Reborn as a Useless Noble with my SSS-Class Innate Talent

The feast hall roared with excitement as Kyle and Silvy entered, their presence drawing cheers and applause from the gathered elves.

Floral garlands were tossed, flutes of sweet wine raised in welcome, and musicians struck celebratory chords on ancient stringed instruments.

The atmosphere was warm and jubilant, and every elf wore a smile that stretched ear to ear.

As they walked through the crowd, Silvy shifted nervously beside Kyle.

She wasn't used to this much attention, especially not while wearing ceremonial robes hastily provided by the villagers.

Kyle, on the other hand, wore his usual calm expression, nodding politely as people bowed their heads in respect.

The elf chief rose from his seat at the head table and raised a goblet.

"To the saviors of our race! May your bond remain strong through flame and frost alike!"

Cheers erupted again, and a pair of ceremonial cups was brought to Kyle and Silvy. The liquid inside shimmered with magic, golden and warm. The chief smiled.

"To strengthen the bond between you. Drink, and be united under the stars."

Kyle accepted the cup with a raised brow.

"Sounds serious."

Silvy reached for his wrist, stopping him before he could drink.

"Kyle, wait—maybe you should reconsider."

Kyle glanced sideways at her, amusement in his voice.

"It's fine. I'm a heavy drinker, remember?"

She bit her lip.

"That's… not why I'm stopping you."

Her cheeks turned pink, and her eyes flickered to the cup in his hand. But Kyle shrugged and, with a wink, downed the drink in one go.

Almost immediately, a group of elf warriors descended on him with boisterous laughter.

"Hero! We must speak! You must teach us your techniques!"

Kyle was dragged away by the crowd before Silvy could say anything else, leaving her alone with the chief.

The elf chief turned to her, his old eyes gleaming.

"You look troubled."

"I—"

Silvy fumbled for words.

"It's Kyle. He's an idiot. He doesn't think. He never listens. He's reckless and insensitive."

The chief chuckled.

"Is that the truth?"

Silvy's shoulders drooped.

"No. Not really."

The chief folded his hands patiently.

"I… like him. I know he probably doesn't see me that way, and it's fine. He's someone special. Someone above what I can reach."

She finally admitted, voice barely audible.

The chief smiled.

"You should not be so sure."

Silvy blinked.

"What do you mean?"

The chief leaned in slightly, voice low.

"He drank the ceremonial wine."

"But—he didn't know what it meant!"

Silvy protested, cheeks flushing.

"In our culture, that wine is reserved for those pledging themselves to another. A symbolic vow of unity. Even if Kyle did not understand its significance, the act still holds weight among our people."

Silvy stared down at the floor.

"So… in your eyes, he just… married me?"

The chief's eyes twinkled.

"Indeed. He showed you respect, Silvy. Now it is up to you to build on that. Guide the bond. Nurture it. Make him fall for you, if your heart so desires."

Silvy looked away, flustered beyond measure.

Yet, in the depth of her heart, a small warmth bloomed—hope, delicate and persistent.

Silvy stared into her cup for a moment after the chief's words, the faint shimmer of the sacred wine reflecting her trembling expression.

She wanted to laugh—at herself, at Kyle, at the entire absurdity of their situation—but instead, she simply nodded and said.

"I'm trying."

The chief raised a brow but didn't interrupt.

"I'll keep trying. Even if it dooms me in the end… even if he never looks my way. I'll try. Because he's worth it."

She said more firmly.

She downed the last of her drink and set the empty cup aside before standing up.

Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she clenched her jaw and pushed forward, weaving her way through the crowd until she found Kyle.

He was talking to a group of elven warriors, laughter bubbling around him as he recounted something undoubtedly exaggerated. But his attention shifted the moment he saw her.

"Silvy? You okay?"

Kyle blinked.

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it, though confusion danced in his eyes. Silvy took a deep breath, then turned to the gathering crowd.

"I like Kyle."

She declared, voice loud and clear.

A hush fell over the feast.

"I want to marry him! Even if… even if I have to be a second wife or something!"

She continued.

A collective gasp echoed through the hall. The elves looked utterly horrified, their ears twitching with disbelief and their expressions painted in shades of scandal.

One elderly elf dropped his spoon. Another choked on his wine.

Kyle, however, just looked amused.

"Silvy, I think you've had enough to drink."

He said slowly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm sober. In fact, I can drink more."

She declared, lifting her chin defiantly.

Kyle arched a brow as he watched her sway on her feet.

"Uh-huh."

"I mean it. I like you. You're infuriating and impossible, but I—"

She insisted, taking a half-step forward.

She suddenly lost her balance and pitched forward.

Reaching for Kyle's arm, she clutched him tightly, but her body gave way. Her vision blurred, and the floor seemed to rise toward her.

The last thing she saw was Kyle's face—a mixture of amusement and exasperation—as he reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground.

"I can take care of myself."

She mumbled weakly, her cheek pressed against his chest.

Kyle rolled his eyes with a chuckle and adjusted her in his arms.

"Yeah, I can see that."

The elves were still frozen, their expressions stuck somewhere between scandalized and stunned.

"She's had enough for tonight. We'll take our leave."

Kyle announced casually as he cradled Silvy in his arms.

He strode out of the hall with her, ignoring the dozens of wide-eyed stares trailing after him.

Silvy, in his arms, finally let herself rest, a sleepy smile curving her lips as her head tucked under his chin.

Despite her bold declaration and the weight of embarrassment sure to come, she felt warm and safe. Maybe she was foolish. Maybe she was doomed.

But in that moment, she didn't regret a thing.

As Kyle carried Silvy out of the hall, the soft night breeze greeted them, cooler than the warmth of the celebration left behind.

Silvy stirred in his arms, her fingers weakly gripping the fabric of his tunic.

"You're warm. Like a fireplace."

She murmured, eyes half-lidded.

Kyle huffed a laugh.

"You're delirious."

"I meant it, you know. Not just the marriage part… the liking-you part."

She slurred softly.

"I figured. You did confess in front of the entire elf council."

Kyle replied, adjusting his hold on her.

She groaned into his shoulder.

"I'm never going to live that down."

"Probably not. But you made quite the impression. Especially with that 'even if I have to be a second wife' line."

He agreed, smirking.

"I panicked. Didn't want to give you an excuse to reject me."

She mumbled.

Kyle glanced down at her and said nothing for a moment.

"Silvy… let's talk about this when you are sober…if you can remember this conversation."

That earned a stunned silence from her. Her breath caught, but she didn't respond—her mind too hazy, her body too drained.

Kyle carried her the rest of the way without another word, but a soft, content smile lingered on Silvy's lips until sleep claimed her again.