CHAPTER 59: 59

The highest VIP chamber was steeped in silence, perched above the grand auditorium like a secluded altar overlooking a temple of ambition.

Alaric sat alone, the glass wall before him rendering the noble sea of velvet-draped guests and auction staff into a distant, hushed theatre of motion.

The soft hum of arcane lights, the occasional flourish of elegant laughter, and the muted rustle of silken robes created a dreamlike soundscape far below.

But Alaric heard none of it.

His thoughts roared louder than the crowd.

Before the auction began, he had told the girls:

"Do whatever you wish. Don’t follow a script. Don’t shackle yourselves to appearances or empty expectations.

If you’re worried about reputation—don’t be. In this world, reputation is just another servant of power. People will respect you only if you have it. Nothing else matters. So act freely."

And yet... here he sat, gazing down with a gaze far heavier than the world below could fathom, trying to understand his own actions.

’Why did I act like that? Last night... and this morning.’

Was it desperation?

’Am I that desperate?’

He didn’t know.

No—he did. Part of him did. The same part that now stirred uncomfortably within his chest.

That sensation... it was not foreign.

He had felt it once before—not in this life, but in the last.

In that fleeting mortal life, amidst grey cubicles and long, fluorescent nights, he once had a senior colleague. She had been kind, brilliant, cheerful and always by his side. Back then, he didn’t understand what the bubbly feeling his chest was.

Not until the end, when death loomed and time ran dry. Only then, in that final, cruel instant, did he realize:

It was love.

He had loved her. He still did, in a way. A gentle phantom memory. But this time, he felt it again—stronger. Real. Alive.

He felt it with Aurevia.

And perhaps, though not as intensely, with the others too—Serineth, Cellione, Virellen. Their presence stirred something in him, but with them, it was like the sun peeking through mist. Gentle. Distant. Not yet.

’They’re still so young in form...’

He told himself. ’I can wait. I will wait.’

But Aurevia?

Aurevia had bloomed.

The moment she stepped into [Rank-5]... she changed. Not just in power, but in presence. Her aura crystallized. Her beauty ripened. She no longer looked like a girl.

She became a woman.

And with that change, his thoughts—long suppressed and buried under the guise of self-restraint—began to stir. Every time he looked at her now, his heart betrayed him.

Her elegance, her composure, her unwavering loyalty—it overwhelmed him. Her charm wasn’t just physical; it was elemental, like frostfire, beautiful and cold, yet burning all the same.

He had tried to suppress it. To chain down the storm inside.

’She’s still underage,’

He told himself. ’

Even if She’s your slave. You mustn’t.’

But then... he thought of the auction.

Of all those noble pigs who would watch his girls take the stage, dressed in silks and jewels, made to smile and serve wine, unaware that every curve of their beauty was already claimed—by him.

Especially Aurevia.

When that thought crossed his mind—that other men would see her, laugh beside her, admire her—something in him snapped.

His blood boiled.

It was that moment—the clarity.

’I’m in love with her.’

Not the childish kind. Not some passing fascination. But the kind that devours and elevates. The kind he once missed in his former life. The kind he promised himself he would never ignore again.

He acted on it—poorly. Stupidly. Recklessly.

He wanted to know if she felt anything for him. If her smiles, her gentle ministrations, her unwavering obedience... meant anything more than just servitude.

He had thought about asking. A thousand times. Yet never found the courage. What if she said no? What if she was only with him because she had no choice?

But then... last night.

The way it all unfolded—step by step, word by word—until finally, her lips parted, and she said the words he had dreamed of.

"I love you, Master."

And he... lost all control.

The moment their lips met—time shattered.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a collision of souls.

Her lips were soft and icy, like the first snow of winter melting on warm skin. There was a quiet tremble in the moment, like two hearts holding their breath.

Alaric, who had never tasted a woman’s kiss before—not in this life, nor the last—felt like the world tilted beneath him. His entire body froze. Then ignited.

Her lips weren’t just cold—they were alive, charged with emotion, with hidden longing, with dignity that surrendered itself only to him.

There was a sweetness, faint like mint and morning dew.

But deeper than that... there was something more.

The kiss awakened a hunger. Not just for her body, but her essence. Her presence. He wanted to hold her forever, to feel her every breath, to know every inch of her being, not as a slave or follower—but as a woman.

He had tasted the forbidden fruit, and now he craved the orchard.

Even now, seated above a thousand nobles and dignitaries, his thoughts returned to her. To the shape of her lips. The curve of her neck. The way she gasped when their lips parted.

The way her crimson eyes, always so sharp and proud, softened with something vulnerable... something real.

And with that kiss, something irreversible happened.

A boundary crossed can never be recrossed.

He knew it. And he didn’t regret it.

He wanted her—more than he had ever wanted anything in either of his lives. To keep her close. To possess her, not out of ownership, but desire. To protect her, not as a Master, but as a man in love.

Am I wrong to feel this way? he wondered.

If so, then let me be wrong. Let me be devoured by it.

Every time he thought of her now, his desire stirred like wildfire beneath a thin sheet of ice. He barely contained it.

But he would. For now.

Because this was not yet the time.

The stage lights below flared to life, drawing a hush over the crowd. The auction was about to begin. The girls would be stepping forward soon, radiant and poised.

And he, high above them all, would watch—not as a Master.

But as a man who had finally, painfully, wonderfully fallen in love.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Behind the velvet-draped wings of the grand auction stage, tucked within a sprawling corridor bathed in soft aetherlight, the girls prepared in quiet, controlled chaos.

Jewels glittered on counters. Powder and perfume danced in the air like fine mist. Dresses whispered against skin as delicate fabrics slid into place, guided by enchanted mannequins and silent, gliding attendants. The space, though spacious and magically cooled, pulsed with rising tension.

At the center of it all stood Aurevia—crimson eyes determined, but her face slightly flushed.

"...I didn’t betray anyone,"

She murmured defensively, gripping the hem of her gown. A dazzling icy-blue dress hugged her form, accentuating her elegant figure, the new maturity of her curves unmistakable.

Her white hair had been tied back in a loose braid that cascaded over her shoulder like moonlight. She looked every inch the dignified hostess.

And yet she couldn’t meet their eyes.

"You kissed him,"

Cellione hissed, tying the ribbon of her own sleek violet dress.

"You kissed Master. On the lips. That’s not just betrayal. That’s high treason."

"She’s not wrong,"

Serineth added quietly, clutching a clipboard and spell-imbued crystal box containing the first item. Her cheeks were puffed slightly, not in rage—but in wounded disbelief.

Her green hair was styled into soft twin buns, and her stage robes bore elegant dark-gold patterns that shimmered when she moved.

"I-It just happened!"

Aurevia said, louder than she intended.

"I wasn’t planning to—! He said he loved me and I panicked and—"

"Oh so now you panic and we suffer?"

Cellione shot back, arms crossed, tapping her heel.

"I’m sorry!"

Aurevia finally said, exasperated, hands rising in helpless protest.

"I didn’t mean to do it in secret! It just... it wasn’t planned. The moment took over!"

"’The moment took over,’"

Virellen echoed mockingly from her bench as she adjusted her white gloves, sliding them over her gauntlet-braced forearms. Her noble attire, a hybrid of servant elegance and battlefield readiness, looked dangerously alluring.

"That’s how all tragic love stories start. Next thing you know, you’re eloping across borders and the rest of us are selling potions alone in a dirty market stall."

"Virellen!"

Aurevia turned crimson.

The other girls chuckled, albeit with lingering pettiness. The tension hadn’t dissolved, but it had softened.

"You’re lucky he didn’t kiss me first,"

Cellione huffed, brushing a stray curl from her brow.

"We wouldn’t even be having this conversation. I would’ve marked him mine on the spot."

"That’s because you have no shame,"

Serineth whispered.

Cellione grinned.

"And you have no courage."

The banter danced between irritation and affection, like sisters stung by envy but bound by loyalty. The kiss had been a crack in their equilibrium, a secret blooming into something irreversible.

They weren’t angry at Aurevia—not truly. They were scared. Of change. Of losing their place at Alaric’s side. Of realizing that feelings were beginning to evolve beyond companionship, beyond duty... into something deeper.

And Aurevia? She felt it too. The weight. The guilt. But also the joy. The fluttering heat she couldn’t silence.

Even now, as she applied a final gloss of frost-touched lipstick in front of the mirror, her thoughts wandered. That kiss... The way his breath hitched. The strength of his arms. The way her whole body had trembled—not in fear, but in wonder.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool them.

"Ugh, she’s blushing again,"

Cellione muttered.

"We’re doomed."

"I’m not!"

Aurevia snapped.

"You are,"

Virellen said, smirking.

"And if you mess up tonight because your heart is somewhere in his mouth, I will trip you on stage. With elegance, of course."

Aurevia groaned and turned away, muttering icy threats beneath her breath.

Beyond the chatter and teasing, the backdrop of real work was moving with precision.

Lord Crydias stood off to one side, overseeing logistics with a gruff nod. He looked out of place in his noble attire—coat half-buttoned, papers sticking out from his sleeves, quill tucked behind his ear like a battle-ready dagger. His usually disheveled hair had been combed, though not particularly well.

Lady Crydias, in contrast, was the picture of poise—dressed in a refined high-collared gown, clipboard in hand, her voice calm but absolute. Every servant moved when she spoke. Every enchanted register opened at her touch.

"This room must remain under spatial lock,"

She instructed one staff member.

"No unauthorized teleportation. Only approved personnel through the veil gate. Have the item rotation spells been calibrated?"

"Yes, Lady Crydias,"

The servant bowed.

"And the payment seals?"

"Lord Crydias finished them ten minutes ago,"

The servant added, slightly apologetic.

She sighed.

"Then check them again."

Despite the chaos, the Crydias couple functioned like opposing gears of a well-wound machine—one immaculate and exacting, the other a charming mess of brilliance. Together, they made the impossible happen.

Backstage, the girls’ roles had been finalized.

Serineth and Cellione would handle the presentation of items on stage, guiding enchanted crates and summoning the aura of mystery around each relic and potion.

Virellen, steady and reliable, would oversee post-sale procedures—verifying payment, delivering the items to winning bidders, and ensuring security. Her gauntlets were not just decorative.

And Aurevia... she was the star.

The face and voice of the auction.

She would announce each item. Read each description. Direct the bidding.

Tonight, she would be not just a swordswoman, not just Alaric’s shadow or soldier—but a jewel of the Pavilion.

And yet... her heart beat for someone watching from above.

She tilted her head upward, toward the ceiling she couldn’t see through. Somewhere beyond that crystal-glass chamber, Alaric watched. She could feel it.

Despite everything—flustered, panicked, scared—she wanted him to be proud.

A gentle chime rang through the room. The final bell.

It was time.

The girls turned toward the stage entrance. The auction would begin in moments.

But before they stepped forward, Cellione placed a hand on Aurevia’s shoulder.

"Whatever happens tonight... don’t trip. You’ll take us all down with you."

Aurevia gave a tight smile, then took a deep breath.

And walked toward the light.

-To Be Continued