The gardener noticed Deon’s approach immediately.

Unlike the servants who were running tables or the guests that were talking amongst themselves, the man seemed a bit more...corporeal.

His coat was worn at the elbows and dirt stained the cuffs of his sleeves. A pair of pruning shears hung from his belt like a weapon.

When Deon stopped a few steps away, the gardener turned his head. "Are you lost, honored guest? The party is not this way."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Then why are you here?"

The gardener’s tone wasn’t hostile, exactly. More confused, like the idea of a guest coming instead of enjoying the party was so strange that it might’ve broken whatever script he was supposed to follow.

I can’t be too blunt or it might mess with the sub-event. Gotta take it one step at a time.

That was when he finally noticed the flowers behind the man. Unlike the garden in the main area, the roses here seemed to be newly planted, their buds yet to open.

"The flowers are beautiful," Deon said after a while. "You’re the one taking care of them?"

The gardener followed his gaze before nodding. "Nowadays...yes, I do."

"Nowadays?"

The old man’s fingers brushed against the pruning shears at his belt, yet not quite touching them. "Yes...back then, the Lady used to tend to each and every single one herself."

"She did?"

"Every morning, before breakfast. Even before the household woke, she was already out in the gardens. A lot of us servants used to compliment her dedication."

His eyes moved toward the flowers again before sighing softly. "The Lady would come with her gloves and shears, inspecting each flower with care. She didn’t mind getting dirty at all, which was strange for a noblewoman."

"Sounds tedious."

"It was love."

The answer came so simply that Deon almost didn’t know what to do with it. He looked back over to the pavilion, at the shadow of the woman before frowning.

How does a woman with such resolve become reduced to such a state?

Though it was besides the point. When Deon turned back around, something managed to catch his eye. A glimpse of dark red, surrounded in a sea of colors, yet sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Is that...the Velvet Rose?" he pointed at the flower.

At the name, the gardener’s expression became guarded. "Who told you of that flower?"

"An attendant."

"Well, they should not have."

"Why?" Deon pressed. "Was it so bad?"

When the gardener stayed silent, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Deon approached the flower, much to the gardener’s dismay.

"Honored guest! You shouldn’t touch it, it’s dangerous!"

But Deon ignored him. The closer he got, the more he could see them clearly. The petals were a deep crimson, so dark it almost swallowed the lantern light. Yet, it had a sense of...elegance to it.

One would surmise that the Velvet Rose specifically existed just to accompany Lady Rosaline if they didn’t know otherwise. But the most beautiful roses always have the most dangerous thorns.

And beneath the bloom, Deon could see it. A small sac rested just under the layered petals, translucent and faintly green. If someone didn’t know better, they might have mistaken it for dew.

Deon stopped just short of touching the petals.

The gardener’s voice rose from behind him. "Honored guest, I said do not touch the bloom!"

"I heard you."

"Then please step away!"

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"Because I’m trying to help your Lady."

The gardener’s mouth closed at the unexpected words. Deon reached into his pocket before pulling out [Playback].

The surface was no longer completely blank, with the Card itself about halfway illustrated.

Only at 50 percent, huh? It probably just means my time inside the memory won’t last too long. Whatever...it should be enough.

And with a spoken word, "[Playback]"...Deon was transported into the past. Or at least, that was what should have happened.

Instead, the world stuttered.

[Playback: Active]

[Object contains unstable emotional residue.]

[Warning: Memory clarity reduced.]

[Warning: Duration limited.]

Deon only had enough time to read the final warning. By his next blink, the world was already changed.

He was standing in the middle of the Garden Wing, beneath a sky split open by gray clouds not too unfamiliar to the First Game’s.

Heavy rain poured down, which was strange as there was no longer a glass dome overhead. But Deon wasn’t wet.

The rain passed right through him. It struck his shoulders, his hair, and even the black raven mask still fixed on his face, but none of it stayed. Each drop vanished the moment it touched him, leaving only the cold impression of something that should have been there.

"Right," Deon muttered, looking down at his dry sleeves. "Memory rain."

The Garden Wing looked different, way newer. But Deon wasn’t sure if it was before or after the sixth letter incident.

The white pillars weren’t cracked and vines hadn’t grown wild across the arches. Even the roses looked different and more...alive.

Not in the eerie way they had looked during the sub-game, but truly alive. Bright, carefully trimmed, and arranged with obsessive care.

Deon glanced around, trying to find the Velvet Rose, any family members, or anything else that looked like a clue. The [Playback] Card pulsed faintly in his hand, reminding him that he was on a time crunch.

He had half-expected to be given another quest by GraveyardArchivist, but when none came, all he could do was frown.

"Great. Guess I’m doing this blind."

But before he could even take a step forward, the glass doors ahead of him opened.

From the mansion entrance, several attendants stepped into the garden, each holding a black umbrella above their heads. But the woman between them was clear.

Lady Rosaline walked beneath the largest umbrella, with one gloved hand resting against a slender cane. A wide black hat covered most of her dark blue hair, yet Deon could tell that it was still there.

She looked nothing like the shadow seated in the pavilion.

Yet, she wasn’t the only one that emerged from the doors, as right behind her, someone else stepped out.

Another young man with the same hair color, wearing a small insignia on the right of his chest. Even if Deon didn’t know anything about noble hierarchy, one thing was painfully obvious—

He was the heir.