Arriving back at the Hero's Mansion, I was greeted at the front gate.
"Welcome back, Sir Alve," one of the guards said with a respectful nod.
"Thanks for your work as always," I replied as I stepped through the gates.
Inside, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind me. I let out a long sigh and flopped onto the same couch by the entrance that I had used the night before.
"Yeah… this guest lounge is enough for me."
Wandering around this oversized mansion by myself didn't feel right. It just reminded me how out of place I was.
I took off my suit coat and laid it on the table beside the pouch of gold coins I'd tossed there yesterday.
"Another day, another mess."
I really thought life would calm down after the dungeon incident. Instead, it was just one thing after another. Was this world just allergic to peace?
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
I needed to get a grip. I could feel the anger bubbling up more and more with every passing day. I had made a promise—not to lose myself, not to lose _control_.
I promised _him_.
...
Eventually, sleep found me once more, right there on that couch. Another night passed in this strange world. Another day survived, and my sanity—somehow—still held together.
---
The next morning, I decided to ditch the formal look.
No suit coat. No tie. Just my white shirt, untucked and wrinkled, but at least more casual. Hopefully, I'd attract fewer stares walking around like this.
Leaving the mansion a bit earlier than usual, I greeted the guards at the front.
"Good morning!" I called with a wave.
As I strolled through the capital's streets and approached the royal palace, I noticed a fancy carriage already parked at the gate. The insignia on its side left no doubt.
The Ironhart family.
Viscount **Basil Ironhart** stepped out, adjusting his embroidered sleeves with practiced nobility. Right behind him was **Luke**, his bruises from last night barely faded, though he did his best to look dignified.
I recognized the Viscount from before. Last time we met, he was desperately trying to avoid blame for summoning the wrong person. So what was he doing here now?
And why bring _Luke_?
Curious, I quietly followed them inside.
Just beyond the entrance, a knight stopped me. "Sir Alve, you've been summoned to the throne room, along with the others."
"I understand," I replied simply.
The same long walk through marble halls followed, with the knight guiding me in silence.
As the doors opened to the throne room, I saw the familiar scene—nobles lined up, guards standing at attention, and **Miss Sera** among them, calm and poised.
At the far end, seated atop his throne, was **King Leontius Armenia**. Regal and composed, just as before.
And once again… all eyes turned to me.
I was alone this time. No hero party beside me. No royal summons for the wrong person. Just _me_.
Still, I lowered myself to one knee and greeted him with the same respect.
"Your Majesty, I, Alve Westberg, am at your service."
If this was about what I _thought_ it was… then things were about to get very political.
And very personal.