The pure mana in the atmosphere began to distort as a bubbling, heated form of water mana seeped out of the regressed mage, who had a cool and placid expression, causing the temperature around the young man to skyrocket.

"Are you threatening me right now?" Rita’s voice echoed unnaturally in the balcony, her tone laced with scorn and venom.

’My eldest brother.’

The moment Margarita asked that wrath-infused question, an overwhelming amount of air mana bellowed in the atmosphere. The winds roared, closing every open window in the building. And the pressure, unfiltered and raw, pressed against Maxwell’s skin.

At that specific moment, the young blue-haired youth froze in his footsteps, blinking where he stood.

That pressure...

The air mana currently washing over Max’s body, radiating from Margarita...

The level of that mana was, without a doubt...

He frowned.

She’d advanced to the 3rd-circle in just a night? Maxwell was damn sure that Margarita only possessed 2-circles when he... visited her yesterday evening. He’d felt her mana.

But just then, he remembered something...

And a clear and proud expression bloomed on Max’s face, melting and overshadowing both the slight crease on his forehead and the previous placid expression that had stemmed from a poignantly fake-calm.

’So this was the birth of the prodigious air mage.’

Truly, it almost certainly was.

Back in Maxwell’s past life, when he was still a bumbling mercenary trying to find his footing, Rita had grown to become an air mage who shook the entirety of Rindell.

Maxwell remembered how she was the talk of the town back then.

She was the estranged daughter of a Marquis who had never been shown any form of love, never been showered resources on, and never even been allowed to study magic. But somehow, just somehow, even amidst all these natural debuffs, she had climbed her way up the ladder of ascension, clawing up to the 5th-circle.

Maxwell had admired the lady when he first learned of her story. She became a distant muse, unknowingly fueling his ambition of success. Their stories were pretty similar. But she’d grown out of her circumstances, and he, he was trying to break out of his own.

And see, the humorous part of Rita’s story was that she became a 5th-circle just a few months after the heir of the Silvester family himself had ascended to that same realm.

It was humorous in the sense that the whole surface reason for the High Ball was his ascension. And shortly after that, a daughter that even High Society refused to acknowledge accomplished the same achievement that had triggered a celebration as grand as the High Ball in just a few months.

And then, as if to spit on the faces of the Silvesters, the lady became a mage on the path of Air. Completely different from their path of Earth.

So when she eventually left the household, they couldn’t even stop her. They could only chase after her, hoping to maybe wipe away the stain on their family’s reputation.

But Rita, a 5th-circle mage, wasn’t easily killed.

Maxwell wondered if the woman’s tenacity was what he’d fallen for. Or maybe it was her ever-growing curiosity and optimism, tinged with a hint of naivety. She always wanted to explore the world outside of the confines of her estate.

She wanted to know what it meant to live. She wanted to live.

Yeah. He’d fallen for all parts of her.

Looking back at it now, the Maxwell of back then, a naive mercenary searching for success in a world where he was rejected, never expected that a single encounter with the young noble lady, who was the source of those rumors surrounding the Silvesters, would change the trajectory of his life forever.

And now that he thought of it, in a way, meeting Rita back then was the beginning of everything.

Their very first meeting all looped back to this moment.

Maxwell blinked once more, smiling.

’An unexpected trip down memory lane, huh, Frilo?’

He gazed at the being on his shoulder.

The jolly tiny blue spirit in the form of a pixie with tiny blue, steadily flapping wings, hovered just above Maxwell’s shoulder. It had a bright and cheerful grin carved in its semi-ethereal lips as it joyfully observed the scene in front of it unfold with profound curiosity, wide blue eyes glistening.

The spirit nodded.

And through their soul-link, Maxwell felt the joy pulsing through the spirit.

Meanwhile, Maxwell, on the other hand, was far from joyful...

His smile diminished.

...His mind was in turmoil. And in his heart, he shakily contemplated whether or not to step into the steadily bubbling scene.

The man was currently hidden behind a large marble pillar, eavesdropping on the ongoing conversation between the lady and the... dick. And at this position that Max was in, he couldn’t even get a proper glance at Rita.

He could only see distorted fragments of the woman’s shadow spilled on the marble floor.

A few seconds ago, his first thought had been to step into the fray the very moment Franklin threatened Rita, and then put the arrogant Belognian prick in his place.

But now, Maxwell was second-guessing that spontaneous, emotion-fueled action. After all, it seemed Rita could perfectly handle herse–

"What a wonderful magic trick you’ve displayed—" A colorful disdain stained Franklin’s tone, "to think you were a mage. The rumors say you’re mana-ridden. Incapable of using magic. But ah, this affinity... Air affinity? In a family of Earth mages? No wonder you’re an estranged daughter," He chuckled, "it must’ve been tough, huh?

"Your family must’ve tried their best to hide the fact that their daughter possesses an affinity to an element different from theirs... oh, is that why they spread rumors of..." Franklin lowered his voice, "you being mana-ridden? Or..." he gasped now, "don’t tell me. Oh, you don’t even need to tell me. That expression of yours says it all.

"Your father has no idea that you’re an Air mage, does he?"

Rita... was quiet. Even the air mana that had once emboldened her presence dwindled.

Silence stretched between them.

Until... Franklin began to chuckle. He chuckled, and chuckled, and chuckled madly.

Finally, he stopped.

And he spoke:

"Now I wonder what gave you the audacity to flare your killing intent in front of me. To think I was trying to help you, who’s in a tight position. And then, you... No," Franklin’s voice lost all humor, "in the first place, what did you actually think your petty 3rd-circle magic trick could do to a 6th-circle..."

Vwoom–!

Heat erupted from all directions, warping the temperature until it flew to heights higher than high.

Franklin had flared his killing intent.

"...Like me," he completed.

The moment the Belognia heir flared his killing intent, Maxwell clenched his fists.

He hesitated to move.

Why did he hesitated to move?

But when he saw Rita’s shadow kneel on the marble floor, clenching her own throat, and when he heard her cough, Max’s cool and placid expression snapped. And all restraints and hesitation that’d held him in place melted like plastic in heat.

He stepped out from behind the marble pillar.

"Frilo," the regressed god of eternal waters called out.

The spirit of eternal waters, the one that held the rank of a grandmaster, transformed into its thread form, sighing as it snaked its way toward Max’s clenched fists.

The spirit could tell... from the furiously blinding blue light that shone in its master’s eyes, from the way its master’s voice turned cold and expressionless, and even from the way the 9th-circle tier mana permeating from their soul-link shook the surrounding environment...

It was time to ruin a High Ball.