***********
After the short conversation Asterion had with Scarlette, his gaze drifted naturally toward the man standing several steps behind her—the one Scarlette had chosen as her companion. The young Marquis studied him for a brief moment, expression composed, before stepping past Scarlette and extending his hand in a practiced gesture of courtesy.
"Pleased to meet you. My name is Varyn, by the way."
His tone was relaxed, almost casual, yet Ryan felt an imperceptible sharpness beneath it. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding.
« That guy has definitely recognized you, » Scarlette's earlier words echoed faintly in Asterion's memory. « It won't take long for him to figure out who you are. But don't worry—I know him well. He's not the type to expose someone's secret, especially when he has an identity of his own to protect. »
Asterion trusted Scarlette's judgment.
That trust, however, did not extend fully to the man in front of him.
Asterion knew exactly who "Ryan Wayne" was—or, rather, who he likely was not. Even with whatever skill or artifact concealed his appearance, there were nuances that could not be hidden from a Swordmaster's senses forever. Mannerisms. Presence. The way someone carried their weight.
Still, he had given Scarlette his word.
For now, he would refrain from interference.
However, if this man proved to be a danger—to Scarlette, or worse, to the Empire—Asterion knew exactly what he would do next. The authority granted to him by His Majesty was not ceremonial, and he would not hesitate to use it if necessary.
For now, he thought, I need to keep my head low.
Scarlette's earlier words rang again in his mind.
It won't take long for him to recognize you.
Asterion was already accustomed to this. Outside the capital, stripped of titles and insignia, he was rarely addressed by name. Within noble circles, he was always Marquis Valehart. To the public, the war hero.
Very few called him Varyn.
Fewer still were allowed to.
Aside from Scarlette, there was only one other person who had ever addressed him by that name—the Crown Prince himself, who bestowed it upon him.
"Nice to meet you too, Varyn," Ryan replied after a moment. "My name is Ryan Wayne."
They shook hands.
Asterion noted the pressure—controlled, firm, neither deferential nor arrogant. An interesting choice. The handshake was brief, professional, and ended without hesitation.
Scarlette watched the exchange silently.
Her blank expression betrayed nothing, but Asterion was familiar enough with her micro‑expressions to understand what she was conveying.
Be careful, that look said. But don't overthink it.
Ryan, of course, noticed none of it.
Asterion cleared his throat lightly.
"Both of you can stay at my place," he said. "I'll be joining the team as of this moment."
Ryan raised an eyebrow and instinctively glanced at Scarlette, who had yet to speak.
"Another companion?"
Scarlette shrugged, her answer immediate and unbothered.
"Two companions are better than one, I think."
Her tone made it sound more like an observation than an opinion.
Ryan nodded slowly, accepting her reasoning, but his eyes drifted back to the auburn‑haired man standing before him.
And then—
Recognition hit him.
His breath stalled for barely a heartbeat.
No way…
The realization cascaded unnervingly fast.
Silveria Empire's youngest Swordmaster. The revered war hero. The Emperor's grandnephew—Marquis Asterion Varyn Valehart.
Ryan froze inwardly.
Scarlette… is well‑acquainted with a Marquis?!
Cold anxiety crept up his spine.
There was no doubt about it now. Even if his appearance was altered, even if spells masked his presence, Ryan knew better than anyone that a Swordmaster's perception went beyond surface‑level observation.
He may already recognize me, Ryan reasoned grimly. And if not now, then soon.
He clenched his fist subconsciously.
And Scarlette… she might already know too.
She had always been perceptive. Sharp enough to notice inconsistencies others overlooked.
If she does, she hasn't said anything yet.
That realization both comforted and unsettled him.
While Ryan wrestled with his thoughts, Scarlette noticed the change in him instantly. She had expected it. Men from similar backgrounds rarely missed one another.
That was unavoidable.
Scarlette cleared her throat, cutting through the silence.
"Let's go. Discussion. Not the right place. Important."
Ryan snapped out of his thoughts and exhaled sharply.
Here we go again…
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration surfacing despite himself. Asterion noticed his expression and barely managed to suppress a chuckle, turning it into a cough.
"She means that we should leave and discuss important matters elsewhere," Asterion translated smoothly.
Ryan stared at him.
"H‑huh?! You understood that?"
Asterion shrugged lightly.
"At first, I didn't either," he admitted. "But you get used to it. Trust me."
Ryan nearly stumbled where he stood.
This man… understands her?
Scarlette watched the two men quietly, unbothered. Their conversation continued without her input, and she made no effort to interrupt. She knew perfectly well that she was the topic being discussed.
After several minutes, both men seemed to reach some silent agreement and turned their attention back to her.
Scarlette didn't respond.
Instead, she scanned the area.
The street was crowded. Too crowded. Too many people drifted past—too many unfamiliar presences brushing against her senses.
Her brows knit together.
…No.
That feeling again.
"Hm?!"
She stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowd with razor‑sharp focus. The sensation was fleeting but unmistakable—a pressure lurking just beneath perception.
A shadow without form.
Asterion and Ryan noticed the shift immediately.
"Scarlette," Asterion asked quietly, posture straightening. "Is something wrong?"
She didn't answer at once.
Ryan, still attempting to play his role, appeared confused—but Scarlette saw through it easily.
Still acting clueless, she thought flatly. Fine. Keep it up—for now.
She continued sweeping her gaze across the street, searching for the source of that unsettling sensation.
Ryan, meanwhile, felt it too.
A faint darkness pulsed at the edge of his awareness—familiar in texture, though different in nature.
Someone's watching, he realized. From afar.
He kept his expression neutral.
"I'll act dumb for now," he told himself. "But that presence… it's wrong."
Finally, Scarlette spoke.
"Move," she said, voice cold and precise. "They were watching. From the start."
The words sent a chill through both men.
Asterion's eyes widened.
"What?" he demanded in a low voice. "You're saying you've been watched the entire time? Since when?!"
The Marquis became anxious at the mere fact that the crimson-haired woman stated that she's being watched from the whole time, and he didn't even notice it.
**********