Filth did not have a signature and had incredibly bad penmanship, so Reivan spared him the embarrassment by simply dipping his thumb into an ink bottle and using the fingerprint as a signature instead.

"That looks good enough." Reivan finished signing his own name with special ink that remained invisible except when someone's Soul Armament was recently in contact with the writing. He then stored one copy inside his ring and gave the other to Filth. "That's your copy, by the way. You can use it as verification if one of our knights ever catches you snooping around somewhere normal people shouldn't be in."

"Th-thank you, Your Highness..." Filth graciously received his copy and stared at it, hints of a smile forming on his face.

"Oh, and here. I've prepared some things for you." Reivan handed over an undecorated spacial storage ring and what appeared to be a black bandana with a small white circle in the middle. "This is a storage ring. I'm going to assume you've never used one, so you should practice. It's not that hard. And it'll take us a few days before we land in Arkhana, anyway. I've placed a holostone for communication, a basic manual on how to use it transcribed to Arkhanian, a few spare clothing, and two pairs of boots inside, as well as some basic food supplies in case you ever get stranded somewhere for a few weeks. It's just an Aizenian knighthood tradition to always be prepared for that particular unlikelihood, so relax, I'm not going to send you on a stakeout at some deserted island."

"It can contain that much...?" Filth gulped. "I heard spacial storage rings are very expensive, Your Highness — especially ones that can store more than a small sack's worth of items. I don't think I should hold onto something like this..."

"Valuable..."

Reivan felt speechless for a moment before remembering that spacial storage rings were indeed expensive for most people — especially those from outside of the kingdom. It wasn't like there was an abundance of Transcendents who would deign to craft them, after all. Nor were there a lot of Ascendants who understood the mysteries of space willing to hunker down and produce them like factory workers either.

The Aizen Kingdom was lucky though.

There was the Sword Star, who had mastered the art to the extent that he could easily pump out hundreds of the highest-class spacial storage rings — even though he only dabbled in crafting.

Ascendants who dedicated their lives to crafting were — although not numerous — not few either. Some of those people had lived for so long that they came close to the Sword Star's skills in crafting storage rings.

It was a secret, but some genius a few hundred years ago even figured out how to mass-produce the trash-tier spacial storage rings that Aizen was selling to Arkhan for premium prices.

'Whoops.'

"Don't worry about it." Reivan chuckled and patted his chest. "I am very wealthy. This much is nothing, I assure you."

“I-I see…”

“Your signing bonus is inside the ring, paid in republican currency for ease of use. I hope this provides additional motivation for you to learn how to take things in and out of it.” Reivan continued before gesturing at the black bandana. “This black bandana here will serve as a replacement for that heavy cloak you always wear. That’s a working hazard if I’ve ever seen one. I’m sure that it’s been accidentally caught on all sorts of things.”

“What is a signing bonus… No wait, Your Highness, I must have my body almost completely surrounded in darkness to activate my gift.” Filth fiddled with the flimsy black bandana, an expression of uncertainty on his face. “I mean no offense, but this is far too small…”

"I wasn't asking you to cover yourself with it." Reivan grinned, holding in a chuckle. “It’s an artifact that surrounds your body — in addition to your clothes, of course — in an invisible film that will hopefully provide the conditions that you need. Just touch the small white circle to activate it.”

Filth twitched and carefully set down the bandana. “I-I see… so it was an artifact.”

“It was made very roughly because the artificer I ordered it from only had a few hours to make it, but it’s good enough until I can get you something better. That’ll stop being an artifact after, say, two weeks of constant use. But I’ve already put in an order for something that will last longer. Just wait patiently for now.”

“Thank you, Your Highness…”

“Go ahead and try it out so we can be sure that it’s effective.”

“Understood.” Filth stood up and tied the bandana around his head before touching the white circle on his forehead.

Reivan's eyes could see through most if not all forms of deception, so he couldn't perceive when Filth activated the artifact or the gift. Jiji, on the other hand, must have seen Filth transform into some strange humanoid-shaped darkness as a consequence of the artifact shielding most of his body from light.

A moment later, Jiji gasped, signaling that Filth had activated his ability.

‘Well, this is an unexpected drawback to having my eyes… it’s not that big of a deal, so whatever.’

“He’s really gone…” Jiji muttered blankly, staring at the space where Filth had been. “His scent, his presence… and even the mana inside him. It’s all gone.”

“Neat, right?” Reivan chuckled, nodding at Filth. “Can you try saying something, Filth? Just to show off if even the sounds you make can’t be heard.”

Filth nodded and cooperated with a few more tests, such as drumming his fingers on the table or stomping on the floor. In both cases, although the table and the floor vibrated, somehow, no sound was produced and Reivan wouldn’t have detected the vibration if he hadn’t been paying special attention to it.

‘Completely fucking broken.’

Filth would have been a terrifying force to be reckoned with if he wasn’t weaker than Elsa — a businesswoman who spent no time at all for combat training. No matter how hard he tried, Filth would be ineffective as an assassin for anyone truly powerful.

The man probably couldn’t even kill a sleeping Reivan.

‘There are more ways to use him though.’

Especially in the republic, where importance did not equate to personal strength.

‘An option to keep in mind. I’m not really here to kill a bunch of politicians.’

Politicians were replaceable, and more of them would pop up, seeking to take the place of any who were lost. Even if Reivan journeyed to the republic to hinder its union with the empire, killing a whole bunch of politicians would only serve to sow some momentary chaos — not at all weakening Arkhan.

If Reivan really wanted to cripple the republic, it was better to aim at the Spirit Tower — home to the republic’s only Transcendent and also a place that produced its core combatants.

“Wow.” Jiji stood up and poked where Filth was supposed to be, her fingers stopping at his chest. “I really can’t see, hear, smell, or even feel him at all. The only reason I know he’s here is because my fingers meet with some resistance. Amazing.”

“Ngh…” Filth let out a strange moan as Jiji unknowingly poked some particularly sensitive areas.

“Hey, don't do that, you might poke a hole in him.” Reivan stopped her before she could also accidentally awaken anything in his newest subordinate. Then he turned to Filth and smiled. “That’s enough tests for now. I’ve kept your existence mostly hidden, so only the ship’s crew and the knights know that you’re here. You are free to roam about as long as you’re invisible and close to this room.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Filth deactivated his ability and the bandana’s effect before bowing low. “For everything.”

“I wish to be shown gratitude with action, Mr. Filth.”

“I will do so.”

“Good. Very good, even.” Reivan nodded. “Oh, and in the future, we will probably only meet in secret. So don’t call me Your Highness... And don’t call me Master, either. Just Boss is enough.”

Filth nodded before bowing again. “Yes, Boss.”

“No bowing from here on out as well. Just a nod is fine. Your bowing might break my cover.”

“Ah. Yes, Boss. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good man.”

Reivan patted the man’s shoulder before leaving the suite with his sister.

 

---

 

“You’ve struck upon gold, Yani,” Jiji commented with a smirk. “And to think all you wanted out of that little raid of yours were some mermaid scales and some crappy wands.”

Reivan chuckled, a huge grin on his face. “I know, right?”

“I can’t agree to not using an oath to bind him though. Good faith contracts like the ones you signed are less useful than a blank piece of paper when the chips are down. His background inspires pity, but it’s not like he’s a good person just because he was the one wronged by the world. Evil can come from the blessed and the cursed alike. King Rodin... I mean, F-Father warned us about that sort of thinking.”

“I know. But I just want to give the guy a chance, you know? I’m not going to give him duties that are too important so that even if he betrays me, it won’t matter that much. And besides… The strongest bond of trust can only be built upon a foundation of betrayed doubts.”

“Wow. Look at you, quoting classic philosophical works.” Jiji giggled before hooking her arm around his. “I guess old dogs can learn new tricks.”

Reivan rolled his eyes. “Who’s an old dog? Surely not me, hm? And I read sometimes too, you know. Stop underestimating me.”

“Yes, yes. It’s my bad. Yani actually has a good head on his shoulders, the world just can’t keep up with him sometimes.”

Reivan tried to grab her tail in retaliation but she swerved it away from him before he could. With a sigh, he shrugged. “Anyway, that’s that. We can just steadily build up trust in each other. As he comes to know that I’m a good boss, I’ll have him take on bigger roles.”

“You’ll probably just leave all the planning to Dame Gwendolyn anyway.”

“... Stop attacking me with facts.”

The two royals continued to tour the ship and marvel at all the wonders within it, built up over many, many years. No amount of strolling around would ever tire them out since they both had very strong bodies, so they just kept going until they eventually got bored.

Aizen had been around for an incredibly long time, and its history was understandably vast. Much too long for any one person to explore in a single day. By the time even Jiji had grown tired of staring at antique paintings and marble sculptures, night had already fallen and it was time for dinner.

“How is dinner served here, Yani?” Jiji tilted her head while they walked. She didn’t even know where they were going, content to follow him around for now. “Do we all just eat in our suites?”

“We can do that since we have suites of our own. But some of the others are sharing rooms, remember?”

“So where will they eat? The Cloud Chamber?”

“No, there’s a separate mess hall in the middle of the ship. Some of the crew will probably eat there too. Wanna go?”

Jiji nodded. “Yes. I’d like to talk to some of the people in your party.”

Reivan clapped his hand and grinned before peeling her off him. “Right. Well, go on without me then. I have somewhere to be.”

“What…? Wait, I don’t even know where it is! Also, you asked that as a trap to get rid of me, didn’t you?”

“Yes. And don't worry, I’ll just have Valter send you there through teleportation.”

“You…” Jiji crossed her arms and scowled. “Where do you even plan to go?”

“It’s a secret.” Reivan tapped his toe on his shadow. “Valter, please send my sister to the mess hall.”

Actions spoke louder than words as Valter’s signature black puddle of sludge formed beneath Jiji before swallowing her up.

“Hey! Ah, no! I don’t wanna go!”

Jiji tried to get away, but how could she evade an Ascendent? She was quickly devoured by the surging darkness and vanished into the void.

'It's kinda disturbing how easily Valter can use his powers to kidnap someone... But since he's on my side, whatever.'

“Thanks, Valter.” Reivan chuckled as he imagined his sister’s reaction. She was likely balling up her hands into fists and suppressing the urge to stomp the floor or kick things.

“I live to serve, Your Highness,” Valter responded from within his shadow. “Do you wish for me to deliver you somewhere?”

“No. I’ll… I’ll walk. I need time to think, anyway.”

Reivan chuckled sheepishly before a sigh escaped his lips.

It was now time for him to seek out Helen.

 

---

 

Reivan had a very strange relationship with stories where the protagonist had a harem or devoted women, each with their own charm.

Not only was it easy to be envious of those lucky bastards, but he had also been especially frustrated with stories that depicted dense protagonists who never realized a woman loved him even when she was practically throwing herself at him.

He could somewhat live with it if the protagonist simply brushed off the realization as the girls just being friendly — most likely because that particular protagonist had been friend-zoned after mistakenly thinking he had a chance with a girl in the past — but that wasn’t the case for a lot of the stories that his countrymen wrote.

There were also stories where Reivan liked every single heroine and wished for all of them to gain happiness, but the protagonist ended up choosing only one, leaving the others to an open ending.

Though each with its own strengths and weaknesses, each of those stories frustrated him much less than stories with main characters that had the density of a black hole, but it still irked him to imagine the heroines he’d liked so much having their hearts broken. No matter what reasoning the protagonist used to justify not choosing the harem route, Reivan never accepted it. At the very least, he had always thought that if he were in their place, he would make all those girls happy no matter what.

But now that he actually had the opportunity to have a harem, Reivan was beginning to somewhat understand.

‘I’m just one guy.’

Could he really make more than one woman happy?

He didn’t mind most of his concubine candidates too much. Those women all had their own agendas for seeking him out, so Reivan felt his relationships with those women were transactional in nature. They would get what they wanted from him, and he would get what he wanted from them — a very simple arrangement that left everyone involved satisfied before moving on with their lives.

Not all of his concubine candidates were like that, however.

Some of them said that they’d seen him somewhere — the parade at the founding festival, most likely — and fallen in love at first sight. Or they heard tales of his excellence from parents or brothers, dreaming about him from time to time, and celebrating the chance to get closer when they discovered that he was looking for concubine candidates.

Those girls didn’t particularly want status, money, or any material possessions that Reivan could give them — they wanted him.

They wanted his time. They wanted his attention.

They wanted his love and affection.

And that troubled Reivan.

Familial love was very different from the romantic variant. Reivan would have an endless supply of affection to bestow on any number of siblings or children. He would not mind having more father figures or mother figures in his life either. For he knew that he could love them all equally.

But that wasn’t the case for romance.

If he was being honest, he wanted to give in. To just go full throttle, accepting all the women who wanted him. But deep down, he knew that genuine romantic love could not be divided like the familial variety. The idea of spreading his romantic feelings among multiple partners was not only daunting but also felt unsustainable and unfair to the women involved.

These were the thoughts holding Reivan back.

He found himself caught between the allure of fulfilling the fantasies he’d once envied and the weight of responsibility that came with it.

Even if they could gain happiness by sharing Reivan’s love with other women, would they not be even happier if they found someone who would give them all of their affection?

Reivan might have been a prince, he might have been rich, and he might have had a lot of potential to reach the heights of personal strength in this world… but he was just one man. He only had one body and could only spend time with one woman at a time — unless they shared. And they likely would have to do so.

They would have to share with countless other women while Reivan would live in abundance, having free reign to choose whoever he wanted at that particular moment.

Was that not the epitome of unfairness?

If he truly loved someone, would he be able to subject them to that fate?

And if he subjected them to that fate, did he even love them at all?

Deep down, Reivan knew that he was just coming up with reasons to reject Helen. Maybe at the start, when her feelings still didn’t have a name, he had been unable to accept her because he viewed her as a sister.

But he’d be lying if that was still the reason right now.

No brother checked out their sister’s ass as much as he checked out Helen’s. Of course, he didn't glance at it every time, or anything. But he did it enough time for him to realize that he'd been staring too much. Honestly, he had not been able to resist viewing his friend as a woman once she grew up to be the beauty that she was.

‘In the first place, it’s unfair to be that pretty…’

Helen grew far more beautiful than any human had any right to be.

Her looks alone had been enough to instantly blow away the label of “sister-like friend” in Reivan’s mind. The past few years of her growth had been enough for Reivan to admit that perhaps he was a visual creature that was easy to please.

That didn’t mean Reivan would just suddenly take her into his arms as she jumped into them. His lust did not blind him enough to ignore his worries. Nor did it erase the years of friendship they shared, which was what made their bond so strong in the first place.

It was precisely because Helen was such an important person to him that he wanted her to be treated right — even if, perhaps, he wasn't the one doing it. He couldn’t just thrust and pump mindlessly, leaving her with a big belly, then say that all’s well that ends well.

Reivan loved Elsa. Of that he was sure. He would surely feel the same way even as she grew old and ugly. Even as her body shriveled up while she lay sprawled on her deathbed. His love would never vanish even when all that was left of her was a handful of ashes in a silver urn.

With that in mind, could he love Helen at the same time as he loved Elsa?

Would it be fair to Helen if Elsa already occupied most of his heart and mind?

Helen had even declared that she would make him love her so much that he would never look at other girls again. Did that not imply that she, in fact, didn’t want to share him with other women?

If, hypothetically, Helen succeeded in making him fall in love with her so much that he ignored all other women, would that be fair for Elsa, who entered his heart first?

The answers never came no matter how much Reivan thought about it as he slowly made his way to Helen’s suite. He found himself offering a short apology to all the harem protagonists he had ever disparaged. Perhaps they had their annoying qualities and Reivan had wished death upon most of their existence, but Reivan now sympathized with some of them.

If he was as romantically dense as a neutron star, perhaps he would have never entered a relationship at all, and all the women who cared for him would hover around trying to compete for his love while he was none the wiser. And then they’d get fed up with him and find better partners, obtaining greater happiness than if he’d accepted them all.

Perhaps it was his morals that held him back. If he was just the horny teenager that he was supposed to be if he hadn’t reincarnated, maybe he would have just taken all of the women around him into his arms without a care. And then maybe that would have somehow led to everyone’s satisfaction.

‘Fuck my romantic life…’

The idea of having a harem had once seemed like a dream, but now it just felt like a burden that would crush him under its weight.

‘Oh, shit. I walked too fast.’

Unbeknownst to him, he had arrived right in front of Helen’s suite while he was lost in the mire of his own thoughts. Reivan took a deep breath and released it all in one long sigh, wishing that all of his worries would funnel out of him with it.

“Here goes nothing…” Reivan muttered to himself before he reached up and knocked on the door. “Helen… It’s me. Can we talk? It’s fine if it’s just through the door if you don't wanna see me…”

The silence that followed his words seemed to stretch on forever. But after a while, the door opened on its own.

Nobody was there to greet him, but at the very back of the dimly lit room, he could see, through a door left ajar, a girl sitting on a bed with her knees hugged to her chest. Her dark eyes pierced him, more than the silent resentment in her gaze ever could.

Just like Reivan’s suite would be, Helen’s was made up of two rooms — the actual bedroom and a reception room where she could have tea or lounge around with guests and visitors. The gloomy lighting could not fully bring out the opulence that the room’s furnishings and decorations had to offer, but this was a suite meant for a passenger of high status — it would obviously be equipped with the best of the best.

‘She’s just staring at me…’

Reivan answered her unspoken words by stepping inside and closing the door behind him, gesturing at the sofas.

“Why don’t we have a seat over there?” He called out in hesitance, but when he received only silence as a response, he gave up and strode toward the inner room, where the young woman was still sitting atop her bed and silently staring at him.

A young unmarried woman welcoming a young unmarried man into her bedroom violated traditional upper-class decorum in the kingdom. It would not be strange if such a scandalous development would see the two being forced into a marriage to protect both their honors.

But Reivan and Helen were technically engaged, so it was barely acceptable.

That was Reivan’s excuse as he stepped through the doorway that led to Helen’s bedroom. She hadn’t spent much time inside, but the chamber was already filled with her fragrant aroma, and his heart could not help but beat faster for some reason.

'Being part warbeast sucks sometimes... Stupid nose.'

Helen had been in his chambers a lot in the past. Their meetings were always in the reception area, so it was never a big deal. He had also visited the guest room that she frequently used in the palace a lot.

But after they hit puberty, he had never done it again. Even if he only ever looked at her as a sister at the time, basic propriety was still to be followed, and he had received relevant lessons about such things a long time ago.

Hence, the current situation left Reivan feeling as if he was doing something very improper.

‘Calm down, calm down…’

Reivan had entered the rooms of many women. But because those women hadn’t been the kingdom’s citizens, Reivan treated them as outside the norms of the kingdom. Pushing foreigners to follow the norms that the kingdom’s people grew up in was foolish, by his standards. As such, he couldn’t remember ever feeling guilty about entering their rooms and plowing them in their own beds before doing their friends too.

This time was different though.

Helen was a young lady, born and raised in Aizen’s soil.

‘She’s aware that I shouldn’t be here…’

And yet, when Reivan retrieved a stool from inside his spacial storage ring to sit on, he found it blown out of his hands by a gust of wind. It was sent flying to the wall where it shattered into splinters upon impact.

“Uhm…” Reivan hadn’t expected the sudden attack on the innocent piece of furniture, so he wet his lips and stared inquiringly at Helen. “Did I get it wrong? Should I not have entered?”

Helen seemed to have reverted back to the days when she barely said a word, only gazing deep into his eyes. But after the silence between them hung in the air for long enough that he thought he should just leave, Helen finally spoke. “Sit.”

“That’s what I was trying to—”

“On the bed.”

Reivan scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Fine…”

‘Decorum has been broken already. It doesn’t matter if I shatter it even more.’

The bed was sized for a king, so even as he sat at the edge, he was still a few meters away from Helen, who was sitting in the middle part.

But he didn’t expect her to scooch over and sit right next to him.

Reivan looked at her, only to see her with her head hung low and her hands crossed atop her lap. The signature ponytail she always seemed to sport was absent too, her silky black hair falling straight behind her.

Thankfully, Helen wasn’t the type to wear revealing outfits as pajamas, accustomed to wearing baggy shirts and trousers instead. She looked more dressed for lazing around than having a premarital rendezvous. So even if someone barged into the room at this very instant, the two of them would just look like they were two friends of opposite genders having a friendly conversation.

A friendly conversation between two teenagers betrothed to each other, by the bed in a scantily illuminated room.

‘Hm. Yeah, this doesn’t look good. Good thing Valter’s outside as a guard…’

Just as Reivan was wondering how to start the conversation, Helen unexpectedly broke the ice first.

“I’ve been trying…” she said while playing with her fingers. “I was always quiet because I was too afraid of hurting people with what I said, but I’ve been working on it. If I don’t pay attention, my face apparently looks blank and emotionless, so I’ve been trying to be more expressive too. And even though Stella said I didn’t need it, I’ve been using stuff on my skin in the hopes of being prettier.”

‘I knew it was impossible to be this naturally gorgeous…’

Reivan cleared his throat since it felt unusually stuffy. “I know. You’ve improved a lot in all those aspects.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I see…” Helen’s hands stopped as she turned to face him, meeting his gaze. “Then am I still not good enough?”

Reivan felt his heart clench at her question, delivered in a trembling voice. “Helen… That’s not why I—”

“So do you still view me as a sister like you said last time?”

“I wish that was the case, but I don’t think that’s true anymore…”

“Then am I ugly? Am I unattractive to you?”

“No.” Reivan placed a hand on her arm in a futile attempt to calm her down. “Absolutely not.”

Helen looked at the hand for a moment before biting her lip and looking away. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying though…”

“You always say that. I don’t even know what to believe anymore…” Helen stood up and walked toward a nearby wall, placing a hand against it as if to steady herself. “It’s hopeless… I can’t ever compare to her.”

“Look, I…” Reivan pursed his lips for a moment, not knowing what to say. “Is this still about… uhm, boobs? Really, I don’t particularly care about any of that…”

“Liar.”

“Please believe me… I’m telling the truth here…”

Reivan stood up and walked toward her, but when he tried to place a hand on her shoulder, she shook him off and hopped into the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Feeling lost and clueless about how to proceed, Reivan sat back down in his previous position with a sigh.

‘What do I even do here…’

Even if he was mentally older than his current age, he had little romantic experience. Sure, he’d bedded handfuls of women, but as far as romance was concerned, he had only ever had Elsa. And they had never even had a fight or a misunderstanding because both of them were very upfront about their likes and dislikes.

Elsa was always considerate of him, and Reivan, in turn, was considerate of her. The biggest "fight" they ever had was which type of sauce paired best with pasta — and that was more of a debate or an exchange of opinions rather than a fight.

Reivan wasn’t even sure if what he and Helen were having was a fight.

One of them was just refusing to listen to the other. While the other one was reluctant to just accept her feelings because he was afraid of treating her unfairly.

But still, Reivan didn’t want whatever this was to drag on.

‘As a wise man once said, communication is key to human relations.’

Language was a wonderful invention that let people understand each other. And so, they would just have to talk things out. Perhaps hearing the other’s troubles would fix things.

‘I’ve heard her troubles… So all that's left is for her to hear mine.’

“Helen, I…”

Reivan hung his head low and talked. He poured the contents of his heart out and brought up that which shackled him. She said nothing as he rambled, and Reivan didn’t yet have the courage to look at her expression. Even if he knew that it would hurt her, just like a few years ago when she laid her feelings for him bare, he felt as if he shouldn’t lead her on.

“...And so that’s why…” Reivan gazed upon his hands as he wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. “That’s why I can’t… I can’t return your feelings.”

‘I said it…’

He had always hated the protagonists who rejected the feelings of one of his beloved heroines. But here he was, doing exactly that.

“I’m sorry, Helen.” Reivan bit his lip before sighing, turning back to gaze at the girl with her face buried into her pillow. “I don’t trust myself enough to make multiple women happy by myself. I just... I can't promise you what you deserve right now. For all it’s worth, I wish I was different. I wish I was a better man. For your sake.”

The room was filled with an oppressive quietness, the weight of Reivan’s words settling around them. Seconds stretched into minutes as the reality of the rejection sunk in.

Reivan’s heart felt heavy as he watched her, torn between comforting the friend he’d grown up with and the thought that he, as the one who inflicted the pain, was unworthy of soothing her anguish. His arm reached for her but it froze in the air before it fell, weighed down with the gravity of what he had done.

“Hey…” Helen raised her head, and contrary to his expectation, she didn’t seem to have been sobbing. Her dark eyes penetrated the dark and stared right into his own, the silence hanging in the air for a moment before she spoke once again. “Are you done?”

“Eh? Well…” Reivan was speechless, surprised by her sudden words. “Yes?”

“Okay.” Helen nodded before humming in thought for a moment. “And that is the only thing holding you back from accepting me wholeheartedly, right?”

“Yes…? Ah, well, I suppose it is.”

“I’m not sure, but you at least find my appearance acceptable, right?”

Reivan nodded. “It was never about appearance at all. And yours is more than just acceptable… I cannot describe you as anything but attractive.”

“I see. Okay.” Helen bobbed her head as if thinking about something before smiling. “Then there’s no problem.”

“Hah?” Reivan unconsciously tilted his head. “What do you mean, there’s no problem? Didn’t I just say that I can’t possibly accept you knowing that I can never give you the happiness you deser—”

“Reivan.”

Helen cut him off, her expression unusually severe as she grabbed his collar.

“Stop treating me like a child.”