“Master, are we just letting Miss Siman leave like this?”

“Hmm. Didn’t catch a word she said. Better she left sooner.”

Lofu had just seen Siman off. Turning back, she overheard Hale’s words and felt a quiet thrill in her heart.

*So the young master really does dislike her.*

*Serves her right.*

He should’ve disliked her long ago. To Lofu, Siman’s bias against Hale ran just as deep as her own against Siman.

So whatever closeness they once shared? Purely physical interest.

Now the young master had a new flame—maybe a Xia Kingdom spy, but as long as he gave *that woman* no warmth, it was fine.

After all, the investigator left quickly. Hale likely hadn’t committed anything serious.

With the mistress gone and the master rarely home…

Hale had little access to sensitive matters.

And that “spy”? Certainly not sincere.

In the end… only *she* would remain by his side.

…

That night, Hale pored over ancient texts in House Faxius’s library, cramming details about his house and the Papal Dominion.

Game lore and memory gave him a framework—but not enough.

As a lore-hound, he’d once hunted every scrap scroll in-game.

Yet no creator, however verbose, could blueprint an entire world.

Players pieced truths from fragments, filled gaps with guesswork.

But *he* couldn’t afford wild guesses. Day one nearly branded him a Western traitor. Who knew what absurdity came next?

*Zhou Shuren once said: “Knowledge is power. Lore is the remedy.”*

“Still… Siman will keep her distance now. Good. Let her stop fixating on me. Better she cuts ties completely—her route’s orthodox, stable. Not the chaotic heroine type.”

Hale recalled Siman’s parting expression: anger, disappointment, confusion.

*Perfect.*

He *liked* seeing that.

Her prejudice was a mountain—unchangeable.

And she still believed *he’d* been bewitched by a Xia spy.

Hale almost laughed. *Wasn’t his own maid enough?*

Lofu was lovely—graceful figure, skilled hands, fair legs, delicate pink feet, obedient, and stocked with uniforms.

Father and elder sister rarely home. Younger sister secluded in seminary.

He could indulge any role-play scenario with Lofu. Even a “battle” on the manor lawn would be effortless.

Any sane man would choose her over a stranger from Xia.

“Tomorrow… back to class. Starting now, be the quiet noble student.”

He tucked in a bookmark, closed the tome, and headed to bed.

Sleepy. Time to rest.

…

“He’s truly possessed.”

While Hale slept soundly, Siman sat cross-legged on her bed in a moon-white silk nightgown, glaring at the rosewood clock past midnight.

Too furious to sleep.

*How could he treat something so critical so lightly?*

His reply to Yafuman? Decent—noble composure.

But *her*? Brushed off.

*Hmph. That phrasing wasn’t his. That Xia spy taught him.*

She fumed at thin air, utterly convinced.

*What potion did she feed him? To risk family honor like this?*

…Though if he *cared* about honor, he wouldn’t flirt with every pretty girl at school.

Mother kept insisting she worried too much.

But if Hale leaked Papal Dominion secrets and scandal erupted?

The Feng family would drown in the fallout.

*Cut ties. Must cut ties. Paying him attention is self-humiliation.*

She’d visit Lorin at the seminary tomorrow.

Let Hale court ruin—but spare his sister.

…

Early next morning.

Under Lofu’s careful hands, Hale donned a custom-tailored suit. *Aimashi*, the brand—infamously overpriced in-game. Costlier than enchanted robes, zero combat buffs.

Hale, a pragmatist, once got one on a quest. Its sole buff: +30% attraction (opposite/same sex); +50% extra if target’s status/wealth was lower.

Useless then—he’d already built his team. Recruiting more heroines meant benching them (*gathering dust in inventory*) or straining main-team resources.

But this morning? Five near-identical suits hung in his wardrobe.

*Money’s no object… yet it aches. Could’ve bought survival resources.*

“Master, time to go.”

Lofu’s eyes sparkled. *So handsome.* Sharp jaw, balanced frame. Infamous reputation aside—he *was* captain of the Black Knights Order. Weekly sword drills radiated safety.

“Hmm.”

“What would Master prefer tonight? Black-stockinged maid? White? Barefoot? Lofu’s been soaking in strawberry milk—noble skincare trend!”

“Whatever.”

Not dismissive—just choice paralysis.

First class loomed.

*Last night’s vow: Stay neutral. Don’t provoke heroines.*

In every route, the system forced encounters when heroines stalled.

Game difficulty meant sudden, over-leveled bosses.

No verified no-Hale clears existed. Forum bounties? Only cheat-assisted “successes.”

*…Capital’s a hotspot. Should I fake illness and lie low in the countryside?*

He stepped into class—

—and locked eyes with Siman.

Her face? Ice-cold fury.