"Sword, Magic, and the Holy Land 4 — all hidden side quests cleared. Perfect completion achieved!"
After hitting the final Enter on the keyboard, a hollow, lonely feeling crept up.
Leon took three deep breaths and gripped the edge of the desk.
Ever since the game released, he'd bought it immediately and blitzed every hidden side quest right away. That probably made him the earliest person to pull off a perfect clear, right?
As a veteran gamer, it was rare for him to get this fanatical about a single series.
Ah… guess he really was getting older. Pulling just one all-nighter and he was already falling apart. Back in the day, he could go to war with a girl all night and still be totally fine the next day and keep going.
Leon's head began to spin.
Tap.
On the computer desk, a math teacher—decent-looking, who'd used his summer break to marathon games through the night—quietly died.
…
"Beautiful elf lady, may I have the honor of inviting you to a dance?"
Iris turned her head and saw a blond man with curly hair in an extravagant formal outfit, one hand extended in a courteous invitation, smiling as brightly as sunshine.
"Sorry," Iris said. "I don't like curly hair—especially blond curls."
The blond curly-haired man froze. "Just because of my curls?"
"It's the kindest reason I could come up with," Iris replied. "If I said what I really think, I'm afraid you couldn't handle the blow."
The man straightened, suddenly serious.
"I have a strong mentality. Please—don't hold back. What exactly am I lacking?"
"So you want me to say it?"
"Please do. I won't be unhappy in the slightest."
"Before you invite someone to dance," Iris said calmly, "go take a piss and use it to look at your own reflection. Then calm down."
Blond Curly-Hair: ???
…He left in a daze, completely crushed.
Iris shook her head. People were always afraid to face the truth.
The blond guy could be considered handsome by mainstream standards, but she had no interest in that kind of shallow packaging.
As a pure-blood elf, her aesthetic standards were high—and her eye for detail was sharper still.
That "tight" skin of his looked like a honeycomb of clogged pores up close, and that slack body—soft with indulgence—made her lose her appetite.
She'd been gentle enough, she thought, by not tearing him down right from the start and forcing him to weigh his own worth.
That made him the seventh man she'd turned down since the ball began, and she suspected there would be more.
Of course, it wasn't that no one at the entire ball had caught her attention. If that person came to invite her, she might actually consider it.
He was leaning at an angle in the corner of the hall, eyes closed, resting alone.
By human standards, he looked around seventeen or eighteen. His shoulder-length silver hair was especially eye-catching.
Tall and slender. Clear, luminous skin. Refined, handsome features. Hair like fresh snow. An elegant bearing. He wore a simple rural outfit typical of the quasi-baron class—yet somehow, he looked more stunning than any elf Iris had ever seen.
Even with his eyes closed, a hidden killing intent lingered in his brows and gaze. The nearby noble girls—pretty enough to be confident anywhere else—kept losing their nerve. They wanted to gather courage and invite him, but that "keep your distance" aura repelled them. So they could only glance his way again and again, throwing hopeful looks and watching from afar.
That cold, mysterious atmosphere hit Iris's exact type in a strangely perfect way, and drew more of her attention.
If she was going to be bothered anyway, she might as well pick someone pleasant to look at. With that thought, Iris walked over.
Up close, the silver-haired boy was even more breathtaking.
The pure, clean presence of a soul refined through long meditation. The steady breathing rhythm only seasoned adventurers possessed. A composed, graceful posture. Pale skin so flawless that even a sharp eye like hers couldn't find a single blemish.
It was hard to imagine someone like this was simply the product of a backwater noble upbringing.
"Aren't you bored, sitting here all by yourself?" Iris couldn't help striking up a conversation.
Leon slowly opened his eyes. When he saw the elf who had come within a few meters, his pupils shifted slightly.
"If I can wait long enough for someone as beautiful as you to come over," he said, "then the boredom is worth it."
If an ordinary woman heard that from a beautiful young man, she'd probably feel secretly pleased.
But Iris wasn't ordinary.
She hated men who looked clever the most.
Because the more clever they seemed, the more skilled they usually were at lying—smooth talk, empty charm, playing a role.
Hearing his reply, she already regretted coming over.
She'd thought a boy with such a mysterious aura might be different.
Now it seemed he was no different from the other frivolous men at the ball—just wrapped in a prettier shell.
Honestly, if he'd responded coldly, she might've been more interested.
Iris's voice stayed flat. "You're very practiced at dealing with women. A silver tongue."
"No," he said. "You're wrong."
"Wrong about what?" Iris blinked.
"I'm not practiced at dealing with women," Leon said. "I'm practiced at social etiquette."
That answer caught Iris off guard. But… you compliment someone first and then claim you're simply good at social lines—does that really make it better?
Leon studied her, straightened fully, and smiled.
"Allow me to introduce myself. Leon Bellron, First-Rank Court Mage. And you are one of the diplomats from the Elven Holy Land—Miss Iris C. Forlorn, correct?"
"You know me?"
"Miss Iris, you joke. If you tried to find someone here who doesn't know you, it'd probably only be possible for the blind and for children. Besides," Leon added, "I already knew you would come to find me today—and I also know you definitely won't be going home tonight."
"So confident?"
Wasn't that the same kind of line those pickup artists loved?
Iris crossed her arms in a guarded stance, clearly thinking Alright, let's see you perform.
"It's simple," Leon said. "Because I divined this day—this event—would happen."
"You're a mage. Since when do mages do divination? That's an astrologer's core specialty."
"It's not like dual professions don't exist," Leon replied. "Earning a second extraordinary class is difficult, sure—but not impossible. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Even if that's true," Iris said dismissively, "your divination is still flawed, because I never stay out overnight."
She waved her hand, bored, turned around, and walked away—clearly telling him to stop trying to mystify her.
No denying it: the boy was pleasing to look at, the most beautiful person she'd ever seen.
But beauty didn't mean depth, and after this exchange, Iris was convinced he was no different from the other shallow nobles at the ball. Her interest had evaporated.
But when she was only halfway turned—
Leon's calm, clear voice drifted over, unhurried:
"I've heard that lately, to address fertility and population issues, the Elven Holy Land has issued directives requiring elves who travel outside to deepen limited intermarriage with humans—so as to produce more half-elf descendants. Is that right?"
"How do you know that?" Iris's eyes widened—bright yellow-green like gemstones—as she spun back to stare at Leon.
"That information isn't exactly secret," Leon said. "Is it?"
"I asked how you know it!"
Leon met her gaze and stepped closer.
"Miss Iris, since you don't believe I can divine… how about we gamble? Gamble on whether you'll break your 'never stay out overnight' rule tonight."
"Heh."
Seeing that Leon had no intention of explaining where he got the information, Iris decided to ignore him and turned away again. She didn't like being manipulated by vague, slippery excuses.
And besides—who was he to say "let's bet" and expect her to play along? She was a third-tier expert. Did she not have pride?
Leon said, "As for the stakes—one hundred gold coins. How about it?"
Iris stopped dead.
Ten gold coins was enough for a commoner in the royal capital to cover most of a lifetime's expenses aside from buying a house.
And this was one hundred.
With her back to him, she enunciated each word through clenched teeth:
"How much did you say?"
"One hundred gold coins."
For the third time, Iris turned around.
"It seems," Leon said with a smile, "Miss Iris intends to take the bet after all. Am I right?"