade pierced through the door next to him, grazing his cheek.

The supposedly impenetrable protective enchantment was as fragile as tissue paper beneath the ice-blue sword.

"Moen Campbell…Why… Why would you run away?"

Celicia’s voice came from behind. It was no longer the coldness of its usual tone—it now carried a playful and honeyed softness.

Yet hearing this voice made Moen’s knees tremble. He was speechless with dread.

"Weier, open the door! I’m begging you—open it!"

"I already said—no."

"For the sake of peace of the world! For the safety of Belland! To prevent tomorrow’s headlines from reporting three surrounding blocks razed by a drunken human tyrannosaurus…

Someone *needs* to stay inside and keep the president occupied. So…"

Outside the door, Weier’s voice was tearful yet resolute as she turned away.

"Moen Campbell—don’t die, okay?"