Julian smiled faintly, his expression a mix of nostalgia and quiet pride.
"Yes... who would’ve thought, right?"
Rose let out a soft breath, the tension in her shoulders finally easing.
"Thank the gods," she murmured, "He really has favored us."
Julian raised a brow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Why thank him? Thank yourself."
But Rose shook her head with conviction.
"No... there are so things we just can’t have unless they’re written into our fate. No matter how hard we try. So things are simply... destined."
Julian’s chuckle echoed in the spacious chamber. He leaned casually against the side of her desk, arms crossed.
"Fate, huh? What really is fate to you?" he asked. "Us eting... is that fate to you? helping you when you were at your lowest... Was that fate too?"
Rose glanced down at the docunts on her desk, her expression softening.
"Maybe it was," she replied. "Maybe you were supposed to walk into my life and change everything."
Julian tilted his head.
"And if I hadn’t?" he challenged. "If I had walked past without helping—if we had never t during that war?"
"Then perhaps I would have never beco who I am today," Rose whispered. "Or maybe soone else would have helped. But it wouldn’t have been the sa. It was you. It had to be you."
Julian looked at her, silent for a mont.
"Then maybe fate is just a na we give to the choices that turn out right," he said finally. "Or maybe it’s the excuse we use when we don’t know how to explain what brought people together."
Rose smiled at that, warm and radiant.
"Maybe... But whatever it is, I’m grateful. For fate, for you, for everything."
"That’s one way to look at it," Julian murmured, brushing a hand over his badge. "Take care. I’ll be on my way now."
Rose’s expression imdiately shifted, her face dimming.
"Mu... must you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Julian rolled his shoulders. "Yes," he said simply.
Rose lowered her gaze, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the desk.
"When will you visit again?" she asked, not hiding the longing in her tone.
Julian paused, then leaned forward slightly, his voice gentler than before.
"When fate allows us to," he said, a faint smirk on his lips.
Before she could say anything else, lightning crackled around his body, and with a bright flash, he vanished—gone as suddenly as he ca.
Left alone in the office, Rose remained still for a long mont, the silence almost deafening. Her shoulders slumped slightly, a reluctant sigh escaping her lips. But after a pause, she straightened, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"...Co on, Rose," she whispered to herself, then reached for the papers on her desk and began signing them again.
anwhile,
Julian reappeared in the bustling market of Ravenswood Estate, his presence unnoticed at first as the rhythm of daily life surrounded him.
rchants shouted over each other, desperate to sell their stock before the sun began to set. Buyers bartered, holding tightly to every mana crystal they had earned through sweat and struggle. Children ran around, so laughing, others with hollow eyes, hands stretched out to beg.
On the corner of the streets, beggars slept with trembling bodies, their cheeks hollow from hunger. So passersby glanced at them with disgust, others with fleeting sympathy. A few turned their faces entirely, acting as though they didn’t even exist.
Nearby, so sparsely dressed figures leaned against walls while so approached the wealthier crowd, hoping for attention. Others openly bartered their bodies, their eyes devoid of sha—only resolve and their desperation.
Julian stood silently, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic flow of life.
"Fate," he murmured.
The word tasted strange to him, as if it didn’t belong here. Not in this reality.
"Fate is just another word for hope," he thought aloud. "A glorified hope... a hope where everyone believes things are ant to be. That soone, sowhere, wrote it all down."
He scoffed softly.
"But this," he whispered as he looked at the market—at the pain, struggle, hunger, and ambition—"this isn’t written. This is built."
He exhaled, then started walking into the crowd.
As Julian walked deeper into the heart of the estate, his steps slowed. He scanned the surroundings with genuine surprise.
"The Marquis estate... it’s far beyond what I imagined," he muttered to himself, his voice swallowed by the crowd.
The streets were wide and clean, paved with smooth, polished stones that reflected the golden rays of the sun. Tall, grand buildings stood on both sides of the streets, each crafted with refined architecture. Grand overhead bridges were fixed, leading into well-maintained districts clearly divided by purpose.
To his left, a bustling trade quarter buzzed with activity. Large warehouses, elegant rchant stalls, and guarded auction houses lined the periter. Everything was categorized, efficient, and well-managed.
Julian could see foreign goods, rare herbs, artifacts, enchanted items, and common items all being moved, bought, or traded in harmony.
To his right was a district of pleasure and entertainnt. High-end restaurants with stylish terraces served nobles and soone of importance. Entertainnt halls buzzed with music, dance, and life.
Prostitutes—both male and female—dressed in elegant yet provocative dresses mingled without sha, their presence accepted and even respected. Prostitution wasn’t hidden in alleyways or veiled behind secrecy—it was legalized, orderly, and guarded, like any other service in the estate.
Farther ahead, Julian noticed community rest areas: stone benches shaded by carefully planted trees, water fountains that sparkled with mana, and recreational spaces for children and adults alike.
Julian stopped for a mont, genuinely taken aback. "This isn’t just developnt," he thought. "This is vision. Control. Execution."
He glanced around once more, his admiration growing with each passing mont. For a place so far from the kingdom’s core, the marquis’s estate had done surprisingly well.
Though one thing stuck out the most.
Julian narrowed his eyes. "The rich are getting richer... and the poor," he muttered, "are getting poorer."
On the surface, the Marquis estate looked like an ideal heaven. Clean, efficient, luxurious. But Julian could see through these veils.
This was no utopia.
It was a masked hell.
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