The Heart of the Victory Ball
Entering the ballroom at Anastasia's side, Logan was initially somewhat taken aback by the sheer volume of attention focused on them.
That he could understand for people like Baldur and Elara, who had shared blood, sweat, and hardship with him on the subjugation campaign.
But he hadn't expected even nobles he had never laid eyes on to look his way with such warmth and interest.
Even the Emperor, whom he'd fully expected to bark, How dare the likes of you enter the ballroom with my daughter?, had instead welcomed him.
This is all because... Anya has shown everyone how hard she's been working all this time, isn't it.
Once again, he found himself marveling at just how remarkable she was.
The frail, sickly girl of the past had become the Imperial Princess poised to hold the fate of the Empire in her hands — and she was guiding him forward.
The thought felt strange, and yet it stirred something tight and warm in his chest.
And then—
Irene...?
Logan felt a familiar presence at the far entrance of the ballroom.
His heart plummeted. How could he possibly not recognize it, when he had poured out everything he had to cherish and devote himself to her for nearly his entire life?
......
But now it had to be severed. Someone might call it cold-hearted — yet it was Irene who had trampled on his feelings first.
Irene falling for Rian at first sight. The fact that she hadn't chosen him.
Because he had respected her heart, he had strained himself to the limit trying to understand.
But then — after everything he had given her for so long...
Her complete lack of respect for him, her every action and attitude devoted to Rian alone...
Yes. Even that, he had endured.
Because the journey to subdue the Demon King was grueling enough, and she had been competing with Sera over Rian the whole way through.
From her point of view, everything must have been nerve-wracking and exhausting...
Perhaps she had simply wanted to vent that stress on the person who felt safest to her — himself — and so, with that thought, he had understood and borne it.
But then came the visions of the future he had witnessed after the Demon King fell.
Logan had realized he was trapped in a reality where those horrifying, cruel scenes could no longer be dismissed as illusions.
And he could no longer hold on to his pure, devoted love for Irene.
In the end, he had been forced to make a choice so painful it felt like his chest was being torn open.
How could it ever be easy to let go of someone he had cherished and treasured so dearly?
No more... I can't... Irene...
His heart wanted nothing more than to walk toward her right now — toward Irene, who was sending him such pitiful, pleading glances as if begging him to look her way — and treat her as tenderly as he always had.
He wanted to wipe away her tears and soothe her, telling her it would be all right.
However—
The moment he did, he would become exactly the man he had seen in those visions of the future.
He would experience that horrific betrayal firsthand... no, again.
It was agonizingly hard, but... now... truly... he had to let her go.
For his own sake — and for hers.
Having made that resolution, Logan forced himself to ignore Irene's gaze.
And a short while later—
She's gone...?
He sensed her presence vanish, and felt nothing but bitter emptiness.
Enough of this. It's disrespectful to Anya.
He shook his head and turned his attention to the person standing at his side, the one who valued him so dearly.
He would focus on Anastasia, and spend the ball at her side.
###
Anastasia hadn't let a trace of it show on her face, but in truth she was a wreck of nerves.
Because Irene had appeared at the ballroom entrance without warning.
How can anyone be so shameless?
She had originally come here intending to enjoy the ball with Rian, not Logan. So was it renewed attraction to the sight of Logan, so elegantly and handsomely dressed? Or had she simply never let go of her obsession?
Stop staring at him!
Irene was sending Logan a fervent — no, practically begging — gaze, one Logan could never possibly fail to notice.
And that was exactly why Anastasia was so terrified: what if Logan shook off the woman standing beside him and went back to that woman?
And then, thank the heavens—
Logan...!
He didn't leave her side.
He didn't go to Irene!
It might be a little childish, Anastasia thought, but she was drunk on an inexplicable sense of victory, and she was so, so happy. And yet a corner of her heart couldn't help worrying about him.
Logan... are you really all right?
Did he truly hold no lingering feelings for that woman anymore?
No — of course he must still have some... and yet...
At the very least, she could see that he was no longer trying to show it, that he was doing his very best to let go.
Which meant what she needed to do was hold him gently and help him overcome the wound, so he could move forward.
Logan, I'll always be by your side!
Anastasia quietly took his hand as she stood beside him.
His hand was cold. His heart was probably much the same. If so — then she would simply have to melt it warm.
"Anya?"
"Heheh..."
She smiled softly at him, a little flustered by her sudden touch, then slipped her arm through his with practiced ease and led him toward the center of the ballroom.
"Would you care to try this one, Logan?"
"Ah, I can feed myself, really—"
"None of that. Here! Come on, say ahh~"
"...Ahh."
And so Anastasia resolved to dote on Logan all evening and enjoy the ball to the fullest.
So he wouldn't drift into dark thoughts. So his attention belonged to her alone. So the wound in his heart could finally begin to heal.
###
The victory ball ripened into full splendor.
As the palace orchestra struck up a lively yet graceful waltz, the men and women gathered across the vast hall began pairing off naturally, dancing across the floor.
Logan and Anastasia were no exception.
"Ah, Anya... you see... I've never actually danced before... so perhaps it would be best if we... didn't...?"
Logan said in a trembling voice to Anastasia, who stood across from him holding both of his hands.
Given the mood of the ballroom, and given that she had invited him to dance, he had reluctantly followed her out onto the floor — but this really didn't feel right to him.
Thanks to Anastasia, he looked the part of a noble well enough on the outside, but he had never learned a single thing about noble culture or etiquette. Did he really have the right to dance with her?
Even if he hurried to search through his memories of his past life right now — no, even if he turned them inside out searching every corner — he would find nothing about dance. Not a scrap of knowledge, not a hint of technique.
And so Logan tried to refuse, afraid that a single misstep from him might somehow blemish the noble, elegant image Anastasia carried.
Anastasia, who understood his heart perfectly, gave him a soft, reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, Logan. You'll do wonderfully. I'll be the one leading, so all you have to do is follow along comfortably."
"...Yes. I'll do my very best not to be a burden."
"Oh, Logan, what are you saying? A burden? Even if you step on my feet a hundred times and make a hundred mistakes, it's perfectly fine — so just relax."
"No, I really don't think I should go that far— Whoa!"
When Logan kept hesitating, Anastasia half-pulled him into her lead and began to dance.
Logan did his utmost to stay calm and follow Anastasia's movements. She had promised him it was fine to make mistakes, which meant he absolutely could not make a flood of them.
And yet, honestly, it was far easier than he'd expected.
No — just as she'd said, dancing wasn't difficult at all.
Perhaps because her lead was simply magnificent.
Her movements flowed like water, and she absorbed even his awkward missteps with effortless grace.
And so Logan found himself dancing comfortably in Anastasia's arms.
Anastasia, for her part, was astonished.
You're really this good, this fast?
She hadn't imagined Logan would follow her lead so skillfully.
Even if he had stepped on her feet a hundred times, she would have endured it with a happy, joyful heart.
Dancing with him... that alone would have made this a beautiful, dizzying moment.
And yet here he was, following her with such fluid, practiced grace... like a partner she had been dancing with for years.
"You're amazing, Logan!"
"...That's only because you're leading so well, Anya."
"No, it's not! You're truly wonderful! Waah!"
Perhaps embarrassed by her stream of praise, Logan cut her off by taking over the lead himself.
With movements genuinely elegant and beautiful. There was no hesitation in him now — on the contrary, he guided Anastasia through bolder, more passionate steps.
The eyes of everyone in the ballroom turned naturally toward the two of them.
"Ooooh... what a beautiful pair."
"Truly — not only Her Highness the Imperial Princess, but Sir Logan is remarkable as well...!"
The nobles traded exclamations of admiration back and forth as they watched—
"Kheheh! What do you say, pointy-ears? Looks like your plan to console the sulky boy who couldn't properly dance with the Imperial Princess has already gone up in smoke, eh?"
"Sh-shut it, dwarf! I never once thought anything of the sort!"
Baldur and Elara, true to form, bickered as they enjoyed the show.
To anyone watching, the stars of the ballroom were unmistakably Logan and Anastasia.
Their dance was beautiful as a painting, and the gazes they exchanged seemed to brim with deep affection.
Which meant, inevitably, there were those who could only find the sight repulsive.
Tsk...! Useless woman, the lot of her...
Sera clicked her tongue inwardly, recalling Irene fleeing the ballroom in tears without accomplishing a thing.
She had been smiling sweetly at those fools in the hall precisely to keep that woman from stealing the spotlight — and now all of it had come to nothing.
So she turned her gaze elsewhere, and—
Haah... honestly... this one... that one... not a single one of them is any use...
She could only let out a long sigh in her heart.
"WAHAHAHA!!!"
"Come now — who shall be my next partner, my lady?!"
"Oh, milady, would you do me the honor of this dance?"
There was Rian, blissfully oblivious to the gravity of the situation, grinning like an idiot as he danced with the noble young ladies.
And so the ball drew to its close — with those who delighted in one another's company, those who burned with envy and resentment, and those who simply danced the night away without a thought in their heads...
Each heart beating to its own tune, as the evening wound gently to an end.