[Host, sharpen your fangs. This is the appetizer. The main course is coming.]
The air thickened. The room fell silent.
And in that silence, I knew—it was coming.
The waiter was about to sprinkle something over the dessert.
My dessert.
Which felt like a waste, really. It was a pixefluff parfait—a dish made by condensing light-magic mana, drying it into fine flakes, and folding it delicately into the cream. An exclusive indulgence, one only powerful nobles could afford, prized for its restorative properties.
[Focus, Host,] Nero warned.
I am focused. Just… lamenting, I thought.
I stood abruptly, the sudden movement making the waiter flinch. He stumbled back in fright and fell hard to the floor.
Maribel and Elias both turned toward me at once, their expressions sharpening with concern. The powder had already settled into the parfait—sad, but inevitable.
The waiter scrambled backward, still on the floor, until his back hit the wall. He froze there, pale and trembling.
