After wrapping up his conversation with Audrey, things moved quickly. She told him that if the others agreed, she'd come find him at the library later that afternoon.
Then she left first. Mozo lingered alone in the private room for a while before finally stepping out of the Rose Pavilion—under the watchful eyes of countless fellow students.
As he reached the entrance, he suddenly felt something and glanced back toward the street behind him.
Nothing.
Shrugging it off, he left in high spirits.
But the moment he disappeared from view, a window on the second floor of the apartment across the street—right where he had looked—was pushed open.
Cort, now wearing his gold crest pin again, leaned against the window frame and watched the direction Mozo had gone.
A wound on his fingertip. Sharp instincts.
No doubt about it—the supernatural one between the two had to be him.
In Cort's mind, the explanation came together easily. That ordinary-looking guy must have used some kind of supernatural trick to impress Audrey—the Tulip of the Faculty. It wasn't uncommon elsewhere for people to use powers like that to attract women.
So… should he report this to the Inspectorate?
Cort idly stroked his chin, then came to a decision.
Nah. No point.
Everything would be over after the Holy Night Festival anyway. These unsanctioned supernaturals had endured enough—it'd be a shame for them to fall right before dawn.
Besides, if he reported it and Mozo got arrested, what would he use to fill the gap in next week's headlines?
There was no way anything could top the scandal of one of the Three Beauties of the Faculty being "taken" by a nobody commoner.
As the so-called "Marshal of the Press," the mysterious Partygoer, failing to deliver explosive gossip would be a dereliction of duty.
With that thought, Cort smiled, shook his head, and shut the window.
A moment later, from a blind spot outside the apartment's line of sight, Mozo stepped out from behind a corner.
He glanced at the now-closed window before quietly leaving the way he came.
Cort—second son of an earl, a top-tier figure even among the nobles in their university.
That was his public identity.
But privately, Mozo knew something more: this guy was the elusive "Partygoer," the campus legend who supplied weekly gossip with uncanny precision. Though he published under that pen name, most students preferred to call him the "Marshal of the Press."
As for how Mozo figured that out?
Simple—the name "Partygoer" rang suspiciously familiar, like something straight out of his past life on Earth. That alone had made him curious enough to investigate. After two and a half years of digging, he had finally confirmed Cort's identity.
So… was he watching me just to write next week's headline?
Given Audrey's status—even if her image had completely collapsed in front of him—she was still one of the most admired beauties on campus. Any rumor involving her would draw massive attention.
But could he be one of those "official" people Audrey mentioned? He was a noble, after all.
After some thought, Mozo dismissed the idea.
Surely the Empire's official supernaturals weren't so far gone that they spent their days chasing gossip stories…
Still, the thought of ending up in the campus paper alongside Audrey made his head hurt.
---
Back in his tiny apartment, Mozo began reviewing the day.
Audrey's appearance proved one thing—the dream world was real.
And yet, all his previous attempts to verify it had failed. The most likely explanation? He himself wasn't a supernatural… though Audrey's mention of a "special zone" might also be a key factor.
But if the dream world was real…
Then everything he'd done in it had to be real too.
The realization sent a surge of excitement through him. It took a long time before he managed to calm down.
And then—
His expression froze.
Wait.
If everything in the dream world was real…
Didn't that mean all the people he'd offended there were real too?
Back when he was Cromwell, he had crossed a lot of nobles. Sure, many had lost their heads—literally—but plenty had survived.
If those families—or worse, the old powers behind them—found out who he really was…
He'd be dead.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Because in that dream world, he hadn't just antagonized the powerful, insulted the Church, and disrupted cults—he'd also… gotten involved with quite a few women.
Well, it was a dream, wasn't it?
If you couldn't do whatever you wanted in a dream, then what was the point?
Among those women… there were even several goddesses.
Unbidden, the image of a blonde girl surfaced in his mind.
Cold sweat broke out instantly.
If it had only been one or two, maybe he could explain it away—claim some kind of resurrection loophole, turn it into a dramatic reunion, maybe even come out on top.
But several?
That wasn't romance.
That was a death sentence.
He could practically see a certain infamous figure—head separated from body—waving at him from the afterlife, patting the empty seat beside him in invitation.
Mozo sucked in a sharp breath.
I'm screwed.
Enemies everywhere. Women even worse.
After a brief review, he came to a horrifying conclusion:
He had somehow, without realizing it, put himself on the path to becoming a universal enemy.
No one—no one—could be allowed to discover his true identity.
With that ironclad resolution in mind, legs still weak, Mozo headed to the communal bath and took a cold shower, forcing his overheated mind and body to settle down.
Back in bed, he couldn't help but think—
Maybe it would've been better if he'd never learned the truth about the dream world.
But then, another idea struck him.
If the dream world was real, then future dreams could be used strategically. Based on past experience, if handled correctly, he might still turn things around.
With renewed determination, he grabbed the sleeping pills he had prepared earlier, swallowed them, shut his eyes—
and drifted off with a plan.
…
The next morning, he sat upright in bed, utterly stunned.
The dream world… was gone?
His final chance at a comeback—just like that—had vanished???