Leave the Villainous Second Male Lead Alone - Chapter 4.6

The vast square outside the imperial palace gates was packed with people who had traveled from all over the empire. Flowers were tossed into the air, raining down in colorful bursts. The sporadic sounds of fireworks punctuated the celebration, and even before the procession arrived, the festive atmosphere was electric.

First, the navy, clad in striking red uniforms, marched in. Following the commands of their leader, they stood in formation and raised their swords high in a salute, a symbolic gesture welcoming their victorious return.

Then came the admiral’s carriage—a grand four-horse carriage pulled by sleek black stallions. Its open design showcased a high platform.

And soon, the admiral stepped forward, revealing himself to the crowd.

“Wowwwww!”

“Admiral! Admiral!”

The cheers erupted, deafening and wild, as the citizens greeted their hero.

My father and I, however, couldn’t see the admiral’s face clearly. We were positioned in the innermost part of the imperial palace, waiting alongside the emperor and other nobles. From our vantage point, I could only make out the tall figure of a man clad in a red naval uniform. His black cloak billowed dramatically behind his broad shoulders, making his presence even more imposing.

I clenched my fists, my body tense. My father placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

The simple gesture eased some of the tension. Glancing around, I turned my attention to the royal family seated nearby.

At the center was the emperor, a figure who had been absent from public view for years. Though only in his early forties, illness had aged him prematurely, leaving him looking frail and weary. The once-proud and dignified ruler of his youth was now a shadow of his former self.

Still, his sharp gaze was locked onto the admiral’s procession with intense focus. The emperor had undoubtedly heard the rumors—that the admiral claimed to be the long-lost Second Prince. If true, the admiral he had secretly appointed might be his own biological son.

On either side of the emperor stood the empress and Prince Roen. The mother and son, their faces eerily similar, both wore cold, stony expressions. Roen’s icy blue eyes glared at the admiral’s carriage with a chilling sharpness.

Even his pheromones, faint but biting, flickered in the air, likely uncontained in his growing tension. Though we weren’t close, my still-recovering body reacted to his pheromones with a slight tremor. Straightening my posture, I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.

The ceremony continued. A military band arrived, playing majestic music. Behind them, a grand procession displayed spoils seized from the pirates. As a cart carrying the captured North Sea pirate captains, shackled by their necks, rolled into view, the crowd’s cheers grew even louder.

Finally, the admiral’s carriage stopped before the emperor and the gathered nobles. Fireworks burst into the sky, and music swelled as the crowd erupted into deafening applause.

The admiral stepped down from the carriage.

As he walked forward, the commotion began to subside, and silence fell over the square. Step by step, he approached the emperor, every movement deliberate and commanding.

When he finally stood before the emperor, he saluted crisply and straightened his posture. The emperor slowly rose from his seat.

The moment the emperor saw the admiral’s face, his weary eyes, dulled by years of suffering, suddenly shone with life. His gaze burned brightly, unmistakable recognition sparking in his expression.

The music stopped. No one spoke, but the sound of several nobles gasping in surprise echoed in the silence. A crack appeared on the Empress’s cold, unyielding expression, and the room fell as quiet as if a mouse had died.

The aged emperor, clearly ill, stood in stark contrast to the young man before him—vibrant and full of vitality. Yet, despite their differing auras, the resemblance between the two was undeniable. Even at a glance, it was clear they shared the same bloodline.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the admiral. He stood tall, his back to the sun, gazing steadily at the emperor.

His jet-black hair was swept back, exposing a smooth and pale forehead. Beneath thick, defined brows, his eyes gleamed with a transparent golden hue, striking and unmistakable. The emperor, meeting his gaze directly, murmured almost like a groan.

“Your eyes… they’re just like Marie Louise’s.”

The admiral’s full, red lips curved upward, forming a smile that was both soft and resolute, as if carved from marble.

The sun glowed brightly behind his broad shoulders, casting an almost divine light around him. Then, in a voice both calm and commanding, the admiral spoke.

“Callisto is meeting with Father.”

I tightly shut my eyes.

That night had not been a dream. Nor had it been a fevered hallucination. Callisto had come to me that night, looking exactly as he did now.

Callisto was alive.

He had come back to me alive.

I felt tears welling up, threatening to spill. I fought to hold them back, but they blurred my vision anyway. My father, noticing, avoided the stares of others and gently grasped my wrist. His own eyes were reddened at the corners.

The emperor’s voice trembled as he asked, “Did you say… Callisto?”

“Yes, Father,” Callisto replied calmly.

The emperor’s gaze softened, a mix of recognition and disbelief clouding his face. “Even from a distance, it’s clear… you’re Marie Louise’s son. All this time… When did you grow up so much…?”

“Your Majesty, do you trust his words so easily?”

The chilling voice interrupted the reunion. Roen, who had approached unnoticed, raised an eyebrow and smiled coldly. The emperor frowned, but Roen, undeterred, raised his chin defiantly and glared at Callisto.

“Your contributions in the North Sea are acknowledged,” Roen began, his tone biting, “but impersonating the Crown Prince is an act of treason. How dare you address His Majesty so disrespectfully?”

Callisto slowly turned his head. From his elevated height, he looked down at Roen, his amber eyes briefly flashing before his long lashes fell shut. In a low, measured tone, he replied, “It’s been a long time, sir.”

“…What?”

Roen’s usually composed and indifferent demeanor wavered. His expression faltered as recognition dawned.

“Callisto…” Roen muttered, his bright blue eyes widening.

“It was you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and realization.

The half-brothers’ gazes locked in midair, a silent clash of emotions. Roen’s icy glare swept over Callisto, his expression unreadable.

The Empress broke the tension with a sharp voice, her brows furrowed.

“Your Majesty, isn’t there evidence required to prove he’s the Second Prince?”

“Empress,” the emperor said, his tone heavy with irritation, “are you saying this while knowing Marie Louise?”

“There are plenty of people who resemble the late princess,” the Empress argued. “We can’t simply trust his words and accept him as the Second Prince. Is there any evidence?”

Callisto ignored her entirely. Turning to the emperor, he tilted his head slightly and offered a gentle smile.

“If it’s evidence you’re looking for, of course, we have it,” Callisto said confidently. “Your Majesty, isn’t there a token of the Crown Prince?”

“A token?” the emperor asked, his voice wavering. “Do you mean you also have a mark on your body?”

“Of course,” Callisto replied smoothly.

A flush of anticipation appeared on the emperor’s face, his wrinkled features suddenly alive with hope. Roen, however, visibly stiffened. His uncharacteristic reaction betrayed an unusual level of unease.

Callisto began unbuttoning the gold buttons of his red uniform jacket.

As he pulled the jacket open, his firm chest and defined abs were revealed, crisscrossed with numerous scars. With each steady breath, his chest expanded and settled. He pulled the jacket lower, exposing a narrow, muscular waist and a long scar etched into the smooth ivory skin.

My heart ached at the sight of the scars, and I lowered my gaze, unable to bear it.

Then, the sun broke through the clouds, casting its light upon Callisto.

Wherever the sunlight touched his skin, a mark began to appear. Gradually, it took shape—a massive scar resembling two red swords crossed against one another.

The emperor, unable to contain himself, stepped closer to Callisto, his eyes filled with undeniable recognition and raw emotion.

“…There really is proof,” the emperor said, his voice trembling with emotion.

The empress urgently interjected, “He might be an imposter, Your Majesty! You should summon the court ladies to verify the mark!”

“No, there’s no need to verify anything,” the emperor replied, shaking his head. “Even if others can’t, I can recognize him at a glance.”

He pointed to Callisto. “The mark of the prince on his body is exactly the same as mine… and my mark has never been seen outside the palace. This cannot be faked.”

“There’s no way…”

A crack appeared on the empress’s otherwise beautiful and composed face.

While the prince’s mark appeared in various forms, it was exceedingly rare for a prince to have a mark identical to the emperor’s. Even Roen’s mark, though resembling the emperor’s, was slightly different. A completely identical mark carried immense symbolic significance, often signaling that the prince was destined to inherit the throne.

The empress’s face grew stiff as her thoughts raced.

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