[Check Out My P4treon For +50 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!! And get chapters before publishing them here for free on my p4treon][https://p4treon.com/roooaaa]
===
Under the watchful eyes of Rudeus and Sylphie, Hilda took a deep breath, her words slightly disordered.
"The etiquette for the ball, the dance steps, the final pose—all taught. Now... the only thing left is... the gesture for inviting someone to dance. It's simple, so I saved it for last..."
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, seeming somewhat fatigued from the earlier dance.
"Extend your hand... bow slightly, and make the invitation."
Eris stared at Hilda's lowered expression, then followed her gaze to the floor.
There, fresh on Hilda's shoe, was a very obvious footprint—her own.
The young lady's face twisted in sudden panic.
"D-Did I step on you too hard, Mother?"
Hilda shook her head with a smile.
"No, it's fine. Don't worry, Eris. Let me demonstrate the invitation—"
Eris quickly released Hilda's hand, her crimson eyes darting around—until they landed on Allen, who had been standing silently to the side.
Her face lit up.
In one swift motion, she crossed the distance between them, seizing Allen's hand under the stunned gazes of Ghyslaine, Sylphie, and Rudeus.
"Allen knows the steps! I'll have him demonstrate! I can never land a hit on him during sword practice—so I definitely won't step on his feet either!"
She turned, staring straight at Allen.
He glanced down at her hand, silent for a moment, before speaking.
"...The dance invitation, right? It really is simple. I've seen it before... I can demonstrate, though my form might not be perfect. Madam Hilda should correct me afterward."
"Perfect!"
As Eris cheered, Hilda blinked in surprise, then—seemingly composed—glanced between Allen and Eris before nodding faintly and stepping back to stand beside Sylphie.
Her steps were slightly unsteady.
All eyes turned to Allen at the center of the room.
Including Eris', standing opposite him.
Allen paused, then began explaining in the Water God style's characteristic precision—though his words deliberately emphasized his role as an outsider.
"The distance between two people should be about 90 centimeters—roughly one and a half steps for an average person."
With a twist of his wrist, he freed his hand from Eris' grip.
Took a step back.
The distance was measured perfectly.
"Then, bow—the same degree as a standard noble's salute."
A 45-degree bow.
"Extend your left hand, palm up, at chin height—so the lady can easily place her right hand, her dominant one, in yours."
His hand hovered before Eris, palm open.
"Finally..."
"Place your right hand over your chest, in a gesture of invitation."
His right hand settled lightly against his heart.
Exact.
Meticulous.
Flawless.
Utterly elegant.
"That's the general idea. Madam, if there's any—"
Before he could finish, Eris suddenly grinned.
She slammed her hand into his.
"Got it!"
Then, yanking the startled Allen forward, she immediately launched into the foxtrot again, her excitement undeniable.
The young lady hadn't had her fill yet!
And she wanted to dance with Allen!
He sighed in resignation but still gazed at her with fond indulgence, his hand resting lightly at her waist as he matched the steps of the willful, utterly endearing little lioness.
Just like all those times he'd given in to her on the rooftop.
Their feet moved in sync.
No verbal cues were needed—this was the tacit understanding forged through countless sword-training sessions.
Tap. Tap. The rhythm of their dance filled the room again.
Rudeus gaped, once again struck by how much Allen spoiled Eris as an older brother would.
Sylphie, meanwhile, watched Eris' blazing red hair sway with her unrestrained movements and couldn't help but smile with the same affectionate exasperation.
Even though Eris was older, sometimes her willfulness made her seem like such a child.
But...
She's so full of life, isn't she?
Her lips curled—
Then froze.
"Plip."
A faint sound, completely drowned out by the dance steps—yet it struck Sylphie's heart like a hammer.
Eris' stomping should have masked it entirely.
But Sylphie heard it anyway.
Because—
This "raindrop" had fallen within the corner of her vision.
Though her eyes were on Allen and Eris, her attention had never left Hilda at her side.
Slowly, Sylphie turned.
And saw—
Tears.
Silent, unbroken, spilling from Hilda's eyes, trailing down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.
A steady stream.
Hilda...
Was crying.
Her gaze was distant, fixed on Allen and Eris dancing, her expression lost in memory.
This simplest of dance invitations...
Allen had "naturally" taught it correctly.
Perfectly.
Exactly as the Boreas family did it.
But.
This wasn't standard noble etiquette.
Most nobles kept their right hand behind their back—not over their heart.
Why?
Because.
Their family crest wasn't the "Iron Heart."
They had no need to offer their heart to anyone.
A distant memory surged within Hilda.
The figures before her seemed to shift.
Her vision slipped through time, returning to that moment thirteen years ago.
An ordinary evening.
And yet—
An evening that changed everything.
In this very hall, the two dancing had been—
Phillip and herself.
"Why do you put your hand on your chest? It's a bit odd, Phillip..."
"It's the Boreas family's unique invitation."
"Oh? Why that pose?"
Phillip—then still a young man with tousled brown hair—had raised an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling with warmth and a tenderness she hadn't yet understood.
He'd said:
"Because of the 'Iron Heart.'"
"The Iron Heart?"
"The Boreas family crest. Hilde, I invited you here..."
His finger had lifted, pointing past her, toward the sky.
She'd looked up in surprise.
And seen—
A sunset.
Vibrant, boundless, bleeding across the horizon.
A silhouette against the cascading light.
The Iron Heart.
Spread wide in flight.
And Phillip's voice, soft beside her:
"I just wanted you to see..."
"The 'Heart' of Boreas."
She'd looked back down in shock.
Phillip's right hand had been pressed to his chest, his left extended toward her.
Not behind his back.
Because—
He was offering her the heart of Boreas.
Now, Hilda stared at Allen dancing with Eris.
She wiped her tears away.
A truth she'd been avoiding—a possibility too fragile to examine, yet undeniably real—
Had bypassed all logic.
Had crashed into her without warning.
Carried by sheer luck.
And desperate hope.
Brown hair.
Steel-gray eyes.
A tutor personally invited by Phillip.
Familiar with royal dances.
And now—
The exclusive Boreas dance invitation.
Could a "mere adventurer"...
Possess...
The Heart of Boreas?
Allen...
Allen Boreas Greyrat?
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 250 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 50 power stones I will publish the next chapter.