Sixty thousand.

  The number echoed inside Duke Merlo’s mind.

  Is it worth that price?

  Should I go higher?

  Or is she mocking me?

  The auction hall had fallen into absolute silence, hundreds of eyes fixed squarely on him. Even the usual murmurs of greed and excitement had vanished, as if the entire crowd were holding its breath.

  Duke Merlo’s bidding paddle hovered halfway in the air.

  Seventy thousand was not a small sum—even for him. And no matter how rare the Black Hearts were, no matter how insulting or tempting the display had been, this was still a toy. A beautifully engineered trap, yes—but not the reason he had come tonight.

  He had other targets.

  Other plans.

  Beside him, Guild Master Exis felt a flicker of tension run through his spine.

  “Lord Merlo…” he said carefully.

  Even Exis hadn’t expected the golden-masked woman to push things this far. A part of him wondered if this was deliberate—a calculated snare meant to bait the duke into overcommitting before the true prizes appeared.

  If Merlo crossed seventy thousand, it would no longer be spectacle.

  It would be personal.

  Exis was just about to intervene—

  When Merlo exhaled slowly.

  The bidding paddle lowered.

  Not in defeat.

  But in restraint.

  A step back… taken with intent.

  A murmur rippled through the hall as the meaning of that single motion sank in.

  Merlo lifted his gaze.

  His eyesight was no longer sharp enough to read expressions from across the hall, but he didn’t need it. He could feel her presence. The confidence. The amusement.

  And he could imagine the smirk beneath that golden mask.

  It didn’t irritate him.

  It excited him.

  He spoke, his voice calm, steady, and loud enough for the entire hall to hear.

  “This round,” he said, “is my gift to you, girl.”

  A pause.

  “But there will be no next time.”

  A soft giggle answered him from across the hall.

  “Don’t worry, mister,” Helena replied lightly. “I don’t play games I’d lose.”

  Laughter broke out—nervous, thrilled, uncertain.

  Duke Merlo laughed as well, a deep and genuine sound, before turning back toward Exis.

  “Your subordinate has brought an astonishing person,” he said. “I look forward to the next round.”

  Exis returned the smile—but his was strained.

  Because he had no idea what was unfolding.

  No idea who this golden-masked woman truly was.

  And for the first time in a long while, that uncertainty unsettled him.

  He could only hope one thing—

  That Duke Merlo would not take offense.

  Otherwise…

  He might need to offer more than a discount later.

  Helena lowered her bidding paddle.

  The black lion was hers.

  For a brief moment, nothing happened.

  Then the attention shifted.

  Not to the stage.

  Not to the auctioneer.

  To her.

  Within Rias’s VIP section, the atmosphere subtly changed. The noble ladies who had previously regarded Helena with distant curiosity—or mild disdain—now looked at her differently.

  Not with admiration.

  Not with warmth.

  But with recognition.

  She wasn’t above them.

  But she wasn’t beneath them either.

  An equal.

  And for people like them, equality was far more unsettling than hierarchy.

  Rias noticed immediately.

  Her fingers tightened slightly around her own paddle.

  On one hand, Helena spending openly was good. It established presence.

  On the other—

  If she kept burning gold like this, she’d have trouble when the true objective appeared.

  The property.

  Rias exhaled quietly, already feeling a headache forming.

  Helena, meanwhile, was in excellent spirits.

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  She waved cheerfully toward the stage, catching the auctioneer’s attention just as staff began preparing the next item.

  “Hey!” Helena called out. “Can you give me my item?”

  The auctioneer blinked.

  That was… unconventional.

  Normally, auction items were distributed only after the auction concluded and payments were fully processed. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have politely declined.

  But this was not an ordinary circumstance.

  He paused for only a heartbeat.

  Then nodded.

  “Of course, my lady.”

  He turned and gestured toward the staff carrying the black lion away from the stage.

  “Deliver the item to bidder number thirty-three.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that special treatment?”

  “She hasn’t paid yet!”

  “What if she runs off with it?”

  “Are the rules different for her?!”

  Voices rose from different corners of the hall, sharp with suspicion and irritation.

  But the veterans didn’t speak.

  They watched.

  They understood.

  Something had happened behind the scenes—something the newcomers weren’t aware of.

  The auctioneer cleared his throat.

  When he spoke again, his voice carried a firm edge that cut cleanly through the noise.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “for those concerned about favoritism—allow me to clarify.”

  He looked directly at the crowd.

  “The lady in the golden mask has already completed her payment with the auction house.”

  The murmurs faltered.

  “She has full legal ownership of the item the moment the hammer fell.”

  A pause.

  “Therefore, she has every right to receive it immediately.”

  Silence followed.

  “…An escrow?” someone asked hesitantly.

  The auctioneer nodded.

  “Yes, sir. Guild Escrow Registration.”

  He continued smoothly, now clearly in lecture mode.

  “It exists not only to prevent payment disputes, but also to provide convenience. Registered bidders may retrieve their items immediately. The auction house will handle all logistics and return any remaining funds after the auction concludes.”

  That was more than enough.

  The hall went quiet.

  The staff reached Helena’s section and carefully presented the black lion to her.

  Helena accepted it with a satisfied smile.

  The auctioneer straightened.

  “Well then,” he said brightly, “let us proceed.”

  He raised his hand toward the stage.

  “Bring out the next item.”

  The auction staff carefully handed the stuffed lion to Helena.

  She accepted it with both hands and inspected it closely.

  It was bigger than she had expected.

  The plush body was dense and well-made, its black fur soft beneath her fingers, the gray mane thick and carefully stitched. The Black Hearts set into its eyes reflected the light faintly—deep, flawless, unsettlingly beautiful.

  As Helena examined it, she felt it.

  Eyes.

  Dozens of them.

  She glanced up.

  Every child of the Mask Gang was staring at her.

  Unblinking.

  Hopeful.

  Desperate.

  Helena tilted her head.

  “…You want it?” she asked casually.

  The response was immediate.

  Every single child nodded at once.

  Helena’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

  Stella’s stomach dropped.

  Oh no.

  Helena leaned back slightly, hugging the lion to her chest for just a second before grinning wider.

  “Then go ask your parents to buy one.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “You bully!” Stella shouted before she could stop herself, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

  It was enough.

  Hearts shattered.

  Several children turned on the spot and ran toward their parents, tears already streaming, cries echoing through the VIP section.

  “I want it—!”

  “She got one—!”

  “Why can’t I—?!”

  Chaos bloomed.

  Helena, completely unbothered, handed the black lion to Laysandra.

  Laysandra instinctively took it—

  And froze.

  The sheer weight of it hit her all at once.

  Not the physical weight.

  The meaning.

  Sixty thousand gold coins.

  Her hands stiffened. Her thoughts locked up.

  “I…” she managed weakly.

  Nothing else came out.

  Stella crossed her arms, glaring up at Helena.

  “Do you really have to do this?” she demanded. “You’re evil.”

  Helena blinked innocently.

  “Hehe. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Stella stomped her foot.

  “You’re bullying the other children!”

  Helena’s smile softened just a little—not kindly, but thoughtfully.

  She crouched slightly to meet Stella’s eyes.

  “Then,” Helena said calmly, “should I have given them my purchase?”

  She gestured toward the lion.

  “Something that cost sixty thousand gold coins?”

  That stopped Stella cold.

  Her anger faltered.

  She opened her mouth—

  Then closed it again.

  She couldn’t say yes.

  She couldn’t say Helena was wrong.

  And she couldn’t say Helena should give away what belonged to her.

  The conflict twisted in her chest, leaving her silent.

  Helena straightened, satisfied.

  Lesson delivered.

  No sermon required.

  Stella hesitated, then spoke more quietly.

  “But… you didn’t have to mock them.”

  Helena glanced down at her, surprised for a moment—then nodded.

  “You’re right,” she said easily. “I shouldn’t have teased them.”

  Stella relaxed a little.

  “But,” Helena continued, her tone calm rather than defensive, “they were expecting me to give them something that belongs to me. For free.”

  Stella’s shoulders slumped. Guilt crept in, heavy and uncomfortable. She didn’t know how to argue against that. She didn’t know what to say at all.

  Helena reached out and rested a hand on Stella’s head, fingers light.

  “Let me tell you something,” she said. “I’m only saying this because you seem like a responsible and thoughtful child.”

  Stella looked up, listening.

  “Even if I had given them the plushie,” Helena went on, “they wouldn’t have gotten to play with it. Not really.”

  Stella frowned.

  “Their… greedy demons—” Helena paused, then corrected herself with a small grin. “Ah. Sorry. Their mothers—who’ve been staring at those Black Hearts since the moment they appeared—would have ripped them out.”

  She shrugged lightly.

  “And I don’t feel like giving an expensive thing I bought to people I don’t even know.”

  Stella’s eyes widened. She glanced toward the surrounding sections.

  She saw it now.

  The looks.

  The calculating stares.

  The way several women’s gazes kept drifting back to the plushie in Laysandra’s hands.

  Stella swallowed.

  She understood.

  She was a child—but she was also a noble. She knew that feeling. The urge to own something rare. To turn beauty into status.

  Even she felt it tugging at her chest—half of her wanting the lion as a toy, the other half imagining those Black Hearts as jewelry.

  Helena smiled faintly.

  “You’d make a very competent noblewoman one day.”

  Stella blinked.

  “R-Really?” she asked, suddenly bright.

  “Yeah,” Helena replied. “Really.”

  Stella beamed. “Mother says I’m too mature for my age sometimes.”

  Helena chuckled. “Maybe you are. But that’s nothing to worry about.” She tapped Stella’s head gently. “You still have your childish side.”

  Before Stella could respond, Helena felt a sharp tug at her sleeve.

  She turned.

  Laysandra stood there, stiff as a board, eyes wide, hands locked around the plush lion like it might explode.

  “What’s wrong, Lyasi?” Helena asked.

  Laysandra said something.

  Helena didn’t hear it.

  “Hm? Could you speak up a little?”

  Something snapped.

  “I SAID TAKE THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!” Laysandra screamed. “DO YOU WANT ME TO BE KILLED?!”

  The shout nearly ruptured Helena’s eardrums.

  Helena winced. “Uh— but I bought it for you.”

  “I DON’T CARE!” Laysandra snapped. “I don’t want it! I don’t want anything this expensive! Just—take it away!”

  Helena sighed and rubbed the corner of her eye with one finger.

  “Okay. Okay.”

  She took the plushie from Laysandra’s hands.

  Instant relief washed over Laysandra. Her chest felt lighter, like she’d just escaped generations of debt.

  Helena stared at the black lion for a moment, expression blank.

  Then she turned—and placed it squarely into Stella’s lap.

  Stella froze.

  “…Eh?”

  “Here,” Helena said simply. “Take it.”

  Stella’s thoughts collapsed into chaos.

  “I—I can’t—” she started.

  Helena pinched her lips shut between two fingers.

  “Mm.”

  Stella made a muffled noise of protest.

  Helena spoke calmly. “I’m long past the age of playing with toys. I don’t care much for shiny things either. If I keep it, it’ll just rot in my storage.”

  She tilted her head. “So you should have it.”

  Stella stared at her.

  Sixty thousand gold coins.

  Given away.

  Just like that.

  Was Helena unimaginably rich—or simply unimaginably ignorant?

  Stella didn’t know.

  She only knew that if she didn’t speak now, she would become the owner of the most expensive plushie in the history of the kingdom—possibly the continent.

  She looked back.

  Her mother stood behind her, smiling behind a folded fan, eyes sparkling with amusement.

  No help there.

  That smile clearly said: Your friend. Your responsibility.

  Stella exhaled slowly.

  “But—” she tried again, voice still muffled.

  Helena raised an eyebrow.

  Stella pointed at her lips.

  “Oh.” Helena released her. “Sorry. Forgot.”

  Stella took a breath.

  “…I’ll accept it,” she said at last. “But before that—tell me why you don’t want it yourself. You could turn those Black Hearts into accessories. Or wait a few years—looking at your age, you might have children soon—”

  “Ouch.”

  Helena lightly flicked the top of Stella’s head.

  Stella yelped and rubbed it. “What was that for?!”

  “Aren’t you a bit too mature?” Helena said dryly.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Stella shot back.

  “Nothing,” Helena replied. “And didn’t I already tell you? I don’t like accessories. And I don’t plan to have children.”

  She paused, then added flatly, “Especially not at this old age.”

  Stella frowned, confused by that last part.

  Old age?

  She looked at Helena again—but decided not to ask.

  Some mysteries felt… safer left alone.