That evening, Mia was dragged out of the fourth floor by Ron André, still brimming with excitement.
"Go eat first. You can come back afterward."
"Ah! I was just a few matches away!"
"A few matches? More like thirty or forty," Ron rolled his eyes. "You ditched Eileen on the second floor and ran up here by yourself—and now you've even forgotten to eat."
Mia puffed her cheeks in protest as Ron pulled her downstairs.
"Oh, please, Eileen wouldn't be alone. The moment I left, someone would definitely go chat her up."
"Look."
On the second floor, Ron followed Mia's pointing finger and saw their booth—just minutes after he'd left—already occupied by two noble youths politely chatting with Eileen.
"Regret it, Big Brother Ron? You had a chance to win Eileen over~" Mia teased, poking his waist.
"Enough nonsense." Ron ruffled her hair. "Come on, let's go eat hot pot."
"Hot pot!? No way!" Mia cried out. "I've had so much in the north I'm sick of it! Let's go eat at the flower shop, okay? There's a kitchen on the fourth floor of Ron's Wonderful Flower Shop, right?"
"Fine. Nora can cook for you."
After calling over Eileen and Nora, the four of them headed downstairs and prepared to board the carriage.
But before they could leave, a squad of palace guards approached from a distance.
One guard dismounted and hurried over, bowing respectfully.
"Your Highness Ron André, His Majesty Emperor André III invites you to the palace for dinner."
Ron paused, puzzled. "Did he mention what it's about?"
The guard shook his head.
Just a messenger—he wouldn't know the Emperor's intentions.
"Then you three go ahead without me," Ron said. He turned to Nora, adding, "Just make a few simple dishes. Don't overwork yourself."
Eileen covered her mouth and laughed softly. Mia crossed her arms, giving him a sideways glare.
Nora's cheeks flushed slightly as she stepped forward to straighten Ron's collar, then waved gently as he boarded the carriage.
The carriage disappeared down the street.
Mia immediately hugged Nora's arm and dragged her toward their own carriage.
"Hehe, since Big Brother Ron's gone, Nora is mine now."
"M-Miss Mia…"
"Just call me Mia~ hehe~ Nora, you're so soft~ even softer than Eileen!"
"Mia… p-please don't… people can see…"
Eileen sat to the side, turning her gaze toward the window, unable to bear watching the scene inside.
"Nora, your skin is amazing! After going to the north with Eileen, I realized how dry it is there. We ran out of resin so quickly. After dinner tonight, can we do that thing again?"
At this, even Eileen turned back, clearly interested.
"Y-yes, of course. You can take some with you when you leave."
"Thank you, Nora!"
"Mmm—don't touch my ears…"
Meanwhile, Ron arrived at the palace annex and entered the same grand dining hall as before.
Emperor André III was already seated, dressed casually in black. His posture was relaxed, though strands of white had begun to appear in his light brown hair.
For some reason, Ron felt that his father seemed to be aging faster than expected.
"Sit."
Ron took a seat at his right.
Dishes were served one after another. The two chatted idly about trivial matters.
Only after the main course, when dessert and coffee were brought out, did the Emperor get to the point.
"Someone proposed in today's court session to grant you a title. What do you think?"
Ron froze, caught off guard.
Normally, direct imperial heirs only received noble titles after marriage.
The First Prince, Second Prince, and Fourth Prince were all granted viscount titles after marrying in their early twenties.
Later, the First Prince earned merit in the north, and the Second Prince in the west—both were elevated to counts.
But Ron… hadn't done either.
"You are the Chosen One of the Goddess of Harvest — Hervesta. There's no precedent for this in the empire's history," Emperor André III said slowly.
"So the matter has been left unresolved—until now."
"Since someone brought it up, it can be considered."
"It's not finalized yet, but I'm informing you in advance."
"If approved, as a Chosen One, you'll at least be granted the title of count—and a territorial count at that."
"You can start thinking about where you want your territory."
Ron raised an eyebrow. That good a deal?
"Don't celebrate too early," the Emperor glanced at him.
"The proposal came from followers of the God of War."
"Most prosperous lands in the empire are already claimed."
"If you become a territorial count, you either request land from marquises or the four grand dukes—or choose barren wastelands."
"Think it through."
Ron fell into deep thought.
Only now did he grasp the underlying implications.
After their failed attempt to undermine him through public opinion around Magic Duel, those factions had moved to a new strategy.
This "gift" of a title could easily become a trap.
After more than a century of development, the most valuable land in the Human Empire had already been divided.
The four grand dukes alone controlled nearly one-seventh of the empire.
In regions like the east and south—wealthy and trade-heavy—there was almost no unclaimed land left.
For new territorial nobles, there were only two options:
One—request land from a higher-ranking noble.
If approved, you'd receive a sub-territory within their domain.
While nominally under them, you'd still hold most governing powers—administration, taxation, even raising private troops.
In return, you'd pay them taxes.
Most powerful nobles welcomed this—it helped develop their lands and expand their political influence.
Two—choose undeveloped wastelands and fund development yourself.
But that came with obligations.
If you failed to develop the land within a set timeframe, the empire could revoke your territorial rights.
Clearly, no matter which path Ron chose, those factions had ways to make things difficult.
If he chose the first, he'd have to rely on powerful nobles—allowing them to absorb him into their faction.
Despite past conflicts, many would gladly accept him for the value of Ron's Wonderful Flower Shop.
After all, profit mattered more than pride.
If he chose independence and took barren land, they could sabotage his development—
and later push for his land to be revoked.
For a territorial noble, losing one's land was a major humiliation.
Once word spread, it would severely damage his reputation.
After the discussion, Emperor André III watched Ron leave.
His deep gaze seemed to say:
Show me how you'll handle this.
Ron felt the pressure and sighed inwardly.
It seemed his father had truly begun considering him as a potential heir.
What a headache.