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

Kyle sat still, his gaze fixed on the humanoid puppet seated across the room. It had returned to its usual spot, knees tucked in, arms lifeless, like a marionette discarded by its puppeteer.

After leaning over him while he slept—an act that had nearly gotten it destroyed—the puppet now showed no sign of movement.

Just that eerie, unblinking stare whenever its gaze happened to meet Kyle's.

He studied it for several long minutes, waiting for something—anything—to change. A twitch, a flicker of mana, even a brief pulse of divine influence.

But there was nothing. The puppet had gone inert again, as if the spark animating it had simply vanished.

Kyle extended his senses, probing the air around it for divine energy. Still nothing. No trace of the will that had once controlled it.

He even dared to step closer, just enough to study the shell for signs of a trap or trigger. But all he got in return was silence. It was like trying to interrogate a stone.

He exhaled sharply and turned away, frustration pulling tight across his brow.

That same frustration carried with him into the royal council chambers.

Crown Prince Mikalius sat at the head of the long table, expression unreadable.

Around him, key lords and generals whispered amongst themselves, tossing worried glances at Kyle. The scent of fear and uncertainty lingered heavily in the air.

"We must strike now. The gods are in disarray. Their champion has fallen, and they've begun turning to old relics and unstable forces to fight back. That means they're desperate. We must capitalize on it."

Kyle declared, his voice sharp and precise.

A balding lord with trembling fingers raised his hand.

"But Sir Armstrong, shouldn't we—"

"No. Hesitation is what lets the enemy rebuild. We already know they're plotting their next move. If we wait, we lose the advantage."

Kyle cut in.

"But our troops—"

"Are holding strong. We've lost people, yes. But morale is high, and momentum is on our side. Pull back now, and we shatter both."

Each time someone tried to question him, Kyle crushed the argument with logic and cold, irrefutable numbers. Tactically, he was right.

But the fire in his voice, the clipped sharpness of his tone—it was more than strategy. It was pressure. It was strain. And everyone felt it.

The Crown Prince raised a hand to silence the room.

"Enough. Kyle… I agree with your strategy. But your tone is another matter. You're leading soldiers, not barking at pawns. Curb your temper."

Kyle didn't answer. He merely stood, pushed back his chair, and left the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the hum of discussion.

He stepped into the quiet corridor and leaned against a pillar, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His other hand pressed against his eyes, a sigh slipping past his lips.

He didn't even hear the footsteps until a hand gently brushed his hair back.

His eyes blinked open to see Amana standing beside him, her posture tense, uncertain. Her hand hovered in his hair as if she were ready to pull away, expecting him to reject the gesture.

But Kyle didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned into her hand, letting it rest on him fully.

The tension in Amana's shoulders melted away in surprise. For a moment, the proud Grand Duchess wasn't a general or a noble.

She was just a woman, touching someone she cared about, unsure how to comfort him.

"You're burning yourself out."

She whispered.

Kyle didn't answer, but he closed his eyes again.

"Does this help? Am I doing this right?"

She added softly.

Still, no answer. But the way he remained in place—allowing her touch—said enough.

She moved a little closer, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slower this time.

"It's alright to breathe, Kyle."

He gave a dry, half-laugh under his breath.

"Tell that to the gods. Thanks."

Then, after a beat, he murmured.

She nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. For now, they didn't need to speak more. In that quiet moment, touch spoke louder than words.

Kyle finally let out a breath and gently pushed the Grand Duchess's hand away from his head. The motion was subtle, not harsh, but enough to signal that the moment was over.

Amana blinked, her hand falling to her side as she quickly took a step back. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, betraying the calm expression she was trying to maintain.

"I suppose… it's time for us to return. The council won't solve itself, and we've already delayed too long."

She said, her voice composed but a little too fast.

Kyle looked at her, a tired yet amused glint in his eyes.

"You're far too optimistic for someone wading through the middle of a war. But I'll admit, I don't mind the sentiment."

He said, straightening his back.

Amana gave a wry smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"If I don't stay optimistic, I fear I'll break under everything. Besides, I have faith that things will find a way to work out."

Kyle looked at her a moment longer, then sighed.

"That kind of faith… it's rare. And admirable. But you'd be wise to be cautious, Grand Duchess. Around me, especially."

His voice lowered just slightly. The or^i^g#i+nal+ so*urc$e is MVLE@M@P+Y@R%.$

Amana paused, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Why?"

"Because I'm a man. And inherently dangerous to someone like you. No matter how familiar I may seem."

Kyle said bluntly, looking away.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she didn't know how to respond. Then she looked away too, the red in her cheeks deepening.

"That's… bold of you to say."

She muttered.

Kyle chuckled, a low and dry sound.

"Just being honest."

She crossed her arms, struggling to regain her composure.

"It's fine. I'm not made of glass, and I'm not afraid of you, Kyle. I said I don't mind your presence… and I meant it. You're familiar to me. I find comfort in that."

Her gaze flickered to his face.

Kyle raised a brow, mildly amused.

"Comfort can be dangerous too. You let your guard down, and before you know it—"

"I'm not some naive girl."

She interrupted quickly, but the stammer in her tone gave her away.

Kyle smiled, this time with genuine warmth.

"Of course not."

He pushed himself off the wall and stood up fully, his presence towering once again. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he extended his hand toward her.

"Still… I appreciate it. But don't indulge me too much, Duchess. Unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences."

He said softly.

Amana stared at the offered hand for a second, then took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

"You make it sound like you're some wild beast ready to pounce."

She said, recovering some of her composure as they began walking down the hall.

Kyle smirked.

"Who says I'm not?"

That earned a startled look from her, followed by an incredulous shake of her head.

"You're impossible."

"Am I? So, does that mean you are going to run away from me?"

Kyle asked in an almost teasing voice.

She gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing more as they reached the council chamber once again.

Whatever tension had lingered between them slowly faded into something quieter—less uncertain and more steady.

Inside the room, the discussion had resumed without them, though the atmosphere was strained.

When the doors opened and the two entered together, the room quieted slightly. A few pairs of eyes looked between them, suspicious or curious, but no one dared voice their thoughts aloud.

Kyle reclaimed his seat wordlessly. Amana took hers with her usual composed grace.

And the meeting continued—but the shift in Kyle's demeanor didn't go unnoticed. He was still sharp, still commanding in tone, but the raw edge of stress was blunted slightly.

Just enough for the council to breathe without fear of being crushed under his words.

Only Amana, sitting beside him, could tell how close that edge remained beneath the surface.