Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Epilogue: Crown Hall 100 Years Ago
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Second Prince Irid was an impulsive and clumsy man. It was because he had grown up constantly compared to the capable First Princess and Third Prince.
The imperial family had an atmosphere so harsh it was cruel even for children. Only the one strongest in both mind and body could ascend to the throne. The Second Prince had been thrown into an endless cycle of competition the moment he could speak.
His characteristic decisiveness stemmed from a deep-seated urge to stand out somehow, and his paranoia did too. A man lacking confidence in himself couldn't trust a single thing.
He was like a bowl with a hole in it. No matter how much good you poured in, if there was a hole, it would never hold—it would just leak away.
That was why he had been drawn to Centra.
She had filled the void no one else could—the empty part he had never received from anyone.
Second Prince Irid inspected the secret passage with Analyst C from the Defense Bureau.
The secret passage from 100 years ago looked quite different. It was cleaner, with relatively brighter lighting. Naturally, there were no traces of his deathmatch with Ronya—no bloodstains or bodies, just a bit of dust accumulated here and there.
Irid knelt on one knee and placed his hand where Centra had lain. He remembered everything: the way she had cried for him, her scent.
If he closed his eyes like this...
It came back as vividly as if it had just happened.
"Your Highness, I heard you have some improvement ideas for the secret passage."
"It would be good to have a mechanism that drops a barrier wall... Even if enemies don't know the mana code for the secret passage, if they have enough power, they could smash their way in, couldn't they?"
"I'll put in a request for funds to improve the secret passage."
"Use my personal money."
The Second Prince rose to his feet. He planned to walk around inspecting every corner of Crown Hall today. Not for the safety of the imperial citizens, but because he missed her terribly today and had come out to relive old memories, at least.
The Second Prince thought someone ought to praise his patience for not rushing straight to the Violet Magic Tower. Ideally, a woman with long black straight hair and blue eyes.
The Second Prince walked through Crown Hall.
The people were bustling about noisily. War raged at the border, but the imperial capital was wealthy and beautiful as ever. Citizens hurried along, each absorbed in their daily work.
Second Prince Irid fiddled with the edge of his hood, which hid his hair. Before the dimensional shift, he had strutted around flaunting his golden hair, basking in the citizens' respect. Everyone had bowed low to the imperial bloodline.
That was how he had sought confirmation of his own worth.
"Your Highness, would you like something to eat?"
Analyst C showed keen perception. Her livelihood depended on her sharp eyes, so after calculating from every angle, she suggested lunch at the perfect moment.
The Second Prince glanced around and nodded toward a café with a clear view of the church steeple.
"Let's go there."
"Understood. Should I clear out the civilians using the café?"
"No, it's fine."
C's eyes curved into a smile. The old Second Prince had seen flaunting his authority as a matter of course—and in the Empire, it was. There was an insurmountable gap in status between a prince and common citizens.
But the current Second Prince knew how to view the world from below. During the inspection, he hadn't just skimmed the surface—he had meticulously checked key points like dark alleys that the guards overlooked.
As a commoner who had risen to become an analyst in the Defense Bureau, C couldn't help but be pleased. A noble truly understanding and caring about the lowly, not as some showy performance.
C was fully prepared to forgive him even if he said "you pay" at the café.
Two cups of coffee and perfectly baked madeleines.
Whether the chef had spotted the Second Prince's golden hair under his pulled-low hood and gone into full service mode, or Analyst C was shooting pleading eyes from behind her expressionless mask with a "...I can't eat until you do first,"
Ignoring such external distractions, the Second Prince propped his chin and gazed out the window. The church steeple was a place he could never forget, even if he tried.
"......"
The hookshot gun. Embracing each other. Flying through the sky.
As he mulled over the most beautiful time of his life, the memories chained one after another. What had happened before they flew into the sky with the hookshot?
Right—Centra had scooped him up in her arms. The weight pressing against his chest and abdomen... that thrilling something transmitted through their skin-tight clothes.
"...Wasn't intentional."
Irid muttered it without thinking. A mumble directed at no one in particular—an excuse that would never reach her.
"It's too late now, but handling the gaze was unavoidable... No, that's just an excuse. If it made her uncomfortable, I should have apologized sooner..."
After waiting about 25 minutes, C decided to just eat it all herself—and did.
The stables were clean and well-maintained. The owner rushed out barefoot to greet them, but the Second Prince told him to go about his business—he would look around alone.
Irid stared blankly at the haystack. He and she had slipped inside there together, holding their breath to shake off pursuers.
He remembered his promise with her.
Irid raised his pinky finger. Someday, if they met again, she had asked him to call her by name.
What had that meant?
C watched the Second Prince staring vacantly at the haystack, then spoke up.
"Are you... reminiscing about someone?"
"Yes. Someone I can no longer see."
"Would you care to describe her appearance, Your Highness? We might be able to track down family or relatives."
"...I see. I could do something for her family."
Even if 100 years had separated them, her bloodline would continue. Perhaps he could find her distant descendants.
Irid recalled her appearance and said,
"She had long lashes and blue eyes—like a vast, clear sea. Her hair was black, long enough to reach halfway down her hips."
"...By any chance, was her hair black with a slight blue tint?"
"Yes, but..."
"I can't say for sure if it's the same person... but I know someone matching that description."
C recalled something from the past. It was an incident she herself had reported on. Coincidentally, the location overlapped.
"She appeared in a Defense Bureau report on dangerous individuals. At the brothel 'Rosaria,' there was a woman named Heart who sold only conversation. Her alias was the Woman of Illusions."
"...Is there a portrait?"
"Yes. Many painters left portraits. There's probably one at 'Rosaria' too."
"Can I see it?"
"Of course."
Irid and C retraced their steps. And once more, they headed to 'Rosaria'.
"......"
Irid stood stock-still before Heart's portrait.
He remembered Centra's features crystal clear. Comparing her to Heart, she was too similar to pass for a distant ancestor.
If they were the same person.
She would have sought out the dimensional mage. Hadn't he himself let slip that there was a genius mage at the Violet Magic Tower who had restored dimensional magic? That he had leaped through time with it.
She would have paid some price... to cast the dimensional magic. To meet Irid. If that was the case, then why hadn't she come looking for him? Why use the alias Heart?
After crossing dimensions to the past, Centra must have agonized.
She wouldn't know if this was 'before Irid's dimensional shift' or 'after.' To avoid a stir about dimensional magic, the imperial family and boy knight had kept the restoration at the Violet Magic Tower secret.
No inquiries would turn up info that 'the Second Prince had undergone a dimensional shift.'
If it was 'before Irid's shift,' announcing the name Centra would be poison. If Irid learned of her ahead of time... the future would change.
The Irid who had shifted dimensions was one who 'didn't know Centra.'
If she couldn't go to him or call him out, all she could do was wait. At the inn of their shared memories—the former brothel 'Rosaria'—using the alias 'Heart' to signal she was waiting for love.
Praying he would realize it, come to her, call her name.
She endured like that for three years. In the end, when Irid never came, her time ran out. She returned to her original world, the future.
She had come looking for him. She had.
Irid climbed to the third floor with unsteady steps.
There was Centra's room. Heart's room too.
He opened the door. The interior was the same. A small room dominated by a bed in one corner, a tiny desk and manuscripts. Various books. And one empty little vase.
Her scent was gone.
He had no choice but to be certain. This current brothel—this room where Heart had stayed—matched exactly the one from 100 years in the future. The only differences were the books and the empty vase.
She had come.
Thump, thump. His heart shook as if his whole body were vibrating. Irid was trembling. The surging emotions felt like they would shatter his heart and burst out, so he gritted his teeth to endure.
A tiny room with no space to even spread papers on the table. Irid carefully perched on the edge of the bed. Here, he had sat side by side with her.
He remembered.
Centra had leaned her head on his shoulder. A pleasant weight settled in, happiness melting through him. In silence, the two had conversed through body heat, presence, atmosphere and scent, each other's souls.
He remembered. The promise.
"Someday, when we meet again... will you call my name?"
He had remembered.
Irid gazed at the vase on the desk and fulfilled the belated promise.
"...Centra."
No answer came.
Irid buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Rain fell.
As if it would never stop...