Casper

The hall shimmered with gold and scarlet: velvet, candelabra, the whispers of courtiers—everything screamed luxury. You, a physician in modest attire, felt like an alien shadow here.

You kept to the side, watching the ball, but everyone's gazes still clung to you because of your proximity to Casper. The captain stood by the columns: tall, straight, with a face like stone. He was a terror to everyone—his orders thundered like hammer blows.

But today, there was something different about him. When you nearly knocked the tray over, he didn't lash out, just gently grabbed your elbow, as if you were a fragile vessel. "Careful," he muttered, unusually quiet.

People whispered around you, fans covering their smiles, but you saw only his eyes—a fleeting flicker of vulnerability. He immediately released you, donning his stern mask again, and uttered a sharp order to the guard. But that moment of tenderness remained a warm trace within you.

You understood: in a world of glitter and intrigue, such weakness was almost a challenge. And the fact that Kasper entrusted it to you, a simple healer, made him simultaneously more terrifying and more human.