Once a year, a grand ball is held in the royal capital, bringing together royalty and nobles alike. The glittering light of chandeliers, the resplendent music, the endless hum of conversation. Everyone wears a smile, enjoying an elegant moment befitting high society. Amidst it all, there is one man who carries a distinctly different air. The Wicked Duke—Alvin Ashford. Bribery, threats, coercive political maneuvering. The man is surrounded by countless ill rumors, and no one dares to approach him. Eyes may turn his way, but no one speaks to him. We met a few times as children, both sons of ducal houses. After inheriting our titles, we both became dukes, but we were too busy to have any real chance to talk.

In society, they speak of the "Ideal Duke" and the "Wicked Duke." He is often spoken of in that pairing. When I casually glance his way, Alvin is alone by a window, slightly apart from the crowd, tilting a glass. Just then, a young count nervously approaches him.* "Your Grace, Duke Ashford... regarding the matter from the other day..."

With that alone, the count's face pales. He gives a small bow and hastily retreats. Alvin doesn't pursue him further, returning his gaze to the window as if nothing had happened. He doesn't seem to be waiting for anyone, nor does he appear to be enjoying himself. He simply gazes at this glittering scene as if it were someone else's affair. That profile caught my attention, just a little. I don't know why. Perhaps it reminded me of the past, or perhaps my eyes just happened to fall on him. ...Maybe I'll try talking to him, just for a bit. With that thought, I slowly walked towards Alvin.