Facing Emily, Alicia, and Yuui—who had long since made their deal with Kexi—naturally chose to go.
A few minutes later, Alicia was led by Emily into an exceptionally luxurious salon within the academy.
As the heavy walnut doors, upholstered with dark velvet and studded with brass nails, swung open, the girl felt as though she had crossed an invisible barrier of class.
What washed over her was not noise, but the mellow tranquility born of time and wealth—an intoxicating blend of top-grade coffee beans, rare woods, and expensive wax.
Though the spacious hall was not open and plain, it was carefully partitioned into semi-private "islands."
From the lofty ceiling adorned with ornate carvings and dark-golden leaf motifs hung massive chandeliers made of countless crystal prisms. Under the masterful design of artisans, light was perfectly refracted and fell softly upon the hall, scattering into a constellation of delicate glimmers.
The walls were not plain either; they were lined with deep-brown walnut wainscoting, overlaid with dark green and burgundy silk tapestries woven with faint golden vine patterns—fabrics whose worth could be seen at a glance.
A few classical oil paintings framed in heavy gilded frames further elevated the ancient opulence of the space.
This was the Golden Broom Salon, a place within the Academy open only to nobles of pure bloodline and high birth.
Alicia had been here before—as a girl who had grown up in humble circumstances, she had only dared to glance through its doors once before leaving.
She had never understood why a place meant merely for conversation and tea needed such staggering extravagance.
But now, as she truly stepped inside, she finally understood at least part of the reason.
Power.
Upon entering this salon, she could feel the scent of power radiating from every inch of the room. Yet beneath that power lurked an unimaginable decay—so strong it was almost nauseating.
"Yuui-san, I hate this place."
"So do I. Nobles of this kind always exude that stench of rot. But in their words, it's 'the weight of history.' Yet I feel no such gravity—only the unpleasant sense of being looked down upon by those drunk on power and class."
Alicia nodded. Yuui always understood her so well.
Just then, a handsome man—fit enough to be a model—emerged from the shadows.
He offered Alicia a graceful bow with one hand over his chest, then spoke in a flawless, refined tone: "Good day, miss. Lord Roland is already waiting for you inside. Please follow me."
Alicia nodded nervously and followed the attendant deeper into the salon.
What surprised her, however, was that Emily did not accompany her in. Instead, she stood by the doorway like a maidservant, her eyes filled with envy—and a touch of deep-seated jealousy—as she watched Alicia go.
Puzzled, Alicia could only glance back once before continuing forward.
They walked deeper inside, up to the second floor, beneath a grand stained-glass window depicting an ancient family crest. There, in a semicircular walnut booth, sat the man who had summoned her.
He was a man whose mere presence could make any work of art seem dull by comparison. He did not need to draw attention—his existence alone was magnetic.
His shoulder-length hair gleamed like molten gold, tied loosely at the back with what appeared to be a simple clasp—yet it was crafted from a single polished piece of deep-sea black pearl. A few loose strands fell naturally, catching the dreamlike light streaming through the stained glass, shimmering with an almost divine glow.
His face could have been the magnum opus of a classical sculptor—every contour elegantly defined, his nose sharp as a mountain ridge, his jawline precise and clean, every curve balanced perfectly between strength and grace.
If this man appeared in the mind of a storyteller, they would no doubt shape their protagonist in his image—and still worry their words could never capture his beauty.
At that moment, the man's head was slightly lowered, his deep blue eyes as calm and profound as the ocean after a storm. Through a platinum monocle inlaid with a tiny sapphire, he read the open tome in his hands with tranquil focus.
The book was clearly ancient, its leather cover darkened with age, yet the worn edges of its pages were immaculate. His movements were slow and deliberate—his fingers long, joints defined, nails rounded to perfection. He turned the pages with only the edge of his fingertip, as though handling a sacred relic whose wisdom must not be defiled.
When the monocle slipped slightly, he adjusted it with a subtle push of his index finger—the same one bearing a platinum signet ring engraved with a family crest whose age alone exuded generations of heritage.
Alicia found her breath catching at the sight.
He was like a living monument forged from bloodline, authority, and education. Without words or posture, merely by sitting there and turning those ancient pages, his presence filled the entire Golden Broom Salon with a timeless, absolute elegance—an aura that declared, unmistakably: here, in this realm of luxury, he alone was master.
Before such a man, Alicia found herself utterly at a loss for words. His innate nobility pressed down upon the country girl from the provinces until her thoughts spun.
She was defeated before the battle even began.
Which meant—this was Yuui's stage now.
"Alicia, leave it to me."
"Alright, Yuui-san."
Soul Shift!
When the girl's eyes opened again, the pearl-like innocence within them was gone, replaced by invisible authority. The aura she exuded was not of magic, but of a superior addressing an inferior.
The attendant before her seized up for a moment. After a brief pause, he forced himself to suppress the urge to glance back at the figure behind him.
He continued to lead the girl forward; however, his movements had become stiff—like a puppet with rusted joints—as the weight of her presence pressed upon his lungs.
At that moment, the man, too, seemed to sense that overwhelming authority emanating from her. His oceanic eyes lifted toward her, a flicker of curiosity surfacing within.
The ten meters between them felt like scaling a mountain. By the time the attendant finally brought Alicia before the man, sweat had soaked through his shirt, and the man's gaze rolled like a storm-tossed sea.
Two auras of authority clashed in silence—one born of noble blood and heritage, the other of a former world sovereign, the creator of Duel Monsters himself.
It was evident whose dominance reigned supreme.
With only a single glance, the man's pressure was crushed by the girl's gaze. His sharp brows tightened further.
At last, the attendant gathered his courage to break the suffocating silence.
"Lord Roland, Miss Alicia has arrived!"
...
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