Third-Rate Villain Of Fantasy Novel-Chapter 34: Late Night Visit [2]

Elena’s brows knit together.

"But how can I be a good older brother?" he continued, voice quieter now. "No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure it out."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain and the soft murmur of the pavilion outside.

Elena studied him for a moment, then spoke carefully.

"Then... wouldn’t it be alright to just be yourself? The way you usually are?"

"As usual?"

Damian tilted his head slightly, confusion written plainly across his face.

At that expression, Elena almost forgot to breathe.

Honestly, she had never once thought Damian was lacking as an older brother.

In another family, siblings might have fought fiercely over the position of heir.

There might have been resentment, jealousy, or thinly veiled hostility. But between Damian and Alphonse, there was none of that. Their relationship was gentle—almost enviably so.

If anything, the problem wasn’t neglect.

It was care.

They cared too much for each other.

They both wanted to give more, to protect more, to be better than what they already were. And in doing so, they ended up worrying themselves sick.

"Yes, as usual," Elena said softly.

"Lord Alphonse doesn’t hate you at all, Damian. If anything, he likes you very much."

Damian’s eyes widened slightly.

"I think the issue isn’t your actions," she continued. "It’s that the two of you don’t spend enough time together. That’s all."

She met his gaze directly now.

"So please don’t blame yourself too much. You’re already a good person. And a good brother."

For a moment, Damian said nothing.

His face went blank, as though he were carefully turning her words over in his mind, testing their weight. Then, slowly, the tension drained from his expression.

A small smile appeared—gentle, but genuine.

"Not enough time..." he murmured. "I see."

He let out a quiet breath, one that sounded almost like relief.

"Thank you," Damian said, lifting his eyes to her once more. "For your advice, Elena."

Seeing the tension finally leave his face, Elena felt her own heart loosen as well, as if it had been tied in a careful knot all this time.

Just as she was about to take a bite of the macaron in front of her—with a quietly satisfied heart—his hand moved.

Before she could even react, he brought a macaron to her lips.

Her body responded before her mind did. She bit down instinctively, the soft shell brushing against the tip of her nose.

Only then did she realize what had happened.

Her face heated up all at once.

Elena looked up at him sharply, startled by his sudden action, but Damian appeared utterly unconcerned, as though feeding her was the most natural thing in the world—no different from pouring tea or passing a plate.

"...You—"

The words caught in her throat.

He simply withdrew his hand, watching her chew with a calm, almost absent-minded gaze.

’Yes. That’s it. It’s over now,’ she told herself firmly. ’Get used to it, Elena Edelweiss.’

No matter how weak she felt when standing in front of him, she was still the greatest sorcerer in human history.

A little thing like this should not unsettle her.

’If I concentrate for even a moment, I can calm any emotional disturbance.’

With that thought, she deliberately continued chewing the macaron he had offered, her movements slow and composed, as if the blush on her cheeks had never existed.

She could tell.

He was enjoying this.

Perhaps it amused him that she was still flustered, still shy despite her efforts.

Yes, she was shy—but she could not allow herself to be swayed by him forever.

Making up her mind, Elena reached out.

She picked up another macaron and, mimicking his earlier action, brought it straight to his mouth.

Her expression was perfectly neutral, carefully composed to mirror his.

As she pressed the macaron forward, her fingers brushed against his lips.

The contact was brief.

Intentional.

If she acted like this, surely he would be the one embarrassed now.

It was a bold move—one she would never have dared to make with a completely sober mind.

Elena lifted her gaze to his face, an inwardly triumphant smile blooming where no one could see it.

But contrary to her expectations, Damian did not freeze.

He did not avert his eyes.

Instead, he accepted the macaron calmly, his lips closing around it as his fingers lightly steadied her hand.

A thin smile curved on his face.

Satisfied.

Unbothered.

As if he had anticipated this response from the beginning.

"...Huh?"

The quiet sound slipped from Elena before she could stop herself.

Damian finished the macaron slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his tone gentle, almost teasing.

Her fingers were still hovering in the air, caught between retreat and insistence.

For the first time, Elena felt her carefully gathered composure falter—not from embarrassment, but from confusion.

Why was he not shaken at all?

Why did it feel as though she had stepped into a game whose rules he already understood far better than she did?

She withdrew her hand at last, folding it neatly into her lap.

"...Nothing," she said after a brief pause, her voice steady once more.

Damian’s smile deepened just slightly.

Elena looked away, staring at the remaining macarons on the table, her heartbeat inexplicably louder than before.

Perhaps calming emotional disturbances was not as simple as she liked to believe.

And perhaps, she thought with a faint, reluctant realization, Damian was far more dangerous to her composure than any spell ever could be.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence was not awkward—only dense, heavy with things left unsaid.

She straightened her posture instead, folding her hands together atop the table. Her expression returned to its usual calm, the kind that had unsettled emperors and silenced councils.

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Author Note:

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