Pride Before the Storm
On the other side of Whitelist Restaurant, several black-clothed n remained seated in the shadows, their cups untouched.
They had followed Selena, Rias, and Akeno for so ti—quietly, cautiously—never daring to approach. At first, they had rely been curious. Three such striking won wandering Ashford City together was enough to draw attention.
But when they saw Selena speaking to Harry Taylor—
Everything changed.
One burly man narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening around his wine cup until it creaked.
"Quick, report to Young Master. These three people are related to Harry Taylor."
His voice was low, controlled—but the aning behind it was sharp.
A servant slipped out imdiately.
Upstairs, Harry’s heart was thundering like a war drum.
He paused at the base of the second-floor steps, inhaling slowly.
Calm down.
You’re not the old Harry anymore.
You’ve cultivated. You’ve endured humiliation. You can handle this.
He straightened his red silk robe and adjusted the jade pendant at his waist. A faint scent of pear blossom wine drifted down from above.
Step by step, he climbed.
Each creak of the wooden stairs felt louder than usual.
When he reached the private room, he hesitated for half a breath—then lifted the curtain.
Inside, warm sunlight filtered through carved lattice windows, casting soft patterns across the table.
Selena sat composed, silver hair cascading over her snow-white robes. Rias leaned back gracefully, crimson silk flowing like fla. Akeno watched quietly from the side, eyes sharp beneath her gentle smile.
Harry stepped in.
The mont he entered the private room, he bowed humbly, posture respectful yet careful not to appear weak.
"Greetings, Fairy."
His movents were polished—but stiff. The etiquette was correct, yet slightly exaggerated.
Rias covered her mouth and laughed softly, the sound like a bell.
"This fellow knows a little about etiquette," she teased lightly. "But his movents are a little stiff. It’s obvious he doesn’t use it often. A last-minute effort to showcase elegance."
Harry felt heat crawl up his neck.
I practiced that all morning...
Selena’s lips curved faintly.
"I didn’t expect Young Master Taylor to be so well-mannered. You’ve really impressed us."
Harry nearly straightened with pride.
Inside, he was overjoyed.
Success!
"No, no," he said modestly, waving his fan lightly. "I’m keeping a low profile."
Akeno’s eyes flickered with amusent but she remained silent.
Harry glanced between them, curiosity stirring.
"These two are?" he asked carefully.
He knew Selena. He had t her more than once under terrifying circumstances.
But the other two...
Selena gestured calmly.
"This is my junior sister, Rias."
Harry’s expression changed instantly.
"Oh? So you’re Respected Leon’s student. Nice to et you."
He greeted her quickly, voice respectful.
Inside, envy stabbed him again.
Respected Leon’s students are all so stunning...
He sighed inwardly.
Why don’t I have such luck with won?
Then, lowering his voice slightly, he asked the question that truly mattered.
"Right... may I know where your Teacher is?"
His eyes scanned subtly around the room.
Behind the curtain?
On the rooftop?
Watching from sowhere unseen?
Selena secretly chuckled.
"Don’t worry. My Teacher isn’t here."
The mont those words left her lips—
Harry exhaled so hard it was almost audible.
"Oh..."
He slumped slightly before catching himself.
I was scared to death.
It’s good that he isn’t here.
It’s very good that he isn’t here.
Confidence began to return like warmth to frozen fingers.
His shoulders straightened. His smile beca more natural.
Without Leon’s invisible pressure hanging overhead, he found his voice again—asured, confident, almost charismatic.
The air inside the private room eased.
At that exact mont—
Across the corridor in another private chamber, Vita Zain sat alone, fingers drumming against a wine cup.
His expression was dark.
A servant rushed in and knelt.
"Young Master, I found it! Those three won seem to know Harry Taylor, the young master of the Taylor household. They are enjoying themselves on the second floor."
Vita’s cup cracked in his grip.
"What?"
His eyes burned.
"Harry Taylor? That useless person?"
Rage flickered openly now.
He had always looked down on Harry—the once-profligate son who spent his days drinking and chasing pleasure. If not for Harrier Taylor’s five-star King Realm strength, Vita wouldn’t have spared him a glance.
And now—
The won who rejected him were sitting with Harry?
Laughing with him?
Vita stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
"Damn it," he spat. "I thought they were won of so prominent status. They rejected and went with that useless Harry."
His pride felt slashed.
"Hmph..."
He pushed open the door forcefully.
"Let’s go! I have to vent my anger today. I’ll let them know who is the number one young master in Ashford City."
His fury overpowered reason.
Servants scrambled after him.
Upstairs, Harry was still calculating carefully how to ease the lingering grudge from offending Respected Leon.
Maybe if I build rapport with them...
Maybe if they speak well of ...
Before his thoughts could settle—
The private room door burst open.
"Hmm?"
Harry frowned.
Vita Zain strode in, followed by several lackeys.
What’s wrong with this guy?
I didn’t provoke him.
Why is he here?
Vita’s gaze went straight to Rias.
His tone dripped with mockery.
"So you like this kind of trash?"
The word hung in the air like a slap.
Harry’s smile stiffened.
His fingers tightened around his fan.
Trash?
Old instincts flared—anger, humiliation, pride.
But another mory overrode them.
Leon’s gaze.
Pressure like a mountain.
He swallowed the impulse.
Rias only smiled faintly and did not respond.
Selena’s hand twitched slightly toward the hilt of her sword, frost flickering at her fingertips—but Rias gently stopped her with a subtle movent.
She understood imdiately.
Vita likely believed they had chosen Harry over him.
These young masters rarely accepted rejection gracefully.
Given the cold shoulder earlier, and now seeing Harry sitting here—
Of course he would be furious.
Rias tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting.
Interesting.
The air thickened.
Wine cups trembled faintly on the table.
Pride, jealousy, fear—
All swirling together in that small private room.
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