My Idle Dragonic System : Apocalypse descends

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Scarlett and Alex arrived at the dining room a few minutes early. The vast space was bathed in the warm golden glow of an enormous crystal chandelier, its light dancing off polished wood paneling and gleaming silver cutlery. The table stretched elegantly down the center of the room, already set with pristine white linen, delicate china, and crystal goblets that sparkled like stars. Soft harp music drifted from somewhere unseen, lending the whole place a refined, almost otherworldly serenity.

They each took a seat. Scarlett smoothed the skirt of her sapphire dress absently, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin against her palm. Alex leaned back, arms crossed casually, though his eyes kept flicking toward the doors.

It didn't take long.

With a quiet groan of polished brass hinges, the tall double doors at the end of the room swung open.

The man who entered commanded the room without a word.

Max stepped forward — tall, perfectly straight-backed, every movement unhurried yet purposeful, exuding an unshakable confidence. The golden faceless mask he wore caught and reflected the chandelier's light in soft glints of gold. Even though the mask concealed his expression, there was something magnetic about his presence, something in the way he carried himself that made him impossible not to watch.

Scarlett's eyes lingered on him, studying the easy grace of his stride, the quiet authority that hung around him like a tailored suit.

Max reached the table and, without any unnecessary ceremony, pulled out a chair opposite her and sat. He turned his head slightly, inclining it in her direction, and his voice came — low, smooth, with a faint, unplaceable warmth.

"Hi," he said simply. "I'm Max. And you are?"

Scarlett arched one perfectly sculpted brow, lips curving into a wry little smile. "Scarlett," she replied, her tone equal parts teasing and appraising. "Alex's elder sister. He's already told me quite a bit about you… particularly how handsome you are."

Across the table, Alex groaned into his fist and muttered something under his breath, clearly flustered. "Don't mind her," he said louder, glaring at Scarlett. "My sister just enjoys being… direct."

But Max only nodded politely, entirely unruffled. He reached up with a measured motion and removed the mask.

Scarlett stilled.

The face beneath the mask was even more arresting than she'd expected. Strong lines softened by an almost careless charm, dark eyes glinting with quiet intelligence and something harder to name. His faint smile seemed to hover between amusement and challenge — as though he knew exactly the effect he had, and yet didn't care whether you fell under his spell or not.

Their eyes met, and for just a moment, he seemed to pause, almost as if silently asking for permission to begin.

Scarlett's heart betrayed her then, skipping a beat she hoped no one else noticed.

Alex's smug little cough broke the silence. "Well then… let's dig in," he announced.

Max's gaze drifted away as though nothing had happened. He calmly picked up his utensils and began to eat, completely unbothered, as though his beauty — and everyone's reactions to it — were just background noise.

The meal itself was a decadent affair. Platters of tender, jewel-toned slices of high-ranked beast meat that shimmered faintly with residual magic. Bowls of aromatic stews made with rare mutated plants that released delicate wisps of fragrant steam. Crystalline sauces in every color of the rainbow, each with its own sharp, intoxicating aroma.

Max ate slowly, with impeccable manners, but also casually — never stiff, never self-conscious. Every so often, he'd strike up a conversation, asking Alex about the city, about the family business, even about little things like the wine they were served. He turned his full attention to whoever he spoke to, making them feel — inexplicably — like the most important person in the room.

And then, now and then, he would turn to Scarlett.

His questions to her were softer, more playful. The corners of his lips would curl in just the faintest smirk when she answered, his dark eyes shining with quiet humor. It wasn't that he said anything overly bold — but his confidence was so absolute, his charm so effortless, that it slipped past her carefully constructed walls without her realizing it.

> Step one: Don't rush. Stay calm. Let her feel you have all the time in the world just for her.

Step two: Notice the little things — her dry wit, the way her hands move when she talks, the faint sigh when she's amused but pretending not to be.

Step three: Be just mysterious enough to keep her guessing, but open enough to feel trustworthy.

Step four: Make her laugh — not through flattery, but by showing you actually see her.

Step five: Never overdo it. Leave her wanting more.

Max went through these steps almost by instinct — skills honed long before he'd ever come to this world.

Scarlett found herself smiling despite herself — an uncharacteristic, genuine smile she hadn't worn in ages. He was unlike any of the pompous suitors or sly business partners she'd dealt with before. There was no façade, no trying too hard. He was simply… himself.

Free. Unburdened. Unapologetic.

And yet, somehow, that only made him more dangerous.

She told herself she wasn't fazed — but she could feel the faint heat in her cheeks every time he glanced at her, as though he could see through every mask she wore.

By the time the maids swept in to clear the final dishes and reset the table for dessert, Scarlett leaned back in her chair, fingers idly tapping the armrest as she watched Max quietly thank one of the maids with a charming smile.

She thought, This man… is a storm in disguise.

Not loud. Not brash. But powerful enough to turn everything upside down before you even saw it coming.

---

The maids moved gracefully, clearing away the remnants of the lavish dinner with barely a sound. The faint clink of silver and crystal was soon replaced by the aroma of something sweet and warm — spiced fruit tarts and delicate chocolate soufflés, each plated like a work of art and garnished with fresh cream and shavings of golden mutated cocoa.

Scarlett sat back, crossing her legs as she watched Max with undisguised curiosity.

If he noticed her scrutiny, he didn't show it.

Max simply thanked the maid who placed a dessert plate in front of him and, with calm precision, cut a bite of the soufflé. When he tasted it, his lips curved into a faint smile of genuine enjoyment. It wasn't a forced polite smile — just a small, real reaction. Somehow, that only made him more compelling.

Alex was already half into his own tart, oblivious to the subtle undercurrent between his sister and his friend. "I swear," he said between bites, "this is why I never skip dinner here. Dad may be gone half the time, but the chefs alone are worth staying for."

Scarlett allowed herself a quiet laugh at her brother's lack of elegance before turning her gaze back to Max.

"You like it?" she asked, her voice low and smooth.

He looked up, meeting her eyes with that same unhurried calm. "It's excellent," he said simply. Then, after a beat: "But the company's better."

It was delivered so lightly, so effortlessly, that she almost didn't catch it. Almost.

Her heart gave another little skip — irritatingly so — and she quickly took a sip of her wine to hide her faint blush.

The rest of dessert passed in a blur of easy conversation. Max somehow managed to keep both siblings engaged, shifting seamlessly between Alex's enthusiastic chatter and Scarlett's sharper wit, making both feel seen and heard. It was as though he'd been sitting at this table for years.

When the final plates were cleared, and the maids began dimming the lights in preparation for the family's nightly routine, Alex stretched and stood.

"Well, I'm going to get ready for tonight's party," he announced. "Max, you can join me upstairs when you're ready."

Max nodded, his dark gaze lingering briefly on Scarlett before he rose, giving her a polite incline of his head.

"Scarlett," he said.

"Max," she replied, her lips twitching into a small smile she couldn't quite suppress.

And then he was gone.

---

Later that night…

Scarlett stood in her room, leaning against the balcony railing, her eyes on the moonlit gardens below. The crisp night air carried the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth, soothing yet alive.

Her mind, however, was anything but calm.

She thought of the way he'd walked into the room — like he owned it without needing to prove it. The way his voice slid over her skin when he spoke. The way his eyes, dark and knowing, seemed to strip away her composure in the space of a heartbeat.

Scarlett prided herself on being impossible to impress. Years of managing the family business, of dealing with cunning rivals and sycophantic suitors, had taught her to keep her walls high and her heart locked tight.

But Max…

He didn't try to impress. He didn't play by anyone else's rules. He didn't seem to need anything — and yet, somehow, he made you want to give him something anyway.

She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples.

Dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.

A knock at her door jolted her from her thoughts.

"Miss Scarlett?" came a maid's soft voice. "The car is ready when you are. For the party."

Scarlett straightened, smoothing her dress. Her usual smile slid back into place, cool and confident.

"Coming," she said.

But as she walked to the door, she caught sight of herself in the mirror — and noticed the faint, uncharacteristic blush still lingering on her cheeks.

She shook her head and muttered under her breath.

"Not trustworthy… just like his friend."

And yet… she found herself already looking forward to seeing him again at the party.

---

Meanwhile…

Taking a long, deliberate look at himself in the mirror, Max adjusted his collar and straightened the sleeves of his outfit. Draped over his tall frame was a striking deep-crimson jacket, tailored to perfection, its fabric catching the light with a subtle, regal sheen. Golden embroidery traced the edges in intricate, almost flame-like patterns, giving the impression of embers dancing along the hems. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders and tapered neatly at his waist, exuding quiet power and elegance.

Beneath it, slim-fitting scarlet trousers complemented the ensemble, their sharp crease and perfect fit elongating his already commanding figure. The rich tones of red made the dark undertones of his hair seem even glossier, catching hints of warmth under the light, as though the colors of his clothes and his features were born to match.

For a brief moment, Max allowed himself a faint, approving smile. The ensemble didn't just suit him — it defined him, projecting a presence that was impossible to ignore.The golden mask lay on the dresser, catching the moonlight.

In the mirror, he studied his reflection, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips.

It had been a long time since someone had looked at him the way Scarlett had — with suspicion and curiosity tangled up in equal measure. He could see the way she tried to hide her reactions, the way she told herself she was in control.

He chuckled softly to himself, straightening his tie.

She's fun.

And more than that — she was sharp. Not someone who could be easily fooled or led. Which only made her more interesting.

Tonight, he thought, would be even more entertaining than he'd planned.

With one last glance at himself, Max slipped the golden mask back into place, his expression hidden once again as he stepped out into the hall, ready to join the others.