The moment I stepped into the room, the air changed.
Heavy. Thick. Like walking into water that had not moved in a very long time.
A long table of dark wood took up nearly half the space. Its surface was polished until it reflected the candles hanging from an ornate iron frame on the ceiling. Seated around it were over a dozen figures in robes and insignias marking their rank. The kingdom's highest nobility. Military advisors with medals on their chests. Regional governors in dark blue cloaks. The head of the treasury with ink stains on his fingers. The commander of the royal army with a scar across his temple.
The most powerful people in the kingdom. All gathered in a single room.
But it was not their titles that caught my attention. It was their faces.
Sweat on foreheads. Fingers tapping the table unconsciously, creating a small restless rhythm. Eyes moving from one person to the next, searching for someone to say that everything would be fine. But no one dared. Because everyone in this room knew the truth, and the truth was too heavy to speak aloud in a place this open.
I recognized that expression. I had seen it a thousand times in my first life. On the news, in movies, on the faces of people who knew the storm had already arrived but had no idea where to run.
Panic. Carefully wrapped in silk robes and golden insignias, but panic all the same.
I knew exactly why.
The Demon King.
In Magic and Love, the Demon King's awakening was the turning point of the entire story. The moment the world shifted from academy romance drama to a battle for survival. In the game, players never felt the weight of this moment. Just a quick cutscene, a few lines of dialogue, then straight to the next quest.
But here. In the real world. In this room. The weight settled into every single breath.
The prince walked past me and entered the room first. His steps were steady, but I could see his palms were damp. "Father, Serena is here."
The entire room stood at once.
Chairs scraped backward. Robes rustled. Over a dozen people rose from their seats almost simultaneously, as if pulled by a single invisible thread.
What made this moment interesting was the fact that nearly everyone in this room held a status far above Serena's. Dukes, marquises, even members of the royal council who had served for decades. In the hierarchy of nobility, Serena Valenrose was technically beneath every single one of them.
And yet they stood. All at once. Without hesitation. Without a single person lagging behind by even half a second.
Not out of obligation. Out of respect.
Respect born from a reality that no one in this room could deny. The wealth flowing into the royal treasury, financing this palace, paying their salaries, building roads and harbors across the kingdom, funding the armies and weapons guarding the borders, the vast majority of it came from one source. Crescentia Group.
And the woman standing in the doorway with a cheerful smile on her face, looking as though she had just walked into a friend's party rather than a royal war council, was the owner of all of it.
"Oh, welcome, Lady Serena." King Reinhart smiled warmly from his chair at the head of the table. That smile was not forced. I could tell. It was the smile of someone genuinely relieved to see a face he trusted in a time like this. Beside him, Queen Eleanora gave a graceful nod, her pale silver hair catching the candlelight.
Serena bowed politely. "Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to see you."
Then the queen's eyes moved.
Past Serena. Past the prince, who had already taken his seat. And they landed on me.
I stood behind Serena. Silent. Posture straight. My expression, well, it should have been blank.
But something in the queen's face shifted. Very subtle. Like a ripple on water that you would only notice if you were truly watching. A slight furrow in her brow. Eyebrows lifting half a millimeter. Her violet eyes narrowing, not from confusion, not from suspicion.
From reading.
Reading my face.
And I realized, with an embarrassing delay, that Queen Eleanora was the wife of a king who regularly disguised himself among his own people. A woman who had spent half her life studying faces from every walk of life. Farmers, merchants, soldiers, nobles, beggars. She had read thousands of faces. Tens of thousands, maybe.
And my face, right now, was screaming something it absolutely should not have been showing.
The queen stepped away from her chair.
Not quickly. Not dramatically. Each step was slow and measured, her silk shoes barely making a sound against the marble floor. But it was precisely that calmness that made half the room turn to look. A queen does not move without reason. Every gesture she makes is a statement.
And when she stopped before me, and bowed, the world inside that room stopped turning for two full seconds.
A queen. Bowing. To a commoner.
"I... I am sorry. Did my son do something to you?"
Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. But in a room this silent, among people holding their breath, every syllable rang out like a bell struck in the stillness of morning.
Several nobles exchanged glances. Confused. Stunned. A few opened their mouths to speak, but no one dared utter a sound. A queen bowing to a commoner and apologizing on behalf of her own son. That was something that had never happened in the history of this kingdom. Perhaps in the history of the entire continent.
The prince froze. His face drained of color as if all the blood had been pulled from his head in an instant. "Mother, what are you doing?"
Queen Eleanora straightened up and turned toward her son.
And for the first time since I had set foot in this palace, I saw something that made that arrogant prince swallow hard and shrink into himself.
A mother's fury.
Not the explosive kind. Not screaming or threats. This was far more terrifying than that. This was quiet anger. Anger that had ripened over time. The anger of a woman who had given chance after chance, who had counseled over and over, who had hoped and been let down so many times that her disappointment had finally hardened into something far colder than ordinary rage.
"We already punished you so you would reflect on what you did." Her voice was calm. Every word left her lips with surgical precision, like a blade being drawn slowly from its sheath. "So why have you still not changed?"
The prince said nothing. His lips trembled. His hands clamped down on the armrests of his chair. I could see a small war playing out across his face, ego wanting to defend itself against common sense that knew anything he said would only make things worse.
Ego lost.
He lowered his head. And went silent.
The king did not intervene. He simply sat in his chair, watching the scene with eyes that were calm but sad. The eyes of a father who had watched his son repeat the same mistakes far too many times.
And in the middle of that silence, I realized something.
My face.
This whole time. Since the corridor. Since the prince's disgusting whisper about "buying a woman." Without me noticing, without me controlling it, my face had been showing something it should never have shown.
Not a calm expression. Not a blank face. Not the "mysterious NPC" look I had trained and maintained for over a decade in this world.
The face of someone who wanted to slap a person and hurl them into the sea.
A face of pure anger.
Raw. Unfiltered. Completely exposed.
The queen read it. That was why she walked toward me. That was why she apologized. Not because she knew exactly what happened in the corridor. But because she saw the aftermath, carved into my face as clearly as letters etched in stone.
And she knew, from years of reading thousands of faces, that anger this deep does not appear without a reason.
Stupid. Absolutely stupid, Raymond.
Over a decade of building a persona. Over a decade of keeping a blank face in front of kings, in front of nobles, in front of the entire world. And one encounter with a prince whose mouth was sharper than his brain had been enough to tear it all apart.
I quickly fixed my expression. Pulled every muscle back to neutral. Locked my jaw. Relaxed my brows. Put the mask back on, the one that should never have slipped in the first place.
"Oh, no, Your Majesty. I was just thinking about something Serena mentioned."
The queen tilted her head slightly. Puzzled. Her eyes still searching mine, still trying to read something behind the mask I had just snapped back into place.
I needed to redirect her attention. Right now.
"About the Demon King," I continued.
Those three words dropped into the room like a boulder thrown into a pond that was already shaking.
The effect was instant. Total. Inescapable.
The queen froze. Her eyes went wide. Every trace of curiosity about my face disappeared, replaced by something far larger.
The entire room transformed. Nobles who had already been tense became even more so. Several of them gripped the edges of the table. Others exchanged looks that silently asked how could he possibly know.
And the prince, who just a moment ago had been sitting with his head bowed in shame after being scolded by his mother, snapped his head up. Eyes wide. Mouth open.
"What? The Demon King? Is that why there have been so many monster attacks?"
His voice cracked. Panic he could not hide. Whatever dignity he had left, if there was any left at all, collapsed in a single sentence. In front of over a dozen nobles, the prince who was supposed to be the future leader of this kingdom looked exactly like what he truly was.
A young man who was terrified.
The king raised one hand. A single movement. Slow. But the authority that flowed from that gesture locked the entire room in place. No one moved. No one dared breathe too loudly.
"Calm yourself, son. Do not ruin your dignity."
That sentence, delivered in a gentle tone, somehow hit harder than any shout ever could. Because behind it was a message that did not need to be spelled out. You are a prince. Act like one.
The prince swallowed and sat back down. His hands were still shaking.
King Reinhart surveyed the room. His eyes were blue and warm, but there was a weight behind them that he could not hide. The weight of knowing that the world you have spent decades protecting is now under threat, and you are not sure you can save it.
Then he exhaled. Slow. Deep. And he began to speak.
"Yes. The Demon King has risen. And we must fight him."
Those words, even though everyone in the room already knew them, still landed like a punch now that they had been spoken out loud by a king. Some nobles bowed their heads. Others stared straight ahead with hollow eyes.
"The neighboring kingdoms have already formed their own parties. They are sending their best adventurers to face the Demon King."
Queen Eleanora spoke next, already back in her seat beside her husband. Her voice was cold and cutting, nothing like the gentleness she had shown me just moments ago. "However, they treat this as a competition. No one is willing to cooperate. Every kingdom wants to be the first to defeat the Demon King, as though this were some contest for honor and glory."
She shook her head slowly. Her silver hair swayed gently.
"Completely foolish. While they are busy competing with each other, monsters keep attacking border villages. People die every day, and the leaders of the world are too busy arguing over who gets the honor of killing the Demon King."
The silence that followed the queen's words was heavier than any silence I had felt in this room.
The king turned to his son. His gaze changed. No longer a king addressing his people. This was a father looking at his son. Warm, yet burdened by something impossible to conceal.
"And that is why, my son, you will lead the hero's party."
Silence again.
But this time it was different. This silence was waiting for something. And that something came from a mouth no one had expected to refuse.
"I refuse."
Leonhart. His voice quieter than usual. More honest than usual. No arrogance. No false authority. Just the voice of a young man who had been hit by a reality too enormous to carry.
The entire room went still. Even the nobles who had been fidgeting were now frozen in their seats, every pair of eyes locked onto the prince.
"I am not a child who can just be ordered around." His hands clenched on the table. "I will not lead a party simply because I happen to be a prince. Why does it have to be me? Are there not generals who are stronger? Mages with more experience? Why send a young man who has not even killed a high level monster?"
I watched him. And for just a moment, only a moment, I saw something behind those blue eyes that made me stop hating him.
Fear. Real. Raw. Impossible to fake.
Leonhart von Asteria, the arrogant prince who broke his engagement with Veralyn without thinking twice, who whispered disgusting things to me in the corridor, who looked at commoners like dirt on his shoes, could also feel fear.
The king did not get angry. He did not even raise his voice.
"Because you are the heir to the throne," he said. Calm. Simple. As though stating that the sky is blue. "If you refuse to protect your people, how do you expect to become king?"
"But I am not ready." The prince's voice sank lower. Almost a whisper. "I have never faced a monster that powerful. How am I supposed to lead people against a creature that could destroy the entire kingdom?"
"That is exactly why you must go."
King Reinhart stood from his chair. Slowly. And as he rose, his shadow seemed to fill the room. Not because of his size, though he was a large man, but because of the aura that radiated from him. The aura of a king who had ruled for decades, who had weathered war and peace, who had lost and gained in equal measure.
"A king does not wait until he is ready, Leonhart. A king becomes ready on the battlefield. When everyone else drops to their knees in fear, the king is the first to stand. Not because he feels no fear. But because his people need someone who will stand."
The room was silent. Every person watched their king. And I could see it, in the eyes of the nobles who had been restless just moments ago, something shifting. The fear was still there. But growing alongside it was something else entirely.
Trust. In their king. In his judgment. In his words.
Queen Eleanora moved to her husband's side. Her hand touched his arm, gently, barely visible. Then she turned to her son.
"Leonhart." Her voice was different now. No longer the cold queen or the furious mother. This was the voice of a mother letting go of her child, sending him to a place that might never bring him back. "We are not sending you to die. We are sending you to grow. To become the king you were always meant to be."
Seconds passed. Long. Heavy. Each one stretching into what felt like a full minute.
I looked at the prince. The young man I hated. The young man who made Veralyn suffer. The young man who whispered vile things in the corridor. And in this moment, in this room, I could not see him as a villain.
Just a young man who was scared out of his mind.
Leonhart let out a long breath. His chest rose and fell. Then his shoulders, which had been slumped this entire time, slowly straightened.
"Very well, Father."
Two words. Spoken in a voice so heavy it sounded as though he had just lifted something larger than his own body. But he said them. And as those words left his mouth, something in his face changed. Not into bravery. Not yet. But into the face of someone who had decided to confront his fear, even though both his legs were still trembling.
The king nodded. A small pride flickered in his eyes. The kind of pride that only a father can feel.
"Take Alicia with you as well," the king said. "She has light magic. Magic that is very, very rare. Healing and strengthening combined. On a battlefield, magic like that can be the difference between life and death."
The prince nodded slightly. When Alicia's name came up, something in his eyes softened. More human. Whatever he felt for that girl, the desire to protect her was plain to see.
The king gave himself a small nod, as if marking one heavy matter as settled. One out of who knows how many still waiting. Then his gaze shifted to us.
"Please, sit. Lady Serena, Sir Raymond." His tone gentled. "Forgive me for keeping you on your feet for so long."
At last the three of us sat. Serena beside me, back straight, her face fully switched back to professional mode. Her blue eyes sharp and ready. And me, wearing my best blank expression, pretending that the last ten minutes had not nearly destroyed the "mysterious NPC" persona I had spent over a decade building.
"Pardon me, Your Majesty." A voice from across the table. A gray haired nobleman raised his hand. He was not the youngest in the room, nor the oldest. But his eyes were shrewd, and the way he looked me up and down made no effort whatsoever to hide his distaste. "Regarding Raymond. He is a commoner, is he not?"
The question should have been simple. But the way he said it, pressing down hard on the word "commoner," turned it into something closer to an accusation.
"He is," the king replied. His tone was light. Almost casual. But behind that lightness lay something else entirely. A warning tucked neatly between the syllables. "Is that a problem?"
Those last four words were delivered with a smile. A kind smile. A warm smile. A smile that made it perfectly clear there was only one correct answer to this question, and a wrong one would carry consequences.
The nobleman fell silent. He swallowed whatever he had been about to say and settled back into his chair.
But I could feel other eyes on me. From around the table. Cold. Assessing. Weighing. A commoner sitting at the same table as them, in a royal war council, at the most critical moment in the kingdom's history. To them, it probably felt like a cat had suddenly sat down among a circle of lions.
I was used to it.
Contemptuous stares. Whispers behind my back. Polite smiles concealing disgust. All of that had been my constant companion since the first time I stepped into the world of nobility alongside Serena, over a decade ago.
Was this not supposed to be a game about love? Why does this world feel so dark?
Oh well. I could not exactly critique the world building of this game. But I could change it. And if I did not like the way this world worked, then at the very least I could try to make it better.
"Well then, Lady Serena, what is it you wish to present?" A nobleman asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the tension that had just unfolded.
Serena stood. Her smile was bright. Her blue eyes gleaming.
"First of all, I would like to introduce Raymond. He is one of the key figures behind Crescentia Group."
"A key figure?" Several eyebrows went up around the table. Quiet murmurs rolled from one seat to the next.
I stood.
I looked across the room. Slowly. From one end of the table to the other. Every face. Every pair of eyes. Every insignia and robe and medal. Everything in this room, the gold on the walls, the candles on the ceiling, the carved chairs they sat in, even the kingdom they represented, it was all connected in ways they did not realize. Connected to a decision made by a farmer's son in a small village over a decade ago.
"I am Raymond. One of the shareholders of Crescentia Group."
I paused for a moment. Let that sentence sink in. Let them run the numbers in their heads. Shareholder. Crescentia Group. The company that contributed a third of the kingdom's revenue. Those figures spun behind the eyes that had just been looking at me with contempt.
"And I have come here to propose a better future."
Silence.
I let that silence do its work for three full seconds. Then I continued, in a voice I neither raised nor lowered. Flat. Calm. Certain.
"We, Crescentia Group, intend to change this continent."