"Long time no see…son."
The deep voice struck like a spell across the air, calm and dignified, carrying a weight of expectations and tradition that made even the wind feel like it should stand still.
The man standing before him was Gale Saint Grenn, the father of the body Ju-Won had possessed.
Dressed in an imperial-blue robe lined with golden thread, he looked more like a sovereign than a noble—a man whose mere presence bent spines straight and whose silence said more than most people's speeches.
His stern face was carved with years of discipline, pride, and unflinching resolve.
Eyes like forged steel pierced into Noel's soul—or rather, the soul within Noel.
Ju-Won—now Noel—felt his body tense instantly, as if his nerves had turned into cold wires.
A chill ran down the back of his neck, pooling around his spine like ice water.
His skin crawled, and he could've sworn a layer of sweat was beginning to bead on his back, though his trait, [Calm Demeanor], ensured not even a flinch betrayed him outwardly.
But inside… he was suffocating.
It was the feeling of a guillotine dangling above his head—one mistake, one wrong twitch, one word that wasn't "Noel" enough… and he was done for.
Gale Saint Grenn was many things—a commander, a believer, a man of the sword and the Empire—but above all, he was a devout follower of the Holy Emperor.
He did not waver in his faith, and the Church's teachings on possession were clear.
A possessed body was no longer a body.
It was a vessel of impurity.
A demonic entity.
An abomination that must be cleansed with divine fire and steel.
And if Gale so much as suspected that the soul inhabiting his son's body was not the original… he wouldn't hesitate.
He'd drive a blade through his own flesh and blood.
Not out of hate, but out of principle.
And Ju-Won knew—there would be no time to explain.
Gale Saint Grenn was a man who loved his children dearly.
He was a protector, one who never allowed harm to come to his family.
He trained them to be strong, forged them into steel—but he never withheld his affection.
However, he was also a man of unyielding discipline, someone who held duty above emotion when it came to the Empire, to the church, and to righteousness.
He could be both a shield and a sword—merciful as a father, merciless as a believer.
Gale took another step forward, closing the distance, his gaze locked directly onto Ju-Won's eyes.
'Shit…' Ju-Won cursed silently, standing still.
But then, unexpectedly, his father wrapped his arms around him in a tight, familiar embrace.
Ju-Won's body flinched slightly, muscles reacting before his mind could.
But he quickly raised his right hand from the ornate walking cane and placed it carefully on his father's back.
The warmth of the hug didn't match the coldness of his fear.
But… it felt real.
"What's with the tension, son?"
Gale asked, pulling back from the embrace.
His gloved hand came to rest on Noel's shoulder, firm yet gentle.
Noel smiled faintly.
"It's nice to see you too… Patriarch."
"Tch. Come on. I told you not to call me that," Gale grunted with a slight roll of his eyes.
"I'm still your father, aren't I?"
"Yeah…"
Noel replied, the smile lingering as he nodded.
"You two weren't going to have some time without me, were you?"
A soft, melodic voice broke the moment like a pleasant breeze rolling in.
Ju-Won didn't even need to turn—his chest felt it before he could think.
The warmth that flooded his body, the softness that wrapped around his heart…
Gresha Saint Grenn.
Noel's mother.
She had hair as dark as midnight, now peppered lightly with elegant strands of silver.
Age had only added grace to her beauty—her features soft and composed, glowing with maternal strength.
Her yellow eyes, which Noel had inherited, were like molten gold—warm and sharp.
She walked over in a dress of flowing violet silk, her smile as radiant as it had been in his fragmented memories, and threw her arms around him without hesitation, crushing him in a hug.
"Oh my sweet boy… how are you? I missed you so much."
Noel managed to smile—genuinely this time.
The sight of her, the warmth of her hug… it was something Ju-Won's past life had never given him.
Something his own parents—now long gone—never lived long enough to offer him.
It was healing something deep inside him he didn't know was broken.
As if on cue, the two parents began bickering playfully.
"I believe I got to him first," Gale said with a scoff, crossing his arms.
"You think that matters?"
Gresha shot back with a smirk.
"He was in my womb for nine months. I deserve priority access."
"Don't bring biology into this," Gale muttered, rubbing his temple.
"Then stop trying to hog all the affection. You're not even good at hugs."
Their gentle argument pulled a small chuckle from Noel as they bantered like children arguing over a toy.
It was cute… and unfamiliar.
Eventually, Gresha stepped back, studying her son more closely now, her brows twitching.
'I forgot… a mother can notice the smallest change in her child...'
Noel thought inwardly, barely managing to stay composed.
He hoped she wouldn't notice anything strange.
That his smiles weren't the same. That something had changed.
"Oh my poor baby…" she whispered.
"I heard what happened on your return to the Imperial Security Department…"
Her hands moved across his coat, checking for bruises, pulling at sleeves and collars.
"Are you okay?"
She asked, touching his cheek, scanning his face.
"What vile evil would lay hands on you, knowing how fragile your body is? Have they no shame? No remorse?"
She slipped off one of her gloves and gently placed her bare hand against his cheek.
And then… she smiled again.
"Congratulations, Noel," she said.
"You made it back. You've achieved so much… as a civil servant of the Empire, as an instructor at the Imperial Academy… my heart swells every time your name is mentioned."
His father added a low hum of approval.
"You've made the Saint Grenn House proud. As both an academic and a soldier. You've walked a hard path… and held your head high."
Noel stood still—no words came out of his mouth for a long second.
Inside, Ju-Won… broke.
In his past life, his parents were never there. They never got to see him graduate, or witness him climb the ladder of one of the biggest corporate firms in the country. They never told him he did well.
But here… those words—I'm proud of you—weren't just spoken.
They were felt.
His eyes stung, and before he could stop it, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
He reached up and held his mother's hand that was still resting on his face.
The warmth there was something he never knew he craved this much.
"Speaking of the academy…" Gresha said softly, "Will you be heading back?"
"Uhmm… a new semester is starting. So I'll have to see if I can continue being an instructor there," Noel replied.
"It's been three years since I stopped teaching… after I left for the military."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" she beamed.
"Your brother returned last week, you know. He couldn't make it to the party—either that, or he just didn't want to."
"You know how your brother is with social gatherings," Gale added with a tired sigh.
"Especially those involving nobility. Always finds a way to escape."
"Still… if you return to the Academy, do look after him," Gresha said with concern.
"He's been… troubled lately."
'Noel's little brother…'
Ju-Won thought. Another piece to investigate.
"Will do, Mother," he responded gently.
His father then nodded toward the grand hall.
"Come. It's time we greet the other houses."
"You mean scout the competition for the Holy Saint House candidacy," Gresha muttered with a sly smile.
Gale scoffed and rubbed his moustache, trying to hide his grin.
They picked up glasses of wine from a passing waiter, their forms regal and dignified as they strolled ahead together.
Noel watched them go, his smile lingering—not fake this time. Just… quiet.
***
After a while at the party, Noel found himself being stopped and approached by several noble guests and high-ranking officials, each wearing practiced smiles and holding glasses of expensive wine.
They all had the same question:
"So… what's next for Instructor Noel?"
"Any plans to return to the Imperial Academy?"
"Your career's been rather quiet these past few years, hasn't it?"
"Surely someone of your caliber must be preparing something big."
Noel smiled faintly, but it was hollow now. The questions were needles. The voices—buzzing.
"Noel Saint Grenn! A word, please!"
"Is it true you're unveiling your project at the Summit?"
"What direction are your mana circuit theories taking?"
"What's your take on the Northern Empire's reforms?"
One after another.
He answered with short nods, tight-lipped smiles, or vague words of courtesy.
Eventually, he managed to shake them off.
Noel walked away from the buzzing crowd, the background noise of polite laughter and string music slowly fading.
He knew—he knew—most of them weren't being genuine.
That much was obvious. Their eyes weren't curious. They were measuring. Calculating.
It was always like that.
It was something he had learned painfully in his past life.
People liked to act interested, to pretend they cared. But the moment you announced something—especially something grand or ambitious—they would cheer you on with their mouths while praying for your failure in their hearts.
That was the part of human nature he despised.
So he said nothing.
Did nothing.
Let them wonder. Let them gossip.
Announcing your dreams before they were realized only gave others something to crush.
He was lost in his thoughts when his feet led him to a quieter corner, an opening that led to the large stone balcony overlooking the garden.
It was night now.
The night sky was a canvas of stars, gleaming like scattered diamonds.
A gentle breeze swept past him, cool against his skin, carrying with it a scent that—
His heart jumped.
A scent so familiar it felt like a dream.
Like something that had once clung to his soul and refused to fade.
He turned to the balcony.
There—
A woman stood with her back turned, her white hair flowing in the breeze like silk.
From where he was standing, he couldn't see her face clearly.
Only a glimpse of her side profile… the curve of her cheek… and her lips.
Glossy. Reflecting the moonlight. Just as he remembered.
Then—his eyes caught something else.
Her ear.
A pair of glass-like earrings, shaped like lotus flowers.
Delicate and translucent.
As if made from frost, with a slight shimmer under the moon.
His breath caught in his throat.
"Those earrings…" he muttered under his breath.
Noel's right hand clenched into a fist, and his left tightened around the silver handle of his walking cane.
He took a step forward.
But—
"Sir Noel!"
A small voice called out, almost too politely.
He turned to see a young girl, no older than thirteen or fourteen, dressed in the ceremonial white robes of the Cathedral.
A silver emblem in the shape of a sun was pinned to her chest, marking her as an official Attendant of the Grand Cathedral—a role often reserved for elite young acolytes serving under the Holy Church's authority during formal gatherings.
"I've been asked to bring you to the podium," she said with a soft smile, bowing slightly.
"The closing speech is about to begin. Everyone is waiting."
Noel blinked.
"I… I have something I need to do first..."
He said, his voice slightly distant as his eyes flicked back toward the balcony.
But the girl had already gently taken his arm.
"Please, sir," she tugged.
"They're already gathering."
Noel hesitated. He looked back.
The woman was still standing at the balcony. Her white, lustrous hair swayed with the breeze as she lifted a hand to tuck a few strands behind her ear—
And then—
He saw her face.
A glimpse.
Her red eyes.
Bright like red roses in bloom.
***
Somewhere among the glittering chatter and laughter of the party, Phoebe sat alone at a small round table near one of the golden-lit pillars, her long legs crossed elegantly beneath the flowing black slit gown that hugged her frame.
A half-full glass of deep crimson wine rested between her fingers as she slowly lifted it to her lips, her gaze distant, yet fixed.
Her amber eyes flicked toward the center of the room.
The podium.
To her, it looked like an explosion of white lilies and red roses had bloomed in its center, where Noel now walked across the platform with his usual grace and subtle authority.
His presence drew attention like a silent flame—calm, collected, magnetic.
She tilted her head ever so slightly and let out a quiet hum, a small, amused smile curling her lips as she took another sip of wine.
But before she could drown herself in observation—
"Manager Phoebe!"
A breathless voice broke her moment.
A woman in her early twenties rushed toward her with papers and a folder clutched tightly in her hands.
She wore a white office blazer and skirt, slightly wrinkled from hurrying, and had her black hair tied up in a tight bun.
She adjusted her round glasses quickly as she reached the table.
"I was at the Obsidian office looking for you—but then I remembered… tonight was Manager Noel's celebration party, and…"
Phoebe didn't even hide the annoyance in her expression.
She leaned back slightly, swirling her wine glass with delicate fingers.
"Melia," she said, voice sharp and dry like ice on glass.
"...whatever you came to tell me—it better be important.
What could possibly be so urgent that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"
Melia blinked and bowed quickly, then handed her the black folder, her fingers trembling just slightly.
"I-It's… it's about the missing finance terms."
Phoebe's brow arched as she took the folder and flipped it open.
Her eyes scanned the first page.
Then the next.
A few seconds passed before her relaxed posture stiffened, and the wine glass stopped mid-sway.
"This…?"
She whispered, more to herself than anyone.
'The report confirms it. A sizable gap in the Imperial Security Department's Treasury. Untracked funds. Redirected or lost entirely. This is what caused the budget freeze last month...'
Melia adjusted her glasses again, voice quieter now.
"The issue seems to point to the Treasury division.
It was under Manager Noel's jurisdiction during the time the funds were last recorded…"
Phoebe's eyes stayed locked on the final page.
The numbers.
The missing zeroes.
The trace of transactions that led nowhere.
And Noel's signature at the bottom of the quarter's financial summary.
Her throat tightened as a single thought crept into her mind.
"Did Noel… embezzle funds?"
But why?
She slowly lowered the folder, her eyes distant.
A rare flicker of disbelief passed across her usually unreadable expression.
Her gaze returned to the podium, where Noel stood now, speaking into the softly glowing communication crystal that echoed his words across the hall.
The audience was silent, all eyes on him. His voice calm. His expression unreadable.
Phoebe's lips parted slightly.
'Is he… hiding something?'
She closed the folder and handed it back to Melia.
"I'll look into it tomorrow," she said, her voice unusually quiet.
Her amber eyes remained fixed on Noel—no longer admiring… but searching.
***
Noel reached the podium, his cane clicking softly against the marble floor as he approached the center.
The ornate platform was lit by an elegant array of floating crystal-lanterns, casting a gentle glow across his face.
Before him stood a sleek device—smooth silver plating etched with glowing runes—a communication amplifier, clearly a masterpiece of magical engineering.
He exhaled slowly and leaned in.
"May I have your attention," he said, voice calm yet firm.
A hush swept over the crowd.
Chatter died. Laughter stopped. Even the clinking of wine glasses stilled. All eyes turned toward him.
His reflection stared back at him faintly in the surface of the amplifier.
It was strange.
What was he even doing?
What could he possibly say?
This wasn't even his body.
This wasn't his world.
He didn't know the customs, the politics, the people—most days, it was a miracle he could keep up at all.
It was frustrating. Maddening.
But even so…
Even so, he had made a promise—a silent vow the day he opened his eyes in this unfamiliar place.
To live.
To live for this body.
To live for this new life.
And to honor the memory of Hana—his sister, his light, long gone from his previous world.
Noel exhaled once more.
Thanks to his traits—[Calm Demeanor], [Improviser], and [Feared Noble]—he stood tall and still, like a statue carved from willpower itself.
Then, he began to speak.
"I wonder," he said, voice echoing gently through the crystal, "how often we find ourselves dreaming."
A pause.
"Some dream of wealth. Some of status. Others… of peace.
We all have our reasons for living. For waking up each morning. For breathing."
A small smile played on his lips, but in his heart, Ju-Won—the soul from Seoul, Korea—continued the speech silently alongside him.
Noel Grenn, the noble, had lived for himself alone.
A man buried beneath pride, sickness, and shadows.
But he, Ju-Won, had always lived for others.
And now… he wanted to do both.
He wanted to live for himself—and also for those who stood by Noel.
For the loved ones that surrounded him now.
For the relationships that had been broken, hurt, abandoned.
He would mend them.
"I used to believe living meant enduring. Just surviving the pain.
But now… I think there's no better purpose in life than this—"
His gaze swept across the room, filled with faces both warm and cold.
Then—his eyes locked at the back of the crowd.
A head of white hair, still and silent. Her face tilted slightly down, hidden from the light.
His chest tightened.
"To live… to see those around you smile."
He continued, steadying his breath.
"Which is why, moving forward… I'll be stepping down from my duties as a Manager at the Imperial Security Department."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"I've decided to return to the Imperial Academy. A new semester awaits, and I believe… that is where I'm meant to be right now."
He looked back again.
The white-haired woman—gone.
She had already turned and was leaving the hall.
His eyes widened.
A quiet panic rushed through him.
"I'd like to thank those who have supported me… and those who were able to come tonight," he said quickly, his voice brushing against the edge of breathlessness.
"Truly. Thank you."
And with that, he stepped down from the podium.
A storm of flashing lights and clicking shutters greeted him at the foot of the stage—reporters with glowing orbs, enchanted quills scribbling rapidly as they fired questions.
"Manager Noel! Is the Academy move permanent—?"
"Will this affect your recovery—?"
He pushed through the press, cane in hand, ignoring the voices and dazzling flashes.
He muttered under his breath as he picked up his pace.
"I promised to mend his relationships…"
"…This should be a start."
He burst through the double cathedral doors and out into the night.
The stars above were vivid and sharp, the cold wind kissing his cheeks and running through his disheveled hair.
The scent… that same scent from the balcony earlier—soft, familiar, and bittersweet—lingered in the air.
At the bottom of the grand staircase, a luxurious white car pulled away, its taillights fading into the dark beyond the iron gates.
Noel stood still at the top of the stone stairs, his coat and hair rippling in the night breeze.
His hand gripped the cane tightly as he watched her disappear into the distance.
Wind brushed past him.
Carrying with it the fading scent of lotus flowers…
and something else he couldn't name.