"W-What does that mean?" Florian asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His confusion had deepened into something heavier—something bordering on dread.
Heinz exhaled slowly, his arms crossing over his chest in a deliberately slow, measured motion. His head tilted downward, and a few strands of his long black hair slipped forward, casting faint shadows over his sharp, aristocratic features. The dim candlelight in the room flickered, catching the eerie crimson glow in his irises.
"How much do you know about me, Not-Florian?"
Florian stiffened at the nickname, his brows twitching in irritation, but he quickly masked the reaction. He crossed his arms in return, mirroring Heinz’s posture. It felt strange—relieving, even—to finally drop the forced personality he had been maintaining in front of him.
"So this is what it feels like to stop pretending," Florian thought, barely suppressing a sigh.
"Florian is fine," he said instead, his voice steadier now. "I’ve already gotten used to the name." He glanced at Heinz cautiously before continuing. "And I don’t know much, except that you’re the king who overthrew his father, you have a harem—" He gestured vaguely before adding dryly, "—that this body is somehow a part of..."
Heinz let out a quiet hum, his expression unreadable, before tilting his head slightly to the side.
"Before I overthrew and killed my father," he said, voice low and measured, "I went to an island. It was said to be owned by a god—one who grants a wish to any human he deems worthy."
Florian’s breath hitched.
’I... didn’t know this.’
The novel—or even Kaz—never mentioned anything like this.
’And how the hell is he saying he killed his father so casually?!’
A sliver of unease settled in Florian’s chest, but Heinz pressed forward, his tone unwavering.
"I won’t bother with unnecessary details," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But the god granted me a wish. I asked to become the most powerful person in the world. It was granted, of course."
A slow, mirthless smirk ghosted across Heinz’s lips.
"The god, you see... was bored. And apparently, I gave him enough entertainment."
Then, as if to brand the weight of his words into Florian’s mind, Heinz lifted his gaze, locking eyes with him. The flickering candlelight made his irises glow like smoldering embers.
"And when I died," he continued, voice slow, deliberate, "he showed himself to me. Told me he’d give me another chance to start again."
Silence.
A cold chill curled up Florian’s spine.
’So... it’s the god’s fault? Did he—did that god also bring me here because I know about the story? That’s possible, but...’
His mind spun wildly, trying to piece together the implications.
’That would mean the god knows this world is a story, right? That it was written? That it wasn’t supposed to be real?’
The weight of that realization nearly made his knees buckle.
Heinz’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.
"I woke up on the same day you had your accident," he said matter-of-factly. "Which, I assume, is also the day you realized you were Florian."
Florian’s stomach twisted.
Heinz was right.
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
’Fuck. Was he always this smart?’
It wasn’t fair.
Florian had been struggling just to keep up, barely keeping his head above water in a world that wasn’t supposed to be real. And yet, Heinz—calm, methodical, and terrifyingly perceptive—was connecting the dots faster than he could even process them.
It felt like he was being left behind, like every answer only unraveled more questions, tangling him deeper into a story he hadn’t written.
And then—
"What does this have to do with you?" Heinz echoed his unspoken thoughts, his voice cool and deliberate. His crimson eyes didn’t waver. "Why are you here?"
The weight of that question pressed against Florian’s chest like a heavy stone.
A pause.
Florian swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain. "But the god must have had a reason for doing this."
He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Heinz or himself.
For a moment, the king simply studied him. His face remained unreadable, but there was something about his silence—measured, calculating—that sent a flicker of unease through Florian.
Then, to his surprise, Heinz let out a quiet exhale.
"It’s fortunate, though," he murmured, his voice softer than before. His gaze remained fixed on Florian, unwavering. "Because whether I like it or not... you’re the only one I can trust."
Florian blinked.
That—he hadn’t been expecting that.
"What?"
His voice came out slightly breathless, not from exertion, but from sheer disbelief.
Heinz had spoken with such certainty, such finality. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a hesitant consideration. It was a statement. A fact.
Florian. The only one he could trust.
Why?
Before he could ask, Heinz met his gaze head-on, and something in the room shifted.
The glow in his crimson irises darkened, his expression sharpening into something colder—something almost dangerous.
And then—
"The reason I died..." Heinz’s voice dropped, quiet and heavy, like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
Florian felt his breath hitch.
A single moment stretched unbearably long.
His instincts screamed at him, a slow, creeping dread crawling over his skin as if his body already understood the gravity of what Heinz was about to say before his mind could catch up.
Then—
"...is because someone killed me."
A heartbeat of silence.
The words landed like a crushing weight, settling in the space between them, suffocating, undeniable.
Florian’s pulse pounded in his ears.
Someone... killed Heinz?
His stomach twisted violently. He barely registered the way his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
And then—
"And that happened the night after Florian was executed."
Florian’s blood turned to ice.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Heinz... was murdered?
And on the same day Florian died?
’Holy shit.’
His mind reeled, thoughts splintering in all directions, connecting fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t even realized existed.
The timing wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.
Had Florian’s death triggered something? Or... had Heinz’s?
Was the god playing a game? Or had this always been meant to happen?
None of it made sense.
Nothing made sense.
But one thing was painfully, terrifyingly clear—
Heinz had died. And it wasn’t an accident.
"I was killed in my own room," Heinz continued, his voice disturbingly even, though a quiet fury simmered beneath the surface. "So you understand what that means, right?"
Florian’s breath caught.
No. No, he didn’t want to understand.
But the answer was already forming in his mind, a terrible realization crashing into him like a tidal wave.
That meant—
"The murderer..."
The words barely made it past his lips.
His throat felt unbearably dry. His heartbeat was erratic, hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free.
Heinz didn’t blink.
The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across his face, making the red in his eyes glow.
Then, with quiet finality, he spoke—
"...is someone within the palace."