What’s going on?

This silent question echoed in every heart inside the auditorium.

Hundreds of Sanctum University students stood utterly bewildered. Yet for elites granted entry to Theology Day, truly shocking events were rare.

Most would’ve merely chuckled hearing an earl and baroness tangled in daily trysts—casually playing poker, until one day the baron returned early, forcing the earl to hide under the bed and finally jump out the window to escape.

They’d dismiss it with a laugh: “Just another Saint Louis routine.” Seen it all. Maybe the baron knew and simply stayed silent.

After all, such scandals were commonplace in Saint Louis—nothing worth blinking at.

But now… truly…

They didn’t get it.

Not at all. Utterly incomprehensible.

Some even felt a numbness creeping in.

Why would Letitia—she who barely spared Hale a glance—suddenly invite him herself?

If it were Christine, a Vestal Candidate, using Hale to cozy up to House Faxius ahead of next year’s election? Understandable.

But Letitia? No such motive. They remembered: even the university president’s request for the “Rose Princess” to give the freshman welcome speech was flatly refused.

She hadn’t even attended orientation.

Such was House Childe’s way: Letitia did exactly as she pleased.

So long as she didn’t point a sword at the Cardinal Bishops and demand, “Swallow this to amuse me, old men,”

no one could touch her. Rumor said the Church’s new Sacred Rail tracks were funded by House Childe’s Central Bank loans; the fledgling Black Knights Order’s entire budget? Underwritten by the Childe family.

Did they not grasp the weight of being the Papal Dominion’s chief creditor?

Lenny’s face twisted—raw, unmasked jealousy.

He hadn’t even finished stewing over Christine and Hale when Letitia announced she’d sit with Hale later.

Whispers said: at every summit of Saint Louis’s true power players, the seats beside the “Rose Princess,” House Childe’s representative, stayed deliberately empty.

No one dared sit there.

The Childe butler’s polished phrasing: “My young mistress is shy around strangers.”

The blunt truth? “You old codgers, keep away from our blossoming lady.”

So for Letitia to personally invite Hale beside her? The implication was deafening.

Anyone who knew her character saw it instantly.

Why him? Why Hale—*again*?

Lenny burned with helpless envy. All he could do was seethe.

Siman, meanwhile, stared blankly—unable to accept it.

Not jealousy toward Hale. But hearing Letitia’s words, seeing the rose-clad girl’s expression, the way she raised her right hand, slender index finger pointing straight at Hale—

She knew. Letitia was serious.

Dead serious.

But… why?

Why Hale?

In Siman’s eyes, Hale charmed minor noble girls only through looks and his duke’s lineage—a crushing advantage for viscounts’ or barons’ daughters. Add Lofu’s styling guidance, and winning shallow affections was easy.

But Letitia?

Nobility’s pinnacle. The coveted bride for every lord across Saint Louis and the Western Continent.

Princes from rival Western nations waited patiently for the “Rose Princess” to come of age, planning “chance” courtships.

Letitia was nothing like Christine.

Christine served the divine. Her closeness to Hale raised no alarm.

But Letitia? Her family commanded wealth—the anchor of mortal desire.

She…

Or rather… *he*… could it be…

Had he changed again?

To be this sought-after?

Him—the one supposedly still toyed with by a Xia Kingdom spy?

Could it be…

A chilling thought struck Siman.

True: her uncle rarely came home. Even if he did, he’d never bring military secrets within Hale’s reach.

So the Xia spy’s target wasn’t House Faxius.

If the enemy manipulated Hale—through sweet words, staged romance—to win Letitia… the horror was unimaginable.

If the Western Continent Alliance clashed with Great Xia, war demanded mountains of gold.

Control Hale → control Letitia → control House Childe.

The consequences? Too terrifying to voice.

Exactly. How could her foolish cousin win Letitia’s heart alone?

A professional team *had* to be pulling strings.

Hale was probably reveling in it.

For him, seduction might be life’s only purpose.

Siman’s fists clenched tight.

Hale needed correction. *Absolutely.*

This was no longer noble rivalry. This was a silent war between continents.

…

Of all present, none felt more conflicted than Hale himself.

Had he not foreknown the game’s plot and his fate,

gazing at the girl today—rose dress, rose hair ribbon, rose-tinted shoes, even rose bows on her white socks—he’d have gallantly replied, “Of course, my lady. Not just beside me—*on* me, if you wish.”

But now… why would Letitia say this outright?

She was House Childe’s princess. In *any* route—hers or another heroine’s—

quests involving Letitia always featured some villain targeting the young princess.

House Childe’s response? Simple. Move too slow, and their agents struck first.

Wake up: quest complete. Player just collects the reward.

Those guarding Letitia ran far deeper than the visible female knights.

He had no wish to die in his sleep, clueless and unavenged.

Accept today? Tomorrow, his name lands on House Childe’s assassination list.

“What’s wrong, Baron Hale? Miss Letitia is inviting you~”

Christine chimed in, nudging his choice.

The stunned crowd’s gazes locked onto him.

Letitia held his eyes, unwavering.

Waiting.

The entire hall held its breath.

Yet save for Letitia, no one believed he’d refuse.

Hale was torn. Public refusal would humiliate the revered lady.

Acceptance? Likely thrust him into Letitia’s route—and onto a hit list.

Just then—Siman stepped forward.

She spoke.

“Duchess Letitia, please allow me, his cousin, to decline this invitation on his behalf.”

She was frantic!