An avenger huh...

Though the governor of the Lower City District, in the eyes of the entirety of Belland, is not considered a top-level position—like a city mayor of a provincial capital who always has layers of superiors pressing down on them—it is still an office with actual power. And now...

With the underground gangs in the Lower City District integrated under control, and the newly appointed governor being someone with an ingrained hatred for those groups...

One might expect that those squeezing dirty money out of the Lower City District will have an unpleasant future awaiting them.

"Since you're putting it this way, it would be impolite for me to refuse any further."

Moen sighed lightly and sat back down in his chair.

He thought for a moment, and before Shawn could say anything, Moen suddenly beckoned a waiter and whispered something.

Not long after, where the single rose had been, tableware was set, red wine poured, and the warm glow of a candle lit. The comfortable chair was pulled back respectfully by the waiter, awaiting the arrival of a lady.

The appetizers were served—three portions.

"This... What is this?" Shawn was slightly stunned.

"Don't misunderstand." Moen raised his glass and lightly toasted to the empty chair. "I'm merely inviting an invisible and beautiful lady for dinner. It has nothing to do with a rough fella like you."

"So don't feel like you owe me anything extra. As for repaying me... if you're so capable, how about reviving her and having her thank me personally?"

"..."

Moen's words were a bit shameless. After all, what kind of way can revive the dead?

But Shawn's eyes suddenly turned red.

He glanced at the empty seat under the flickering candlelight, as if hazy shadows wavered in and out, a trace of longing flashing through his gaze.

Pressing his dried lips tightly together with determination, he turned seriously to Moen.

"Young Master Moen, in the future, if ever you need my assistance, please be sure to—"

"Hey."

Moen waved his hand, interrupting him mid-sentence.

"You just assumed office, and you're already thinking of forming cliques and gangs? That doesn't seem ideal, does it?"

He forced a lighthearted smile, adding, "Wouldn't your main focus right now be performing well as a governor? I'm pretty sure His Majesty has grown tired of the incompetence of past governors. If can't make a mark, all words are meaningless."

"Indeed." Shawn straightened his back. "From the moment I received the appointment order, I swore before my wife's grave that I would never allow such tragedy to repeat. Becoming an exceptional governor is but the first step of my journey!"

"That's the spirit."

Seeing the resolute look in Shawn’s eyes, Moen exhaled in relief.

Even harboring a heart weighted by blade-like hatred, he still had not let vengeance blind him.

Such a person... No wonder Father admired his potential.

"But since you've said all that, there's one thing I must confirm with you once more." Moen suddenly turned serious, changing the tone of the conversation.

"What is it?"

Noticing the stern demeanor of Moen, Shawn instinctively tensed, determined to brace himself and deliver—

"The beauty violinist you spoke of..."

Moen clasped his hands beneath his chin, a gemstone-like glimmer flashing through his deep blue eyes.

"Is she authentic?"

"..." Shawn froze.

Looking at Moen's dead-serious face—far more solemn than earlier—Shawn’s once-heavy expression collapsed.

For the first time since bringing up his late wife, Shawn let out a rare chuckle and sighed, "Young Master Moen, you are truly... a person full of contradictions, yet unexpectedly consistent with the rumors about you. Quite the character."

As the atmosphere of the dinner table finally calmed into the kind of tranquility a meal should bring, Moen smiled nonchalantly.

"Enough with the nonsense. I only care to know if the beauty is authentic—worthy of the title of violin soloists... Or will there be some bait-and-switch where the 'beauty' turns out to be a matron?"

"The 'beauty' part is just the restaurant's marketing; I've never actually seen her in person. But..."

Shawn turned his gaze to the small stage and, once more, a reminiscent look gleamed in his eyes.

"My wife and I first met in this very restaurant. Back then, she was a music academy student working here to make ends meet. It was after hearing her first piece that I was utterly captivated. So, I imagine, while this restaurant may not match the opulence of the places in Upper City, its discernment—at least in this regard—is trustworthy."

"Is that so?"

Moen arched an eyebrow and looked toward the center of the restaurant.

"In that case, I am intrigued."

...

Ten minutes later.

After Moen, with both grace and unrelenting precision, obliterated the extravagant meal to fill himself to a seven-tenths full, the beauty violinist finally, under the warm glow of stage lights, made her appearance.

The entire restaurant fell silent. Moen also paused mid-motion, turning in anticipation.

Then, his expression froze.

After a few stunned moments, Moen slowly turned back to Shawn, whose face was also blank with shock.

Painstakingly, Moen asked, "You said 'beauty,' but... where is the face?"

Indeed, the violinist on stage wore an elegant black evening gown that perfectly showcased her alluring figure—her long legs, slender waist, creamy white skin, and impressively ample breasts.

But the problem was... the beauty's face—a complete blur.

Literal blur.

It was as if a misty haze obscured it entirely, rendering her features indistinguishable—not even her nose, eyes, or mouth could be made out.

"This... I have no idea."

Shawn wiped away sweat.

"Perhaps her performance is so outstanding that her appearance becomes irrelevant?"

Moen's lips twitched.

Live music performances are, by their nature, not solely an auditory experience. The conduct, posture, and expressions of the performer also enrich the audience's impression.

Now, if you chose to be like the fairy madams in novels, wearing a veil or a half-mask to preserve mystique, then okay—it might even ignite some imagination.

But what’s with smearing some magical blur effect across your entire face?

This is like a husband buying racy lingerie for his wife, eagerly anticipating a passionate evening, and the wife, blushing, says:

"Darling, I feel a bit shy—how about I wear the lingerie on my face instead?"

Completely kills the mood!

...

The once-quiet restaurant began to hum with unrest, sporadically punctuated by bouts of cursing.

Clearly, the rest of the guests were equally displeased by the restaurant pushing forward with 'Ms. Mosaic' under the guise of beauty.

Yet strangely, despite tensions escalating, the restaurant’s staff continued dispatching waiters to appease the complaints but made no effort to replace the performer or demand she show her face.

Are they really that confident?

As the 'beauty' raised her violin, poised to play, Moen couldn't help feeling a spark of curiosity after all.

Plus, Moen’s gaze slid along the perfect curves outlined by her evening gown.

So... big. Even bigger than the senior...

So absurdly prominent...

Why did it feel like he’d seen this somewhere before?