Michael didn’t have to wait long.
Less than ten minutes had passed since he entered the waiting hall before the pressure in the room shifted.
The double doors creaked open without warning.
Michael turned slowly.
An old man stepped through, alone.
He was hunched, but not feeble. His back bowed slightly under age, yet every step he took was measured, as if the floor conformed to his rhythm.
His robe was deep blue, laced with silver threads that shimmered faintly in the light, and a head of thick, pure silver hair flowed down past his shoulders like a silken waterfall.
Michael instinctively stood a little straighter.
The man’s gaze swept over the hall like a slow tide before settling on him. For a heartbeat, nothing was said. Then the Duke gave a slow nod.
"Mic Nor," he said, voice like polished stone scraping gently across marble.
Michael lowered his head in respect. "Your Grace."
The Duke didn’t respond to the greeting at first.
Instead, he lifted both hands and gestured softly—one toward the row of chairs on his left, the other toward the right.
"Sit," he said. "Whichever side you prefer."
His voice held no mand, no threat. But Michael knew better than to hear it as mere suggestion.
He nodded once and moved to the right, choosing a chair a little distance from the Duke’s, then sat—neither too close nor too far.
The Duke moved slowly toward the first seat at the head and lowered himself into it with surprising ease.
The moment he sat, it felt like the room shifted again, the center of gravity moving to him. Even seated, he manded the space.
He didn’t speak right away.
Instead, his heavy-lidded eyes studied Michael with a kind of curiosity.
Yesterday, Duke Evermoon had thought that the tool he had crafted to benefit himself might end up benefiting others instead.
To be honest, for a proud man like him, that was a hard pill to swallow.
Fortunately, even though things hadn’t gone entirely as planned, this youth—this Mic Nor who seemed connected to Mage Lian—had also disrupted the plans of others. That much, at least, was satisfying.
But what truly piqued the Duke’s interest wasn’t the boy’s suspected connection to Mage Lian, nor the astonishing power he had displayed in the tournament—power which, the Duke admitted inwardly, was greater than his own.
No. It was because of someone else.
Someone even he, despite being many times her senior, had to show respect to.
Princess Priscilla.
A Great Mage.
Yesterday, she had summoned him. The purpose was to reprimand him, but somewhere in the conversation, Michael’s name came up. Her response had been casual, but clear:
"They needn’t worry. As long as Mic Nor is there, everything will be fine."
That alone made Duke Evermoon pause.
The petition hadn’t gone the way he expected. From Prince Rui, to Renn, to Uga, and finally to Michael...
Aside from Rui—someone he didn’t want to get involved with—and Michael, who was still wrapped in mystery, Uga and Renn had also shaken the Duke.
They made him question whether he was still in the same kingdom he’d ruled for decades. Because how was it that once-in-a-century talents were suddenly looking so... mon?
This wasn’t the Empire. Even there, such prodigies were rare.
Regardless, Duke Evermoon felt a measure of satisfaction with how things had turned out.
Except for one lingering issue.
Michael.
Was he really going to give his daughter to a stranger?
Had it been anyone else, the Duke would have found a discreet way to cancel that portion of the petition’s reward.
But this boy—Mic Nor...
With everything the Duke had seen, and all his growing suspicions...
He seemed promising....
The Duke studied Michael for a moment longer.
"I admire your strength," he said at last.
Michael inclined his head. "Thank you, Your Grace. But I still have much to learn."
"Spoken like someone who intends to learn it all," the Duke replied, a faint smile creasing the corners of his lips. "Good. Arrogance is mon among the young. Especially after victories."
Michael didn’t respond. He only offered a respectful nod.
"Now," the Duke continued, voice steady. "I know why you’re here. You needn’t worry. All that is required to claim your title and land is already prepared. The official seal of ownership, the documentation, and everything else you’ll need. You’ll leave here with it."
Michael blinked, momentarily surprised at the Duke’s directness.
"Thank you, Sir," he said.
"Don’t mention it," the Duke said, waving a hand. "To be honest, I could have authorized all of it without seeing you at all. It would have been easier for both of us."
Michael slightly raised a brow but said nothing.
"But I wanted to meet the young man who might end up marrying my daughter."
Michael choked.
He coughed once. Then again.
The words had landed like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky. He glanced up quickly, his posure rattled.
The Duke’s expression remained calm.
"Your Grace, I—" Michael started, but he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say.
I’d appreciate it if you kept your daughter to yourself?
Never mind the Duke—if Michael had a daughter in the future and someone said that to him, he’d have Lucky and Prince reward them personally... for their audacity.
The Duke chuckled quietly, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. "Relax. I’m not making the decision today. Nor am I saying it’s guaranteed. But you are the champion of the tournament. The reward was public."
Michael straightened slightly in his seat.
He had the distinct feeling that if he didn’t speak soon, the Duke’s next words might very well be the date of his wedding.
Perhaps other Awakeners would be thrilled at the prospect of marrying the Duke’s daughter—after all, this wasn’t exactly their original world, and the rewards here were tempting.
But Michael was different.
Not because he thought better than them, but because—at least for now—he simply wasn’t ready to mit to something like this.
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