We walked deeper into the mansion, the air growing heavier with dust and decay. The faint smell of mold clung to the air, mixed with something metallic and old.

A few steps later, I pushed open a half-broken wooden door. The hinges let out a low, aching creak, and a cold draft swept through.

We stepped inside.

The scene that greeted us inside was quiet and dim, dust floating lazily through the air like drifting ash.

A small bed rested against the far wall, its sheets faded and frayed. The room was filled with old-fashioned furniture—an antique dresser, a cracked mirror, and a few oil lamps that looked like they hadn't been used in years.

It seemed the mansion still carried the faint traces of whoever once lived here.

I took a quick glance around before pointing toward the least damaged chair in the room.

"Sit," I said, my voice muffled through the helmet.

"Thank you," Anna replied softly.

With an elegant motion, she brushed the layer of dust off the seat before lowering herself gracefully onto it. The fluidity of her movements—the way she held her posture, the way her hands rested neatly on her lap—was unmistakably noble.

For a moment, watching her, I almost forgot this was the same woman who had been cornered by assassins just moments ago.

Now, she looked calm. Composed. Even dignified.

Almost like she was back in a royal hall, surrounded by courtiers instead of the shadows of a crumbling mansion.

But that calm was an illusion.

For someone like her, hiding emotion must have become second nature.

Living every day surrounded by scheming nobles, waiting for the slightest mistake—masking her fear and exhaustion was probably her only way to survive.

Still…

'Her fingertips are trembling.'

Even though her expression remained perfectly serene, the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her nerves.

She was scared.

Anyone would be.

I turned my gaze away, pretending not to notice. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the faint creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of night wind.

Then, after a moment, her voice broke the quiet.

"May I ask you something?"

I looked at her. "…?"

Her eyes met mine—steady and searching.

"Why are you helping me?"

The question hung in the air, soft but sharp, cutting straight through the heavy silence.

I said nothing.

Through the narrow slit of my helmet, I studied her expression.

There was no suspicion in her tone—just genuine curiosity. Maybe even a trace of confusion.

I could have told her the truth—that I hadn't planned to get involved, that I simply couldn't ignore what I saw.

But the truth would lead to more questions.

And questions were dangerous.

So instead, I stood there quietly, arms folded, saying nothing.

The flickering lamplight cast long shadows across the room, the distance between us thick with unspoken thoughts.

Anna lowered her gaze slightly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

"…You're not going to answer, are you?"

I stayed silent.

She let out a soft huff, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Just tell me already!"

Still, I didn't respond.

Instead, I found myself lost in thought—wondering what the real reason was.

Why was I helping her?

That question seemed to bother her more than anything else. But as I thought about it, something else struck me as strange.

'She's not curious about who I am.'

If our positions were reversed, I would've asked about the person behind the mask first—who they were, where they came from, what they wanted.

But Anna didn't.

She wanted to know why.

Why a stranger, hidden behind a helmet, would risk himself for her.

Why someone with no apparent connection to her would go this far.

I could almost laugh at how noble that sounded.

The truth, though, was much simpler.

'Because it's beneficial for me.'

That was all.

It wasn't out of some lofty sense of justice.

Nor because I admired her as the Imperial Princess.

No, I helped her because protecting her was the most logical, self-serving choice I could make.

Princess Anna Blackwood—future heir to the Empire.

Her survival, her eventual rise to power… that was the best possible scenario for me.

If anything happened to her—if the line of succession shifted to him—then things would spiral into chaos.

The kind of chaos that would make survival itself a daily struggle.

Because that man… that monster… wasn't fit to rule.

A psychopathic tyrant in the making—one who would rather burn the Empire to ash than share control of it.

If he became emperor, this world would descend into blood and fire.

And I had no intention of being anywhere near that disaster.

So yes. Keeping Anna alive wasn't some act of kindness.

It was insurance.

A move to protect my own future in this world.

But even as I reminded myself of that, a faint doubt stirred at the back of my mind.

If something were to happen to Anna, I suppose there'd be one upside—it would make my plan easier.

After all, with her gone, Ed's harem would naturally fall apart.

But that's not the outcome I want.

What I truly want… is for Ed and Elena to have their perfect, storybook ending.

A pure love that stays untainted.

I don't wish misfortune on anyone else—not even the people who might stand in the way of that ending. I just want to stop things before they spiral into the chaotic mess I remember from the original story.

That's why I decided to interfere—to make sure Ed's harem never takes shape in the first place.

Still…

'I'm not sure how things will unfold from here.'

The story has already started to diverge.

Ed and Elena haven't developed any relationship yet, and this version of Ed… he's not the "overpowered" protagonist I knew from the original.

He's strong, yes—but not invincible. Not yet.

Just thinking about all the upcoming events, all the crises that could happen differently now, made my head ache.

As I stood there lost in thought, Anna—who had been quietly watching me—suddenly tensed up.

"...H-hey!"

I blinked, pulled out of my thoughts. "What?"

"I think… something's moving over there!" she said, her voice low but sharp with alarm.

I followed her gaze.

In the corner of the room, half-hidden in shadow, stood an old wardrobe—its wooden surface cracked and faded with age.

...And saw nothing.

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