Lathel stared at Catrina, heart hammering.
She looked so real. Her cheeks flushed pink, eyes downcast shyly—exactly like the real thing.
[This is a special bonus. One time only.]
"System, you're a god. A saint. The best thing that ever happened to—"
[Shut up or I'm canceling this.]
"Right! Shutting up!" He mimed zipping his lips, grinning like an idiot.
[Five minutes. Starting now.]
"Wait—five minutes?!" He jolted forward. "That's barely enough time to—"
[Four minutes, fifty seconds.]
"Shit!" He moved toward Catrina quickly.
He paused.
Her eyes... they looked too real. Too alive.
'System. This is fake, right?'
[Obviously. You think I can just teleport people? And even if I could, you think Catrina would willingly sit on your bed?]
Fair point. After tonight, she probably wanted to chop him into tiny pieces.
The fact that she wasn't actively trying to murder him was already a miracle.
'Right. Just a simulation. Nothing to feel guilty about.'
[Correct. Now stop wasting time.]
He placed his hands on her shoulders.
Soft. Warm. Her scent filled his lungs—that same delicate fragrance from the dance.
'Holy shit, the detail on this is insane. It feels exactly like her.'
Every detail was perfect. Her warmth. Her skin. Even the way she breathed.
'System really went all out.'
His hand moved to her cheek, fingers brushing against soft skin.
She trembled under his touch—but didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering closed.
"Lathel..." Her voice was barely a whisper.
His heart was hammering. The clock was ticking.
Fuck it.
He tilted her face up and kissed her.
Her eyes went wide—shock, surprise—but she didn't push him away.
Instead, her arms wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. Her eyes fluttered shut.
The kiss deepened.
His tongue brushed against her lips, asking permission.
She hesitated—clearly inexperienced—then parted her lips slightly.
He took the invitation.
Their tongues met, clumsy and awkward. Neither of them knew what they were doing.
But somehow, that made it better.
Sweet. Desperate. Real.
He lost track of time completely.
When they finally pulled apart, both were gasping for air.
A thin strand of saliva connected their lips, catching the lamplight before breaking.
His vision blurred. A timer flashed in the corner—ten seconds left.
'Shit. Almost out of time.'
It was just a simulation. He could say anything. Do anything.
No consequences.
Catrina was breathing hard, face flushed deep red. Her eyes were wet—tears streaming down her cheeks.
Why was she crying?
He pulled her into his arms suddenly.
She gasped—but didn't resist. Her arms wrapped around him, holding on like he might disappear.
She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his scent.
The words came out before he could stop them.
"Catrina, I love you."
She went rigid.
Then trembled. Hard.
When she looked up, tears were streaming down her face.
"I..." Her voice cracked. "I love you too, Lathel."
The moment the words left her lips, she vanished.
Only her scent remained—faint, lingering proof she'd been there.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space where she'd been.
His heart was still racing.
"System." He laughed breathlessly. "That was... incredible. Felt completely real. Like I actually kissed her."
[No need to thank me. You have a long road ahead. Consider it motivation.]
"Well, I'm definitely motivated now." He grinned, flopping back onto the bed.
Sleep came easily.
He dreamed of golden hair and soft lips.
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered:
'That felt too real.'
But he was too tired to listen.
...
Meanwhile, in the royal palace.
The Queen's private study held only two women.
The first was striking—sharp features, sapphire eyes that burned with determination. Golden hair fell loose around her shoulders, elegant but wild. Her presence commanded attention without demanding it.
Across from her stood another woman, obscured by faint mist that blurred her features into shadow.
"Has everything been handled, Valoria?"
Valoria—Duchess Valoria, Lathel's mother—nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Beastkin and Elves are at each other's throats. They won't be a problem for now."
The Empress laughed. "They're powerful, yes. But they're also proud. Elves look down on Beastkin. Beastkin resent Elves. Conflict is inevitable—just not yet."
"And when it comes..." Valoria's voice was measured. "It could spread. Engulf other races. Including us."
"The Elves are strong but few. The Beastkin are weak but many. When war breaks out—"
"—we'll need the Divine Dragon Guild on our side." The Empress finished.
Valoria nodded. "It won't be easy. But I'll find a way."
"Enough politics." The Empress's tone shifted. "Today is your son's birthday. You didn't go see him."
Valoria's expression tightened. "His birthday is a small matter. The nation comes first."
"Does it?" The Empress's voice carried a hint of mockery. "Or are you just avoiding him?"
"I don't know what you mean, Your Majesty."
"Don't play dumb, Valoria." The Empress leaned forward. "How long are you going to keep that secret?"
Valoria's jaw clenched. "I don't want him to look at me with disgust. Like I'm... filthy. Wrong."
"You're not blood-related." The Empress's voice was matter-of-fact. "There's nothing wrong about it."
"It doesn't matter. He'd still see me that way."
Silence.
"I'm tired, Your Majesty. May I leave?"
"Fine." The Empress waved dismissively. "But you'll regret this. That secret is eating away at you—holding you back."
"If you don't face it, you'll never advance. You have enemies, Valoria. Powerful ones. And if you can't grow stronger..."
She let the implication hang.
"You won't be able to protect him."
Valoria bowed and left without another word.
The door closed.
The Empress stared at it for a long moment, then sighed.
"Love." She poured herself wine. "Poison and cure, all at once."
She downed the glass in one gulp.
"I wonder what it tastes like. Strong? Sweet? Bitter?"
She stared at the empty glass.
"Probably doesn't matter. No one in this world could make me feel it anyway."
The bitterness in her smile had nothing to do with the wine.
...
Valoria's heels clicked against marble as she walked the palace corridors.
The silence was oppressive.
She stopped at a window, gaze lifting to the moon.
"Would he ever accept me?"
The words were barely audible.
"Someone like me?"
The moon offered no answer.
She stood there a moment longer, then continued walking.
Alone.