The sdal erupted like gunpowder in an explosives warehouse.

  The hat Non Rook had abruptly rejected an interview that a renowned media outlet had already taken franted spread at an untrolble pabsp;

  It wasn’t just a slight. It wasn’t a polite refusal or a postpo due to ck of time.

  No, the mysterious and young hero had simply told them to go to hell without a sed thought.

  "What's wrong with that guy?!" excimed a woman in the market, clutg a neer in her hands, the ink still fresh. The front page dispyed a humiliating headline for the outlet that had trumpeted the supposed exclusive interview.

  "They had it ing," replied another woman with a mischievous smile. "They spent days boasting that they had him locked down—as if he were their puppet."

  "But this is a disaster!" interrupted a fruit vendor, smming the ter at his stall. "My wife hasn't stopped talking about that interview all week. And now what? All for nothing?"

  In cafés, in the ea rooms, in the soldiers’ taverns, the versation was the same.

  "This is humiliating for the neer," murmured a middle-aged man, holding his cup with a mog expression. "They boasted too much, and now they look ridiculous."

  "The question is... why did he refuse the interview?" said another, a younger man, his eyes fixed on the neer. "It doesn't make sense. Could he be afraid of saying something inappropriate?"

  "Or maybe..." a woman leaned forward with a sly smile. "He just doesn't want to be seen."

  That ent drew several heads in her dire.

  "What do you mean?" asked a grey-bearded man, frowning.

  "They say no one really knows what he looks like," she tinued, enjoying the attention. "Only the knights have seen him—covered in blood and mud otlefield—but the general public really doesn't know a thing. What if he's actually old? Or what if he's been disfigured by the wounds of war?"

  Rumors began to spread like a pgue.

  Some cimed that Non was an older man, that his legendary skill with a sword was the result of decades of training, and that his refusal to appear in public was simply because he didn't want ao know his real age.

  Others insisted that his face was riddled with scars, which is why he avoided the cameras.

  But the most popur theory was the one ing his strength.

  "I heard he swung a sword as big as a horse and took down three enemies with one blow," said a maedly in a tavern, as others nodded in astonishment.

  "Of course! If he’s survived so many battles, he must be a colossus of muscle and scars," asserted another.

  The rumors soon reached other nations.

  Fn radio statioed the mystery of Non Rook, and publications from other tries began sending emissaries in an attempt to obtain first-hand information.

  Meanwhile, in the capital, everyone's attention was focused on o:

  Princess Iris's birthday.

  If Non hadn’t accepted the interview, the only ce to see him would be at the royal party where the princess herself had annouhat Non Rook was going to attend.

  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that that party was the golden goose that no journalist wao miss.

  That’s why many pleaded—or tried by any means possible—to secure a spot at that party… just for the ce to catch a glimpse of Non.

  The day of the celebration arrived, and with it, the nobility, officials, and the most iial figures of the kingdom began arriving at the castle.

  Carriages of various designs and the crests of powerful families lined up at the mairance, with each guest disembarking gracefully, greeting the guards fidently, and making their way inside.

  The streets he castle were filled with onlookers, on folk eager to catch even a brief glimpse of the nation's most illustrious names.

  Excited murmurs, whispers of anticipation, as oreet ers about who would sport the most extravagant attire filled the air.

  And then, a modest carriage pulled up at the entranbsp;

  Uhe other ostentatious carriages, this one had her golden emblems nor a knightly escort.

  The doors opened, and out stepped a young man with dark hair, dressed in formal attire yet g any embellishments to make him stand out. Beside him, a young woman with brown hair stepped out cautiously, gng around with curiosity and unease.

  The guards barely spared them a gnce.

  "They're probably just attendants of some noble," one guard ented, watg the pair as they moved toward the entrance.

  "Yeah, they doly look important," his panion replied disiedly.

  The public also ighem. After all, why would anyone pay attention to a pair of unknown young nobles?

  But those ihe castle…

  Only a few khe truth.