Aingloran Empire, inside the auction hall.
The audience’s excitement was at an all-time high.
As the announcer’s voice rang out, a mechanism on the main stage activated, and a square-shaped cage slowly rose into view, covered in a black cloth.
“This next item is the final one of tonight’s auction—and the one you’ve all been most eagerly awaiting! So please, prepare yourselves!”
The mature, elegant female host announced loudly, then turned with a flourish and pulled the cloth away.
Exposed to this world’s light for the first time, Roman frowned in discomfort, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh stage lights.
Under the gaze of every guest present, his waterfall-like silver hair gleamed beneath the lights, radiant and sacred. His exposed arms were smooth and porcelain-white.
Silver hair was already an extreme rarity among humans, and the kind of pure, luminous silver that Roman had—so pale it shimmered with a golden undertone under the lights—was unheard of.
It was a hair color said to appear only among the moon elves, a subrace of elves known for their nobility and purity.
His body was barely covered by a thin cloak, and the strange, ornamental cutouts made the garment less like clothing and more like something from a boudoir wardrobe.
His slender figure was fully visible to the crowd.
The glimpse of his delicate collarbone and glowing skin only heightened the effect.
A low murmur of awe rippled through the room.
Even the atmosphere itself seemed to shift—something invisible yet tangible stirred in the air.
Desire.
Roman could feel it thickening around him, as if the very air had become sticky, weighed down by countless greedy stares.
The cage door opened.
The elegant female host stepped in slowly, her smile gentle as she pressed down the hand Roman had used to shield his face.
“Be good,” she said with a soft smile.
From her perspective, this little one had arrived already fully broken in—obedient and submissive, just like a little white rabbit.
He never resisted anything.
Roman slowly lowered his arm, revealing most of his face, expression full of resistance.
But to the host, that look didn’t seem like defiance at all.
If anything, it looked like a spoiled bunny sulking or throwing a tiny tantrum.
She grabbed his wrist and tugged it down firmly, still smiling as sweetly as ever.
Roman’s eyes opened a little wider, but he no longer looked at the host.
His gaze turned instead to the full audience before him.
Leaving the private balconies aside—why were all the seats on the floor occupied by women?
Aside from a few male servers walking the aisles, every single guest in the auction appeared to be female.
And they were completely different from how Roman remembered women to be.
The biggest difference was that Roman could clearly feel an overwhelming aggressiveness and possessiveness radiating from every single one of them.
Something was very wrong.
Even if it sounded a little biased, based on both Roman’s personal experience and everything he’d read, men and women were inherently different.
Throughout history, across cultures and countries, positions of power and the ruling class had always been dominated by men.
Occasionally, there were exceptions—like Empress Wu Zetian—but those were fleeting.
Male dominance had always been the norm.
Which meant that there were substantial differences between men and women—aggression being one of the most obvious.
And now, as Roman fully revealed his face, the women below the stage responded with startling, almost fanatical aggression.
“Is she—he?—an elf?”
“The ears are obviously human. Elves have pointed ears.”
“Too bad it’s a girl… although, not bad either~ I’ve been wanting to ‘raise’ a daughter.”
“Lady Caroline, look closely at that child’s throat. That’s not a girl.”
“An Adam’s apple… My god. That one’s mine!”
Hearing the whispers below, Roman felt a chill crawl across his scalp.
Being mistaken for a girl wasn’t new—but what truly unsettled him was the way these women spoke.
They didn’t seem to care either way.
It was like… nothing was off limits.
Just what kind of world was this?
Roman pressed his lips together. In the end, how different was this from what he’d already experienced?
Thankfully, having already “died” once, Roman’s outlook on this new world was no longer filled with despair and defeat.
He stayed silent, calmly waiting to see how things would unfold.
Beside him, the host picked up the energy again, her voice rich with passion.
“And here we have tonight’s final treasure—beauty rivaling that of elves, an obedient and gentle temperament, and most importantly…”
She paused for effect, smiling warmly as she held Roman’s hand and leaned down, “…he’s a boy, and his first night is still perfectly intact~”
With that, she gently brushed aside the silver hair covering Roman’s right eye.
The strands were tucked behind his ear, and his right eye was revealed to the crowd.
A pure white flower bloomed where his eye should have been—four delicate petals unfurled across the socket.
Combined with Roman’s innocent, angelic face, it was enough to make people want to press their cheeks against his and inhale deeply, just to see if he smelled as sweet as he looked.
This time, the entire hall fell completely silent.
There wasn’t even a murmur of awe—only the scattered, uneven sound of breathing, clearly audible across the venue.
To the average person, Roman’s right eye would be considered a deformity.
But to the nobles, this kind of “imperfection” was seen as a form of beauty.
In the prayers to the goddess Fara, divine guardians were often depicted with unusual physical traits—arms turned into blades, legs into serpents, or a third eye on their forehead.
But according to the holy scriptures, these weren’t deformities at all—they were sacred markers that distinguished saints from mere mortals.
And Roman’s right eye was far beyond simple blindness.
No normal human eye could grow a flower.
Which meant it could only be a creation of the divine.
The most striking part was how the white flower on Roman’s face didn’t make him appear monstrous or grotesque.
On the contrary, it gave his already beautiful features a kind of transcendent, godlike aura.
“Has he undergone the Awakening Ceremony?” someone from the crowd asked directly.
“No,” the host replied with a soft smile.
A loud gulp echoed through the hall—but no one reprimanded the woman who made the sound.
Everyone understood perfectly what it meant.
The host glanced around the room.
The noblewomen wore calm, composed expressions, but their eyes betrayed a hunger and ruthless intent that could not be concealed.
A slow smile curled her lips as the host officially announced, “Then let the bidding begin—for tonight’s final treasure!”
There was no need to state a starting price.
Naming one would’ve been an insult to Roman, and a waste of breath.
“Ten thousand gold blers,” the first voice rang out—from a countess.
It was already an astronomical sum.
That much money could buy a whole estate in a remote region.
But in this hall, where at minimum every guest held the rank of baron or higher, it was nothing more than a warm-up.
“Fifty thousand gold blers.”
“Sixty thousand!”
…
The bids rose rapidly—and it didn’t take long before the price had already exceeded a hundred thousand gold blers.