After his icy confrontation with Reinhardt Windsor in the side corridor alcove and Cecilia Grey's enigmatic "greeting," Leon felt as though his nerves had been stretched like a rubber band again and again, leaving him exhausted yet unnaturally sensitive. He took several deep breaths of the cold air, struggling to calm his turbulent emotions. Running away wouldn't solve anything. In the end, he had to return to the stage that suffocated him, yet that he had no choice but to face.
He straightened his slightly rumpled formalwear and retied his collar, trying to wipe away the obvious signs of his disheveled state. When he stepped through the great archway into the banquet hall once more, the crashing waves of noise and dazzling light swept over him again. But this time, his mindset had changed. Before, he had been like a dwarf lost in a land of giants, filled with panic and unease. Now, after a string of blows and that mysterious "olive branch," a calm born of having nothing left to lose, mixed with an ever-stronger will to survive, began to take root in his heart.
He no longer tried to fit in with the lively conversational circles, nor did he deliberately avoid other people's gazes. He chose a spot near the wall with a relatively clear view, and silently observed the feast of the empire's most powerful nobles like a calm—or perhaps numb—bystander.
His eyes instinctively sought out Eliza first. She still stood alone, like a delicate ice sculpture, in a less crowded part of the hall, holding a glass of water. Her gaze seemed fixed on some point in the air, as if she were meditating—or perhaps simply letting her mind go blank. Her Moonlight Silver hair shone with a cool radiance under the lights, perfectly matching the