Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 800: Troublemaker and the knight

"I have been waiting for you," Lucavion said, the smirk softening—not losing its edge, but becoming something quieter. Something real.

Valeria opened her mouth, words rising unformed at first. And yet... something shifted inside her.

It was strange.

The moment she had decided to walk to him, a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying had begun to lift. Heavy things—expectations, restraint, fear of appearances—fell away like a dropped cloak.

Now, standing here, face to face...

It felt light.

Not easy.

But clear.

"You’ve been waiting for me?" she asked, the smallest edge of incredulity laced in her tone. Not sharp—more like a breath finally exhaled.

Lucavion’s eyes glinted with a mix of challenge and familiarity. "Indeed."

"...Why?"

He leaned a little closer—not physically, but in presence. His gaze never left hers, and his voice lowered as if to pull her just a step nearer.

"What do you mean why?" he replied. "To see if my stiff knight has changed, of course."

That earned him a long, unreadable look.

Valeria said nothing at first, the corner of her mouth threatening a twitch—but not quite.

He waited.

And then—

"...And from the looks of it," he continued, gaze flicking ever so slightly over her posture, her expression, the way her hand rested near the hilt she wasn’t even aware of, "you did not."

Valeria’s jaw tensed—just slightly.

She hadn’t expected him to get this close.

Not physically.

But the way his words slid past her armor—familiar, direct, and far too knowing—struck deeper than she liked.

And worse—

Her heart responded.

Not with fluster.

But recognition.

The last time someone had drawn her in this effortlessly—disarmed her without a weapon—it had been him.

Only him.

And now, after everything—after years—he still could.

She stepped back half a pace. Not retreating. Reasserting.

"That’s not true," she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. "You’re the one who’s changed."

Lucavion raised a brow, the ghost of his grin deepening.

"Really?" he asked, dragging the word just enough to make it lazy, dangerous. "How so?"

Valeria opened her mouth—then paused.

There were so many things she wanted to say.

So many questions poised on the edge of her tongue.

Where have you been since Andelheim?

Why did you vanish after that?

Do you even know what I’ve done these past years?

But none of it came out.

Because even now, with all the weight and power in the room, with everything they had become—he still steered the moment.

Still pulled her into his rhythm, his pace, like nothing had ever changed.

And he saw it.

Oh, he definitely saw it.

Which was why he leaned back just slightly, crossing his arms in that infuriatingly relaxed manner, his grin tilting upward.

"What’s the matter, Pink Knight? Run out of sharp retorts already?" he said with a mock sigh. "That’s disappointing. I was promised steel."

Lucavion’s smirk widened just enough to be maddening.

"Come now," he said, voice coaxing. "Don’t tell me the Academy trained it out of you even without starting. Where’s the righteous fury? The stiff-backed lectures? The infamous glare?"

Valeria crossed her arms, chin lifting in practiced defiance. "Don’t tempt me."

His eyes sparkled. "Oh, I’m counting on it."

She scowled.

He leaned in just a fraction. "There it is."

Valeria opened her mouth to fire back—something scathing, sharp, anything to cut through the unbearable smugness radiating off of him—but then—

His gaze lowered.

Just slightly.

Measured. Intentional.

And then, so casually it shouldn’t have landed like it did:

"...I had always seen you in armor. Plate. Leather. Dust and sweat and grit. But this..."

His voice dipped—not teasing this time.

Low. Honest.

"To think you were hiding something like this."

Her breath caught.

"What are you—?"

She blushed. Not wildly. Just a faint glow at the edge of her cheekbones, like heat pressing against steel not yet red.

"You’re being lecherous," she snapped. "It’s not becoming."

He tilted his head, unfazed. "Oh, no. That would be entirely different. This—"

And then he said it.

Clear. Quiet. Sincere.

"You really look beautiful."

The words landed like a sudden hush.

No playfulness.

No mockery.

Just truth.

Valeria stood still, the echo of his words still warm in her ears.

You really look beautiful.

And the thing was—he wasn’t the kind of man to say what he didn’t mean.

Lucavion had never been that sort.

Not with her.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because it wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t strategy.

It was just... him.

Her blush deepened—not out of modesty, but from sheer unpreparedness.

She had braced for sarcasm. For danger. For judgment.

But not this.

"Come on," he said, with an exaggerated sigh. "Don’t make that face."

She blinked, caught off guard again. "What face—?"

He gestured lazily with two fingers. "That one. You look like someone just complimented a blade and it turned into a snake."

She opened her mouth to scold him—again—but then followed his gaze.

And saw them.

The eyes.

Dozens of them.

Scattered nobles. Whispering lords. Wide-eyed ladies.

Watching her.

And him.

Together.

She drew in a slow breath and adjusted her stance, spine aligning like a drawstring pulled taut. Her expression returned to its usual controlled poise—but the heat on her cheeks didn’t vanish.

Of course they were watching.

She, Valeria Olarion, had walked across the ballroom and smiled at the man who had just publicly humiliated the Crown Prince.

Friendly. Familiar.

That alone was going to be talked about for days.

Lucavion’s voice came again, quieter now, as if he respected her effort to regain her balance—but not enough to let her keep it.

"Though," he murmured, "while waiting for you to come... I didn’t think you would."

She turned back toward him, steady again.

"...Hmm."

And then she asked it.

"Why?"

He didn’t look away. His gaze remained locked on hers—cool, unreadable, direct.

"Why? Isn’t it obvious?"

He leaned in slightly, not close enough to crowd her, but just enough for the words to feel personal.

"Aren’t you afraid of Lucien?"

The name dropped from his mouth without reverence.

No title. No pretense.

Just a name.

And it made her mouth twitch.

Only slightly.

But Lucavion saw it.

He always saw the small things.

He let the pause settle, eyes steady on hers. Then his voice came again—lower now. Smoother. Less teasing.

"But I understand," he said. "The Crown Prince could make things... inconvenient."

Valeria didn’t answer, but her silence wasn’t empty.

He took that as permission to go on.

"For your family, especially," he added. "You’ve worked hard these past few years, haven’t you? Carving a path. Proving the Olarion name can stand taller than just blood and favor. That it deserves the weight it’s been given."

That made her blink.

Once.

And though her face remained composed, something behind her ribs shifted.

Because he knew.

He had been watching.

Even while vanished. Even while absent from every circle she had moved in—he knew.

Had kept tabs.

Had followed her work. Her victories. Her battles fought in silence and ink and sweat.

And the knowledge of it—

The fact that he’d bothered at all—

Warmed something inside her she hadn’t realized had grown cold.

Not love.

Not nostalgia.

Something quieter. Closer to acknowledgment. To being seen—truly seen.

She looked at him, the corners of her eyes softening just a fraction.

"You were watching me?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Lucavion gave the faintest shrug, his smirk tempered but not lost.

"Well," he said, "you did call yourself a knight. I had to make sure you meant it."