Seria leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the armrests of her chair. “So, Sir Mic… where are you from?”
Michael gave her a flat look. “Somewhere far from here.”
Seria’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “That’s not very specific.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She let out a soft hum, unbothered by his curt response. “You don’t like talking about yourself?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure if it was just casual conversation or if she was fishing for information. Either way, he had no intention of giving her anything useful.
After a moment of silence, Seria tried again. “Mage Lian… he seems to think highly of you. How did you meet him?”
Michael’s gaze flickered toward her before he replied, “A coincidence.”
Seria waited for more, but nothing else came.
She sighed dramatically. “You’re not making this easy, you know.”
“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to.”
She chuckled. “Most people would at least try to be polite.”
Michael shrugged. “Most people aren’t me.”
Seria tapped her fingers against the armrest. “You’re really not interested in conversation, are you?”
“Not particularly.”
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Then what are you interested in?”
Michael looked at her, his expression unreadable. “At the moment? Waiting.”
Seria blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”
Michael didn’t respond.
The conversation—or lack thereof—continued in much the same manner. Seria would ask a question, and Michael would either respond vaguely, deflect, or ignore it entirely.
But despite his disinterest, Seria didn’t seem frustrated. If anything, she looked entertained.
“You know,” she mused, after another failed attempt to get more than a few words out of him, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite like you.”
Michael glanced at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Seria smirked. “You should.”
Another silence fell between them, but this time, it was a little more comfortable.
Seria had learned something valuable—Michael wasn’t someone who could be easily drawn into conversation. But he also wasn’t outright rude. He was just… careful.
And that, more than anything, made him interesting.
Seria tapped her fingers lightly against the chair’s armrest, as if considering her next move. She had been testing the waters, probing for something—anything—that would get more than a one-word response from him.
This was surely what her father wanted.
Michael, on the other hand, wasn’t particularly interested in humoring her.
He wasn’t here to socialize, and even if he was, he doubted engaging with a noble girl he barely knew would do him any favors.
More than that, he had the distinct feeling that the more he spoke, the more likely he was to slip up.
Fortunately, there was no real need for politeness.
And, to his relief, Seria wasn’t demanding it either.
Still, he acknowledged that she wasn’t annoying.
Unlike what he expected nobles to act, Seria didn’t seem condescending or arrogant. If anything, she treated his resistance to conversation like a challenge—one she was oddly enjoying.
What he wasn’t sure of was whether this was how she treated everyone or just a specific group of people.
A few moments passed before she spoke again.
“If you don’t like talking about yourself, what do you like talking about?”
Michael exhaled through his nose. “That depends.”
“On?”
“The topic.”
Seria gave him a flat look. “That’s not an answer.”
Michael’s lips twitched, barely noticeable. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Seria let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head. “You really are impossible.”
Michael said nothing.
She leaned back, studying him with those sharp blue eyes. Then, unexpectedly, she switched tactics.
“You know,” she mused, “I wasn’t expecting someone carrying a royal court token to be this… difficult.”
Michael glanced at her. “Difficult?”
“Uncooperative. Mysterious. Boring.”
Michael arched a brow at that last one.
Seria grinned. “Oh? That got a reaction.”
Michael shook his head, amused despite himself. “Calling someone boring isn’t exactly subtle.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Michael gave a small shrug. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”
Seria chuckled, but didn’t push further. Instead, she crossed her legs and settled into a more relaxed posture, seemingly content to let the conversation drift.
Michael didn’t mind the silence. In fact, he preferred it. But Seria’s presence was… interesting.
Just as the silence between them began to settle, a knock echoed from the study’s door.
Michael’s gaze flicked toward it, and Seria straightened slightly, her relaxed posture shifting into something more composed.
The door opened, and the steward returned—but this time, he wasn’t alone.
A figure stepped into the room.
The man was elderly but moved with the precision of someone in complete control of his surroundings.
He wore a symbolic robe that Michael figured signified something important, though its design was simpler than the extravagant attire of nobility. His gray hair was neatly tied back, and his sharp eyes swept over the room before settling on Michael.
His expression remained unreadable, but there was no hostility—only a quiet assessment.
The steward bowed slightly. “Sir Mic, this is Master Yuan, an attendant of Grand Mage Lian. He has come to escort you to the royal court.”
Master Yuan inclined his head in respectful greeting. “Sir Mic, it is an honor to meet you. If you are prepared, we should depart. The Grand Mage is expecting you.”
Though his words were direct, his tone held a measure of courtesy, treating Michael not as a mere task but as a guest worthy of respect.
Michael stood without hesitation.
Seria, however, remained seated, watching the exchange with open curiosity. She didn’t seem surprised by the abruptness, nor did she look particularly disappointed that their conversation was being cut short.
Instead, she simply smiled. “It seems our time is up.”
Michael glanced at her. “It seems so.”
Seria tilted her head. “Will we meet again?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately. He hadn’t planned to stay long in the noble district, but something told him that avoiding future encounters with nobles entirely would be impossible.
Instead of a direct answer, he simply said, “We’ll see.”
Seria chuckled, seemingly satisfied with that.
Master Yuan, meanwhile, had already turned toward the door.
“Come. We must go.”