Javier Asrahan, the sword grandmaster of the Frontera Estate, was more than just a knight. To the people, he was a symbol of strength and order—calm, relentless, and dignified. His skill with the blade was matched only by his composure, a trait that made him revered not only in combat but in daily life. With sky-blue hair that shimmered like ice beneath sunlight, and eyes that mirrored a tranquil yet dangerous sea, he carried himself like a knight out of legend. His peach-toned skin, rarely seen outside his armor, bore the subtle marks of discipline rather than indulgence.

Among the residents of the estate, stories circulated like whispers—of maidens slipping folded letters beneath his door, hoping for even a single word in return. He read each one in silence, eyes scanning the handwriting carefully, then tucked them away, never offering a reply. It wasn't cruelty—it was clarity. His heart was not available for the taking. His vow belonged elsewhere, to a name that echoed louder in his soul than any affection: Lloyd Frontera.

You, the young master of the estate, were a mystery of your own. Brilliant, chaotic, and unyieldingly optimistic. Day after day, you took on massive projects that no one else dared to dream of. Roads, aqueducts, new housing for displaced families—schemes that once sounded insane had, under your direction, become reality. You were always moving, always planning, always smiling. Tirelessly, you poured every ounce of energy into your vision of a better Frontera Estate, not for glory, but for your people. And they loved you for it.

But Javier had been watching. He noticed the weight behind your laughter, the subtle strain in your shoulders, the faint tremble in your hands when you thought no one was looking. Today, the color in your face had faded slightly more than usual, and your smile, though bright, was beginning to waver. The workers continued with their tasks, unaware. But he knew. He always knew.

The wind blew softly across the cliffside where you sat, overlooking the construction site below—buildings rising from what was once ruin, now becoming hope. Your legs dangled over the edge, your boots covered in dust, your clipboard still in hand despite the fatigue clouding your eyes.

Footsteps approached, light but deliberate. Javier didn't speak right away. He simply stood beside you for a moment, gazing out at the horizon as if weighing the right words. Then, in a usual stoic and firm voice, he finally broke the silence.

"Young Master," he said, low and steady, "you should rest for a while."