The annual Ansuna Festival—commonly known as the Harvest Festival—arrived right on schedule this year.

Held during the harvest season each year, this day was meant for tallying the year’s yields, taking a well-deserved break, and offering sacrifices to the great and benevolent Goddess of Abundance, Ansuna.

…Though nowadays, let’s be honest—the three-day holiday was what truly mattered to people. The goddess worship? Just going through the motions.

Local law explicitly stated that during the Harvest Festival, everyone—regardless of status—was entitled to three full days of freedom. Neither revered sages nor street vendors could be forced to work against their will during this time.

The Zerah Family, despite their noble standing, was no exception. For these three days every year, all their guards, servants, craftsmen, gardeners, apothecaries, miners, and farmhands enjoyed complete liberty—without worrying about withheld wages.

————————————————————————————————

Zerah Estate, First Floor, Dining Room—

The dishes on the table felt oddly mismatched. Tradition dictated that on the first evening of the festival, everyone must cook at least one dish themselves—a gesture of gratitude for the Goddess’s bounty. Of course, this custom had long lost its solemnity, turning mostly into lighthearted fun. Most nobles simply had their chefs prepare meals in advance before sending them home, treating the "cooking" as a mere formality. After all, noble culinary skills were notoriously dreadful.

Ten people sat around the round table, hands clasped, silently reciting prayers of praise to the Goddess of Abundance—a ritual in itself.

Seated clockwise by age:

—A middle-aged man with deep brown cropped hair: Patriarch Claphas Zerah.

—A scholarly-looking young man with brown hair: Eldest son York Zerah, 25.

—A short-haired woman with an athletic build: Eldest daughter Ellen Zerah, 23.

—A long-haired woman in robes: Second daughter Chloe Zerah, 21.

—A tall, lean young man with deep brown hair: Second son Lux Zerah, 19.

—Myself, the only non-brown-haired member of the Zerahs: Nierlis Zerah, 17.

—A fairy-like, stunningly beautiful girl: Fourth daughter Liliana Zerah, 16.

—A frail, petite boy: Youngest son Nia Zerah, 15.

These eight were the Zerah bloodline. The remaining two seats belonged to guests from other families.

A young man and a girl occupied the special seats.

The young man was tall and strikingly handsome, with rare pale blue hair—Anhans Flion.

The girl was petite, with a harmless, slightly baby-faced charm and vivid red hair—Molly Zane.

Though the Zerahs governed this vast territory, smaller noble houses still thrived here, most loyal to the Zerahs. But the Flion and Zane families were different—their wealth and status were formidable. Centuries ago, the Zerah ancestor served as a key general under the founding king, while the Flion and Zane ancestors were his trusted lieutenants. When the Zerahs received their titles, the other two families shared the glory. For hundreds of years, the three houses maintained warm ties, with elders and youths frequently visiting to jointly manage the land.

Thus, every Harvest Festival, the heads of the Flion and Zane families joined the Zerahs for dinner, laughter, and camaraderie.

Anhans Flion and Molly Zane—until a year ago, they’d been the heirs of their houses. Both had recently inherited leadership after their predecessors stepped down early. Though still green, they were learning swiftly. Claphas Zerah, ever cautious, opposed early succession; thus, our eldest brother remained merely a "heir-apparent."

Since everyone knew each other well, stiff formalities were absent. Conversations flowed freely.

Liliana and Molly chatted with Anhans; Ellen and Chloe clustered together; York and Lux debated quietly; Claphas sat beside Nia.

And I sat alone, observing them all.

“…And then—you’ll never guess what happened! The Fourth Prince suddenly pulled out a huge bouquet of flowers for me! I was absolutely stunned!”

“Eh?! Really? What happened next?”

“I panicked—he’s a prince! I blurted out a refusal without thinking.”

“Ah… what a shame… The Fourth Prince is every girl’s idol…”

“Well~ I just wasn’t ready~”

Liliana animatedly recounted her capital trip. Molly Zane, the red-haired girl, listened intently—her earnest expression genuine, not mere politeness.

Beside them—

“Sigh… I’m stuck studying governance while training in magic. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken Father’s position so soon.” Anhans Flion shrugged, a hint of pride glinting beneath his sigh.

“Hah! Stop pretending, Anhans—you’re loving it! If we’re talking busy, my knight corps trains daily—that’s real work!” Ellen Zerah drained her wine cup with a laugh. Our eldest sister’s voice was as crisp as her cropped brown hair.

“Ellen, your manners! Anhans dislikes brash women, right, Anhans?” Chloe Zerah covered her mouth with a sleeve, smiling demurely. Our second sister wore a simple yet fine robe, her long brown hair framing a classic noble lady’s grace.

“Well, I do dislike brashness—but—” Anhans’s eyes flicked to Ellen’s stiffening smile. He pivoted perfectly. “—Ellen’s an exception. What’s rude in others is bold and open-hearted in her. A woman like that makes a strong pillar for any household.”

“Tch! What nonsense are you spouting now!” Ellen playfully slapped Anhans’s shoulder, her grin widening.

“Uuuuuh…”

Spotting Chloe’s souring mood, Anhans instantly turned to her, launching into smooth, empty flattery.

…The dynamics were painfully obvious.

Ellen, a high-rank Mystic Warrior, and Chloe, a high-rank mage—both prodigies for their age. Yet for years, they’d both adored Anhans, competing for his attention even outside these gatherings. And Anhans, ever the playboy, reveled in the game.

A triangle others might call laughable, yet all three seemed happily immersed. Perhaps that, too, was a kind of happiness.

Meanwhile—

“So, Brother, you plan to cut next month’s crystal exports?”

“Considering neighboring markets’ demand and current prices, reducing exports may yield greater profit.”

“But high returns mean high risks. I’d prefer caution…”

Even at this festive table, their talk revolved around family business. The elder, handsome brother was York. The younger, lanky and rigid one was Lux. Both were driven. York, the heir-apparent, possessed exceptional talent in governance and trade. Lux, meticulous and cautious, balanced York’s boldness perfectly.

Only Patriarch Claphas and youngest son Nia remained.

Seated side by side clockwise.

“…”

“…”

The family head. And his disappointing youngest son—who’d once (forcibly) involved his precious little sister in scandal.

Both silent.

Claphas’s dark aura was almost visible.

Nia’s face was deathly pale, as if he might faint.

——————————————————————————————————

Amidst the harmony, “someone” secretly watched others’ reactions.

Everyone chatted—except one person.

Listening to their trivial gossip, “someone” smirked inwardly.

This truly was The Last Supper.

You’re first, Claphas.