"Is it really that offensive?"
Moen scratched his head in confusion.
He believed he had shown the utmost sincerity and goodwill, with flawless manners and words that could not possibly be offensive.
Yet, Ariel, the protagonist, seemed utterly unimpressed.
“Sigh, it seems that the conflict between me and the protagonist is truly irreconcilable.”
Muttering this to himself, Moen quickly brushed off the brief unpleasantness from his mind.
No matter how deep the conflict ran between him and Ariel, by tonight their fates would entirely diverge, becoming two parallel lines that would never intersect again.
"From now on, you go be your hero and I'll go be the ordinary. We both have bright futures ahead of us!"
Clenching his fist and waving it lightly at Ariel's retreating figure, Moen shifted his attention back to the matters at hand.
After all, there were still many guests awaiting his attention.
---
"Princess Celicia..."
"Ariel, the protagonist ..."
"And Lea, the future Saintess of the Life Church, ..."
"These are the key figures to keep an eye on today."
As night fell, it was only after standing at the entrance of the banquet hall for a full two hours that Moen finally watched the last guest from his list enter the hall, officially completing his reception task.
"Phew, what a strain."
Moen massaged his aching lower back. Were it not for the original owner of this body having practiced some basic martial arts, he probably would have already collapsed under the weight of this twenty-kilogram ceremonial suit.
"Well done, son."
The duke, whose beard was as wild and thick as a lion's mane—and Moen’s new father in this world—appeared at his side at some point. He had even brought a plate of pastries, holding it out towards Moen.
"Hungry?"
"A bit."
Picking up a pastry, Moen stuffed it into his mouth, abandoning any pretense of aristocratic decorum for the moment.
"How are you feeling?"
"All right."
"Did you remember all those nobles?"
"Not a chance."
Moen smiled wryly.
"Just figuring out who’s who among them already took everything I had."
"Haha, no rush. Take your time."
The Duke of Campbell said, clearly satisfied.
"You’ve already done far better than I expected."
"Ha, thank you." Moen replied with a polite smile.
"Just doing what I'm supposed to."
"Anyway, you won't have to work so hard from now on."
The Duke patted Moen on the shoulder. "Take a short break before heading in."
With that, the lion-like yet still robust Duke of Campbell straightened his back and walked into the banquet hall, resembling a seasoned general stepping onto the battlefield.
Watching his towering figure disappear into the hall, Moen couldn’t help but sigh to himself:
"He’s a good father."
In fact, as the star of this coming-of-age ceremony, Moen wasn’t required to handle the reception duties.
It was a special arrangement by the Duke of Campbell.
As the duke’s son, Moen would undoubtedly become the focal point of the banquet, attracting a swarm of jackal-like nobles looking to snatch some advantage or “eat” him alive.
Since the purpose of a coming-of-age ceremony was to showcase the young nobleman, Moen would have no choice but to confront these challenges head-on.
The difficulty was obvious.
Thus, the Duke had him greet the guests in advance, ensuring that these “jackals” would not openly bypass the lion and directly pounce on him, the not-yet-mature "cub."
Even though it was a coming-of-age ceremony, in the Duke’s eyes, Moen was far from truly grown-up.
"Unfortunately, I’ll let you down tonight."
The original story never elaborated on the Duke of Campbell’s ultimate fate.
But judging by his affection for Moen, it was clear that witnessing the future demise of Moen Campbell would leave him utterly heartbroken.
"This time, though, things will be different."
"I will live well."
"Even if it’s as an ordinary person."
Moen swallowed the last piece of pastry. The feeling of fullness gave him a boost, and the twenty-kilogram ceremonial suit didn't seem so heavy anymore.
"Now, it ‘s time for my own battle to begin."
---
The night wore on.
The banquet hall was alight with activity, the sounds of clinking glasses and cheerful chatter filling the air.
Celicia stood alone on the balcony, gazing at the nightscape of the duke’s manor.
In the era without electric lights, even the most beautiful scenery would blend into the darkness at night, leaving little to admire.
Yet Celicia continued to stare, unbothered by the lack of splendor.
To her, the serenity of the void seemed far more appealing than the noisy banter behind her.
"It’s quite improper of me as the host to leave such an esteemed guest unattended."
Celicia lifted her cool gaze and met the soft smile directed at her.
Moen Campbell, ever elegant and courteous, stood at a precise distance—neither too close to be intrusive nor too far to seem aloof. Placing his hand on his chest, he issued an invitation with refined poise:
“My lady, may I have the honor of a dance?”
"You’re inviting me to dance?"
"Indeed."
Moen smiled faintly. "Is my request unclear or ambiguous?"
"..."
A hint of doubt flickered in Celicia’s expression.
But after a brief silence, she gently placed her gloved hand in his palm.
"It’s your coming-of-age ceremony. I suppose I have no reason to refuse."
"…Thank you."
For some reason, Moen's expression froze slightly.
He quickly recovered, however, leading Celicia to the center of the banquet hall, the focal point of all attention.
The music began, soft and gentle.
Moen held Celicia's delicate hand, lightly resting his other hand on her slender waist, guiding her in step with the melody—a pair of butterflies gracefully flitting in unison.
"Your footwork is quite accomplished."
"Thank you for the compliment. Though, it’s just average."
Moen smiled humbly, as though embodying the reserved modesty of a master at his craft.
In fact, however...
He was far from confident.
Moen never expected the original body—a hedonistic and uncultured fool—would actually have a decent grasp of noble dances.
The memory of Celicia agreeing to his invitation still left him feeling uneasy.
According to the original story, Celicia should have turned him down here. Why had she accepted now?
"You’ve changed, Moen Campbell."
Celicia’s sudden remark made Moen’s heart skip a beat.
Did she see through him—that he was a transmigrator?
"Do I seem misbehaved, Your Highness?"
"No, that's not what I mean."
"Then, what do you mean, Your Highness?"
"Your manner of extending invitations."
