Debutante (1)
Everyone harbors at least one secret in their lifetime. Some small, others profound enough to upend their entire existence. But the secret Leo carried was no ordinary one. It wasn't merely hidden—it was a living truth, and a sin besides.
Somehow, he'd ended up saddled with the emperor's daughter, hastily stepping into the role of her father. And just like that, eight years slipped by.
Killing people had always come easy to him, but taking responsibility? That was an agonizing burden. For a man who'd spent his life as a murderer, raising a child was overwhelming. Child-rearing was alien territory, every moment a battlefield. Yet he never ran from it. To shield Elizabeth from the kind of wounds adults had inflicted on him—to keep her from twisting into something broken—he gave it everything he had.
From the day she turned ten until she blossomed into an eighteen-year-old young lady, Leo lived solely for her. He cast aside honor, power, everything, devoting it all to the girl he called his daughter.
Then, one day, a thought flickered through his mind. Was this choice truly for her sake? Could he keep her wrapped in this comfortable lie forever? He didn't know. He still didn't. Was there even a right answer to that question? He couldn't say. Everything was a tangle of doubts.
Unsolvable riddles churned endlessly in his head, complicating every breath. At meals, before sleep, even in moments of laughter. The guilt at the core of his life gnawed relentlessly at him.
So in the end, he blurted it out. On impulse.
"What if I weren't your dad?"
To his daughter, on the cusp of adulthood, that's what he asked. A question he had to pose, yet shouldn't.
A truth named what if.
She halted abruptly.
"…."
Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. What expression was she wearing? He couldn't tell from her back alone.
"What… do you mean by that?"
She spoke without turning, facing forward. Her voice trembled with barely concealed agitation.
Then she pivoted to face him. In the dim evening light, her brilliantly blue eyes pierced straight through him.
"You're saying… you're not my dad?"
"…."
"Are you serious? Dad?"
Only then did he grasp what he'd just said. Far too impulsive a remark.
"Haha… Of course it's a joke."
"Is that something to joke about?"
Elizabeth approached him. One step, then another. His daughter drawing nearer, bit by bit.
Instead, he stepped forward and gently grasped her shoulders. She turned her head to look at him. He forced a smile. His lips curved up, but his heart wasn't smiling.
"You're taking it way too seriously, aren't you?"
His hand ruffled her hair. But she showed no reaction. She simply stared at him—quietly, coldly.
"Can't your dad even joke around? I was just curious, that's all…."
"So you were tricking me."
"It was a hypothetical. A what if."
"Why wonder about that?"
"…Just, yeah, pure curiosity. No deeper meaning."
He studied her face for a moment. Eyes that betrayed no emotion. A blank expression. Like a doll stripped of feeling.
"If I had to say… I don't know."
"You don't know?"
Normally, wouldn't she get angry? Or cry? That's what he would've expected from his daughter.
"If your hypothetical were true, it'd mean you tricked me, right Dad?"
"Yeah…?"
"Then I wouldn't know what I'd do."
Her face as she said it was chillingly expressionless, even to him.
"But it's not true, right? You are my dad, and I'm your daughter."
"…Right."
"I just wish there were no secrets between us."
In that instant—
She hugged him tightly, silently. Nestling warmly into his arms, burying her face in his chest.
"So tell me. Tell me you're not deceiving me, not lying. If there is something… tell me now."
Her tone was quiet yet firm, like a final chance. Like scolding a child for fibbing—don't deceive me. Don't lie.
But… he couldn't.
Instead, he hugged her back tightly. Stroked her back, patted her soothingly. Pressed his face to the crown of her head and whispered softly.
"You know there's nothing like that. I already told you everything back then, remember? That was the end of it."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. You know how much your dad loves you, right?"
"Yes…."
Elizabeth nodded wordlessly, stroking his back and hair. Her touch was tender. Gentle.
Guilt settled like frost in the wake of her fingers.
That day, he took one step closer to his own ruin.
"…That worthless scum."
In the Lenz royal palace, veins bulged on King Siegfried's hand. Seated on his throne, he glared at the single letter clutched in his fist.
It was Leo's marriage refusal. Courteous in form, unyielding in substance. A direct challenge to the king's authority.
Siegfried whipped his head toward Felix.
"Chamberlain. I have a question."
"…Speak, Your Majesty."
"Did I not order you to secure his permission?"
"….."
"So why must I receive a letter from some lowly commoner?"
Felix bowed his head deeply. He had no retort.
"Vice-captain."
"…Yes, Your Majesty."
The king's gaze shifted from Felix to the vice-captain.
The vice-captain steeled himself and replied.
"Did I not give you a clear command?"
"…Indeed, Your Majesty."
"So how is it that this man graduated unscathed and penned this letter?"
"That is…."
The vice-captain swallowed hard.
"…He was no ordinary man."
"What nonsense is this?"
The king's eyes sharpened. The vice-captain braced himself and recounted the day's events in detail. There was no hiding it.
Siegfried fell silent, propping his chin on his hand.
"So you're saying he possesses skills surpassing even the vice-captain?"
…A nod.
The king's gaze turned back to Felix.
"Is this true, chamberlain?"
"…I sensed nothing myself, but the vice-captain clearly detected something."
"Hmph…."
The king swallowed a grunt, tapping his chin with his finger. Their accounts rang true, not like lies.
Which meant the man was at least beyond a Sword Master….
Troublesome.
He slowly lowered his hand from his chin and flicked his fingertip.
A soft rustle.
From the shadows behind the king, a man emerged. Clad head to toe in black.
"Wolfgang. You will handle this."
The king's shadow captain—and the kingdom's unofficial greatest swordsman. Wolfgang.
"I shall obey any command."
"I will no longer tolerate those who trample my authority and honor dancing in the palace."
This was no longer about practicality. Marriage itself was irrelevant now. Refusal? Fine, perhaps. But a commoner rejecting his proposal? Unforgivable.
"Kill the debutantes on Debutante night."
To the king, even ordering murder was just another tool.
"I shall fulfill my duty."
To Wolfgang, merely another familiar command.
The Debutante ball was held in the longstanding Autumn Palace. An hour's carriage ride from the capital Lenz, deep in the outskirts ringed by forest.
Leo straightened his hair before the mirror, donning his finest suit. He adjusted the unfamiliar necktie two or three times, then gazed at the carriage waiting outside, drawing a quiet breath.
Elizabeth was in her inner chamber, tended by maids. A specially hired stylist and attendants bustled about her today, and she accepted their ministrations calmly.
Moments later.
Click-clack, click-clack.
The heels shattered the courtyard's silence. She emerged, poised between girl and lady.
The instant Leo saw her, his mind went blank.
She wore a dress of radiant white. The silk gown, with its elegant exposure of shoulders and back, draped softly, tracing her sensual curves with fluid grace.
Her golden waves cascaded like spun threads of gold, sparkling beneath which her porcelain skin gleamed like purity painted in flesh.
"Dad."
The moment she lowered her head to him, the world's most beautiful blue eyes drew him in. Beneath them, a refined, straight nose heightened her noble allure.
"How do I look?"
She flashed a confident smile. Her ripe-cherry lips, red and glossy, curved invitingly.
Swish.
As if to show off, she grasped her skirt and spun gracefully. The deep plunge at the back revealed a slender neckline flowing into swan-like delicacy—slim, smooth curves.
"…Beautiful."
"Good."
She was beyond his judgment. Like an idealized beauty detached from reality.
Click-clack.
The heels drew nearer until Elizabeth stood before him. Step by step. Time itself seemed to slow.
Then she extended her hand quietly.
"Will you escort me?"
Where had she learned to speak like that? Familiar yet grown-up, a tone of full adulthood.
"…As you wish, my lady."
He took her hand and led her carefully to the carriage. Steady steps, courteous motions.
Today, she was the ball's star.
The door shut, and the carriage rolled forth.
To the Autumn Palace.
The gateway to high society's Debutante—and the first page of her story.