At his directed gaze, the woman who had been smiling gently at him finally parted her pale rose lips.
"You gave everyone such a scare, my dear Lucian." Her voice matched her appearance: soft and pleasant, almost like she was whispering directly into his ear.
Then she paused. A single strand of her long, flowing pale-silver-gold hair slipped down across her brow. She tilted her head slightly, her slender neck angling to one side. "My dear?"
But he, the one supposedly named "Lucian," hadn't clearly heard what she said.
His unblinking eyes moved around the room. Pale golden-white sunlight filtered through a frosted window. It was a compact, private patient room: white ceramic tiles, faint blue magic-line channels woven between them. What he had assumed was an expensive king-sized bed was actually a metal-framed bed with a clean white sheet and a thin gray blanket. A wooden bedside table stood nearby, holding a steel tray, a pitcher of lukewarm water, and a small ceramic cup.
BIP... BIP...
There was also a vital monitor on a wheeled stand, displaying a flat, steady heart rate of 72 bpm.
He sat frozen, taking in the unfamiliar room and unfamiliar surroundings, and yet one very familiar woman.
Then the name she had called him clicked against something in his brain, and a flood of memories came rushing in.
Lucian Aldric Croft. The fiancé of the final boss of the story, Dawn of the Sword.
The first son of Baron Aldric Croft, a side character who appeared in only one chapter because he died from "mana rejection" following a training accident. That same chapter also showed Lady Seraphina Lysander, his fiancée, attending his memorial.
Seraphina Lysander, gentle on the surface and calculating underneath, was the final boss of the story.
How did he know? Because he had just binged the entire thing, and now he had been transmigrated into this side character?!
And now, why the hell is my last memory so vivid?! She clearly stabbed me. Not only did I survive, how does she still dare to sit here with me?
Cold sweat ran down his back. Even the hair on his nape was standing up.
The thing was, in the original plot, Lucian had died after being stabbed. That was the end of the story for the side character named "Lucian Croft," yet somehow he had survived.
So he had no idea what the original Lucian was supposed to do next. With only 3 chapters of screen time, the rest was up to him.
BIP... BIP...
Lucian's eyes flicked to the heart rate monitor. It was spiking at 120 bpm, loud and clear. And in that same instant, he caught one more detail: Seraphina, still smiling gently, had also quietly glanced at the monitor.
His throat tightened. His vision swam slightly. He gathered himself, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "My lo..."
A cough cut him off before he could finish. Low and rough. He lowered his head, pressed a hand to his chest, and rubbed it slowly before looking up again with a faint, weak smile and an expression full of confusion.
"What happened, my love? Why are you here?" As Lucian spoke, it was Seraphina's turn to react. Her smile stayed in place, but the soft squint in her eyes from a moment ago twitched.
"Y-you don't remember anything, my dear?" Her voice was clearly trembling. Yet even as he played at being weak, Lucian noticed how the hand holding the silver paring fork, a piece of soaked fruit on its blade, had tightened.
The fresh memory of being stabbed came back. The pain. And even from this distance, he could sense something wrong, something toxic, coming from the fruit she was supposedly offering him.
Poison, he concluded, his hands trembling slightly beneath the thin blanket.
"Um? Is this some special occasion?" He tilted his head, his expression utterly blank, and blinked at her innocently.
…
Lucian Aldric Croft. Rank 1 (Ember), the lowest rank a registered mage at the academy could hold.
He was mockingly called "The Rat Heir" because House Croft had effectively gone bankrupt within two years of the Great Northern Breach, which had struck when he was ten years old. The Great Breach was a massive subterranean rift that had torn open and unleashed an entire swarm of underground beasts.
Because of the Breach, his father, a supposedly Rank 5 powerhouse and a frontline commander, had been crippled from pushing his mana for three straight days, permanently damaging his mana vessel.
As for Lucian himself, he had simply always been weak. His mana vessel had been frail from birth, small and fragile compared to any normal academy student. His father had enrolled him not out of ambition, but because the Crown Pact required that the Croft heir be educated.
By comparison, Seraphina Aurelia Lysander, the same age as him, was already at Rank 4 (Silver Peak), renowned as the youngest student in Aegist Academy's history to reach that level.
That contrast alone said enough about the ridicule, sarcasm, and mockery Lucian had faced.
The engagement existed for one reason: three generations ago, during a previous Great Breach, Lucian's grandfather had saved the life of the then-Duke of Lysander.
The classic plot. His gaze went briefly distant while he held the innocent, confused look on his face.
How could he possibly win against a Rank 4? He lost on noble standing. He lost on power. He lost on reputation.
So what could he do? Pretend, badly, not to notice that his beloved fiancée had stabbed him in the night, only for him to somehow survive.
…
As if checking whether his reaction was genuine, Seraphina set the fork down on the tray and reached over to take his hand. Her grip was warm and smooth, like the feel of an expensive blanket in a fine hotel.
Even through the blanket between them, Lucian caught her scent: fresh snow mixed with chilled white tea, clean, as if she were something pure.
Even Lucian, a man who had just transmigrated, flinched for a split second.
How could he not? Seraphina was a beauty. She wore a crisp black-and-silver high-collar jacket with gold trim, a fitted white blouse beneath, a narrow black tie, and a knee-length dark gray pleated skirt. And she was looking at him as if he were the person she loved most in the world.
If not for her age, eighteen to his mental twenty-seven, he might have fallen for her too.
No wonder Arthur fell so hard for her in the novel. Tsk. He clicked his tongue inwardly and smoothed over the flinch.
Meanwhile, holding his gaze, Seraphina leaned in slightly and spoke in a near whisper, her soft smile never wavering. "Do you remember our last private evening together?" But behind those gentle eyes and that warm smile, he could feel her attention locked entirely on him, as if she were searching for the smallest crack in his expression.