“Hilo Carasco! I challenge you to a duel!” Leona declared solemnly, standing before Rhode, who was tied to a tree.

“The location, the rules—you decide everything!”

“I will definitely win!!!”

Clap, clap, clap, clap. Rhode clapped expressionlessly. Bound as he was, he still encouraged Leona without hesitation.

“Your passion is touching, but sorry—I’m not Shilo,” Rhode said calmly, giving a slight shake of his head while tied to the post.

???? Leona stumbled back several steps, question marks practically sprouting from her head.

She’d snuck out just to challenge Shilo… and picked the wrong twin.

“Seriously though, chasing duel after duel? That’s real grit,” Rhode remarked, watching her with mild interest.

“Obviously,” Leona hmphed proudly, cheeks flushed with smug satisfaction.

“But if losing meant… certain *perks*? Bet you’d rethink that bravery,” Rhode added with mock regret.

“Perks?” Leona blinked. Her tiny head swarmed with question marks.

“Clothes explosion. Ring a bell?” Rhode said deadpan.

Honestly, she was refreshingly straightforward—and kinda cute.

Too bad Rhode wasn’t into her type. And zero interest in harem dreams.

“You bastard! I challenge *you* to a duel!” Leona’s face burned crimson with fury.

How could he say something so shameless with such calm?

“Another duel…?” Rhode slumped, disappointed. She wasn’t even interesting. “Go find Shilo. I’m weak.”

Was she a broken record? Duel, duel, duel.

*(Note: Real duels need a thrown white glove. Just saying.)*

Rhode suddenly perked up. “You know, a battle catchphrase adds serious flair.”

“?” Another question mark bloomed on her forehead.

“Example?”

“Hmm… fine. But if you say anything gross, I draw my sword.”

“Stand up! Face me!” Rhode boomed with dramatic flair.

“Are you an idiot?” Leona snapped. Who says that before a fight? So awkward—and prime ambush time!

“You just don’t get a man’s romance,” Rhode sighed.

What a life tragedy.

“That’s *romance*?” In Leona’s mind, romance was a handsome prince holding her hand beneath starlight.

“Where is Hilo Carasco? NOW!” She grabbed Rhode’s collar, no mercy.

“Studying.”

“And you?”

“Punished. Can’t you tell?” Rhode said matter-of-factly, zero shame in his bound state.

“…” Leona fell silent.

She studied him. “Wait… what’s your name?”

Everyone knew Shilo—the face at every imperial event.

This was her first time seeing someone identical.

Right… Shilo had a twin. But his older brother? Shockingly invisible.

Twins were supposed to be “twin stars”—genius legends.

“Rhode Carasco. A noble’s child.” He almost added “ordinary,” but… nobles weren’t ordinary.

“Rhode Carasco?”

“Why say it like a question?”

“Never heard of you.”

“Which parent brags about the underachiever?” Rhode turned away, aloof mask on.

“So you’re lame?” Leona smirked. Family silence + tied up = confirmed failure.

“Don’t call me lame. I have a grand dream—to become a bard,” Rhode said, voice suddenly earnest, shedding his lazy tone.

“And I’m working for it.”

“Bards? Those greasy palace uncles telling vulgar tales?” Leona’s tone twisted skeptically.

“Wrong. You’ve got a deep misunderstanding,” Rhode corrected gently. “I know truly extraordinary bards.”

He narrowed his eyes.

…

…

“Hey! Spit it out!” Leona broke the silence, flustered.

“Not telling.” Rhode smirked. *Ah, dangling bait was cruel… and delicious.*

“You—hurry—up—and—tell—me!”

“Untie me first.”

*Shhhhk—* Leona slashed the ropes without a word.

“You scared me! Thought you’d slice *me*!” Rhode clutched his chest, genuinely startled.

“I considered it,” Leona deadpanned.

“So talk. What’s this ‘mind-blowing bard’?”

“No rush. Gotta scale the wall first.” Rhode started climbing.

“Why not the gate?”

“Idiot. Punished = can’t walk out openly.”

“…” Leona speechless.

“WAIT! You promised the bard story!!” She finally yelled after him.

“If you’re still here when I return… maybe.”

“You…”

“Bye! Going out to play,” Rhode called over his shoulder before flipping over the wall.

“…” Leona stood frozen, mouth agape.

She left quietly. No way she’d wait. *Bard stories? Skip.*

…Though her gritted teeth and pouting stride made her look exactly like a furious little kitten.