After Ismay left, the sound of the door closing lingered in the room for a brief moment.
Tim didn’t move immediately.
He remained standing where he was, his gaze resting on the spot where the man had just been seated, his mind already rapidly organizing the conversation that had just taken place, searching for possible points of entry.
He knew very clearly—
Simple persuasion would not work.
This wasn’t a problem of language.
It was a problem of cognition, of era.
What he needed was a key point he could act on—
A position where results could be produced without requiring others to “believe” him.
Should he go to the captain?
The thought flickered through his mind, only to be rejected almost at the same moment.
He could already predict how that conversation would unfold.
The same problem.
The same rebuttal.
The same conclusion.
He didn’t have sufficient reason to convince an experienced captain to change a predetermined speed and course—
Especially when everything appeared normal.
He lowered his gaze, glancing at the documents on the table. His fingers tapped lightly against the surface, the rhythm unconsciously quickening, his thoughts accelerating along with it.
He began breaking the situation apart.
There was no need to change the decisions of the entire ship from the very beginning.
If something were done in the hours before it happened, many things could still be altered.
If the crew could spot the iceberg earlier.
If the radio operators could receive clearer, higher-priority warnings.
Even if the course shifted by just a few degrees—
That small difference in angle would be enough to change the entire outcome.
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers pausing briefly among the strands. For a moment, a trace of irritation crossed his expression.
He really didn’t like events that couldn’t be completely prevented in advance.
Disasters like this—
With no single point of failure.
No single flaw that could be corrected directly.
Every part, on its own, seemed reasonable.
And yet when everything stacked together—
It became an irreversible result.
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There was no true culprit in this story.
No single person who could be blamed.
Only a series of choices, judgments, and decisions that all seemed reasonable at the time, gradually accumulating—
Until they led to an ending.
And that ending—
Was paid for with the lives of fifteen hundred people.
Tim decided to stand down for the moment.
He needed more information to calculate where the best point of intervention would be.
Just as he made that decision, Lovejoy mentioned going to eat.
And now, he sat here, looking at everything before him—so refined, so flawless—
And felt nothing but boredom.
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Nora followed Tim back to his office.
She almost drifted along the exact path he took, staying close to his movement as she entered. The moment the door closed, the music and noise outside were cut off into another world. The entire space was left with only the sound of pages turning and the faint scratch of a pen occasionally brushing across paper.
Tim didn’t pause.
He returned to the desk, as if slotting himself back into some operational mode. His entire focus sank back into the stack of documents before him—papers spread out layer by layer, notes and annotations interwoven across them.
Meanwhile, his servant, Lovejoy, stood quietly by the door, his posture straight, like a shadow waiting on standby, making no unnecessary sound.
Nora couldn’t help but move closer to the desk. She lowered her head to look at the contents on the papers. Her gaze moved across the dense lines of text and numbers, scanning once—
Then she came to a very honest conclusion.
…Yeah, she didn’t understand any of it.
Those financial reports, signed documents, structural relationships—in her eyes, they were nothing more than neatly arranged but meaningless symbols.
She tilted her head, then glanced at Tim again.
His expression was completely different.
His eyes were fixed on the documents, unwavering, as if he were reading a system that was entirely transparent—every piece of information absorbed directly, converted immediately into judgment.
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She watched him for a while, and couldn’t help muttering to herself internally—
Was this person really only eighteen?
Just earlier in the banquet hall, he had handled everything with ease. When he raised his glass, it was so natural, as if he had done it countless times before. That sense of distance and rhythm—perfectly measured. He didn’t resemble someone who had just come of age at all.
At one point, she had even wanted to shout from the side—
You’re only eighteen, you’re not allowed to drink!
(Note: In the United States, the legal drinking age is strictly 21.)
Of course, no one could hear her.
And she wasn’t even sure whether being an adult in a dream technically meant you were allowed to drink.
But she could confirm one thing—
No police were going to show up.
Rose wasn’t there.
No one knew where she had gone.
There wasn’t a single trace of her in the entire space.
But Tim didn’t seem to care at all.
He didn’t even glance toward the door, as if this matter simply didn’t fall within the scope of his attention.
Nora stood to the side, watching him turn pages, make notes, think—
But her thoughts began drifting in another direction.
She suddenly found herself a little curious about the interaction between Tim and Rose.
Had they spoken at all?
Or was Tim really planning to let the story unfold on its own, without interfering?
She turned in place once, a small circle, then looked back at the person still buried in his pile of documents.
In the end, she made a decision in her mind.
For now, she would stick with Tim.
At least that would be more interesting.
And give her some direction.
Otherwise, by the time the dream ended, she would probably once again be left dizzy, not understanding anything at all.
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Lovejoy knocked lightly on the door twice, the rhythm controlled and precise. Then he spoke, saying that Miss Bukater wished to meet. His voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried clearly through the door into the room.
Tim’s pen paused for a brief moment.
Then he immediately responded, telling him to let her in.
Lovejoy opened the door and allowed her to enter, his movements smooth, as if this had always been part of a set procedure.
Rose appeared.
Nora’s gaze jolted instantly, as if a switch had been flipped. Her entire state snapped from that earlier hint of laziness into full alertness. She stood up at once, her eyes almost locked onto the figure at the doorway.
A beautiful white girl stepped inside.
Her figure was full yet elegantly proportioned. Her clothing was refined, every detail meeting the standards of high society—fabric, tailoring, accessories, nothing careless about it. Her movements were just as precise, as if she had been taught countless times since childhood—how to lift her head, how to walk, how to stop—each motion perfectly measured.
A flawless socialite.
Nora couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
She really was beautiful.
Then she suddenly noticed something—
The other girl had green eyes, just like her.
But it was a different kind of green.
Hers leaned toward a brighter, vivid shade.
Rose’s, however, were a deeper green—
Calmer.
And carrying a faint sense of distance.
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Rose walked up to the desk and stopped.
Her hands naturally clasped together in front of her, her posture proper—but Nora quickly sensed that something was off. She frowned slightly, watching her closely.
Why did she look a little afraid?
That subtle tension was hidden within her movements. Her fingers were clasped a bit too tightly, her breathing not as steady as it appeared on the surface.
Only then did Tim set down his pen.
The motion was simple and direct.
He lifted his head, looking at the female lead in front of him. His blue eyes settled on her, without any unnecessary emotional fluctuation—just a clean, focused attention.
Then he spoke.
“Is there something you need?”
His tone was flat.
Not deliberately lowered.
Not softened.
Like he was addressing a task on a list.
Nora couldn’t help but make a slight face at the side.
She felt that tone was a bit too harsh.
Shouldn’t you be gentler with a lady?
She muttered internally, though she knew perfectly well that no one could hear it.
Tim and Nora both waited for her to speak.
But Rose remained standing there, her fingers still clasped, her gaze drifting slightly, as if something were caught in her throat, unable to come out.
Her shoulders were just a little tense.
As if she were suppressing something.
Tim waited for a moment.
His patience didn’t show any other emotion on his face.
He simply spoke again, prompting her, his tone carrying a bit more clarity than before:
“Miss Bukater, is there something I can help you with?”
This time, Rose finally lifted her head.
She brought her previously drifting gaze back onto Tim, as if confirming something. She looked at him for about ten seconds—the time stretching a little too long.
Then she took a deep breath, straightened her posture slightly, and spoke:
“My mother said there’s a ball tonight. You’re to be there before seven.”
Tim’s brows furrowed slightly.
The reaction was brief, but direct.
He answered almost without thinking:
“I’m busy. I don’t have time.”
His tone was blunt, without any buffer at all.
He had no time to deal with social occasions like this. The countdown to disaster was constantly ticking. Every minute was slipping away. He had no intention of allocating any energy to something irrelevant.
Rose froze.
The pause was obvious.
The awkwardness of being rejected flashed across her face for a moment. She quickly suppressed it. Fortunately, there was no one else here.
She tried to maintain her composure.
Her lips trembled slightly, but she still forced the words out:
“I thought that after our engagement, it would be best for us to present ourselves together, so as not to give others the impression that our relationship is unstable.”
Her voice didn’t rise.
But every word carried pressure.
It was a position she had to uphold.
Tim was starting to feel irritated by this.
His gaze deepened slightly. The emotion didn’t show on the surface, but the impatience had already begun to build.
He really didn’t want to spend any more time on this.
Every priority in his mind was telling him this matter held no value.
He looked at Rose, paused briefly—
Then made a decision.
He was going to cut through this cleanly.
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Tim lifted his head.
Those blue eyes, once calm, seemed as if they had been compressed and tempered—deepening in an instant, sharpening into something colder, harder. A steel-like blue. His presence shifted completely in that moment. Even the air seemed to tighten.
He remained seated.
And yet an unmistakable pressure radiated from him.
For the first time, he truly looked like what a major antagonist should be.
He spoke.
His voice was not loud, but it carried a deliberately slowed rhythm.
“Is that so, Miss Bukater?”
There was no anger in his tone.
No obvious emotion at all.
And yet it made people tense instinctively.
Nora and Rose both stared at him at almost the same time, taken aback by the sudden change.
Nora even felt a faint ripple of goosebumps rise along her arms.
This was bad.
Just moments ago, she had been complaining in her mind—about how impatient he was, how direct, how un-gentlemanly.
And now—
For some inexplicable reason, she found this version of Tim incredibly attractive.
That pressure, once he turned cold—
Was even harder to look away from than the composed ease he had shown in the banquet hall.
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Tim’s gaze did not shift.
His tone grew darker, more subdued, as if he were slowly laying out an answer he had already known.
“Then let me ask—what about that Mr. Dawson?”
The words were plain.
But they struck directly at the core.
Rose’s eyes widened.
In that instant, it was as if her defenses had been pierced.
Her lips began to tremble. Her red lips parted slightly, then closed again, as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. When her voice finally came out, it carried urgency and panic.
“It’s not what you think—he… he helped me…”
Her green eyes began to glisten, emotion spilling out beyond her control.
Her body trembled slightly.
She lifted a hand to cover her shaking mouth, as if trying to push those unruly emotions back down.
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Tim didn’t retreat.
He continued, his tone still calm, but every word deliberately weighted:
“To be honest, you can be with Mr. Dawson if you want. I don’t mind. But I don’t have the time to spend on you anymore.”
When the words fell, there was no buffer.
Blunt—
Almost cruel.
Nora, standing at the side, was so shocked she immediately shouted:
“What are you even saying?! That’s way too hurtful!”
It was almost instinct for her to try to stop him.
But her voice, as always, was not received by anyone.
Like a stone thrown into empty air—
Not even an echo came back.
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Rose looked at the man in front of her—her fiancé.
Just moments ago, he had been someone she could speak to normally.
And now—
He was saying things like this, in that tone.
He thought she had gone to another man.
And he said he didn’t care.
That casual indifference—
That complete lack of concern—
Hurt more than any accusation could have.
Her green eyes were completely clouded over now.
Tears finally slipped free, falling one drop at a time onto the carpet, instantly absorbed, vanishing without a trace.
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Run.
Run.
The thought exploded in her mind.
She didn’t hesitate for even a second.
She turned and bolted for the door.
Nora was still standing where she was, looking at Tim with complete disapproval, still thinking—
That was way too un-gentlemanly.
She didn’t even notice that Rose was already rushing straight toward her.
She even instinctively reassured herself—
It’s fine.
People just pass right through me anyway.
She was already used to it.
Two pairs of green eyes drew closer and closer.
The distance between them compressed in an instant.
She could even make out the faint freckles on Rose’s cheeks—those tiny details suddenly becoming unnaturally sharp.
Nora was already bracing herself for that familiar sensation—
The feeling of being passed through.
It was something she had long grown used to.
The next second—
The world changed completely.
She felt a force seize her—
As if something had suddenly upgraded the entire system. Sound, touch, color—everything amplified at once. What had once felt like being separated by a thin membrane now snapped into direct contact with reality.
Her body lost its support.
She fell forward—
Her face hitting the carpet.
The softness. The friction.
All of it was unmistakably real.
A loud ringing filled her ears—
As if every sound in the world had rushed in at once.
She forced her eyes open.
And saw a pair of blue eyes looking down at her.
His mouth was moving.
It was Tim.
The emotions from just moments ago still lingered in her mind. Without thinking, she blurted out:
“You… you bastard.”
The next second—
Darkness swallowed everything whole.
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Tim sat at the edge of the bed, looking at the woman currently his fiancée in name, lying there.
His whole mind had fallen into a state he couldn’t quite process.
He genuinely wasn’t sure how things had ended up like this.
Just a moment ago, they had been in the office, in what he considered a highly efficient conversation.
And then—
The next second, she collapsed.
And now here he was, sitting at her bedside like some responsible fiancé, keeping watch.
The doctor had already come.
Quick. Professional.
A brief examination—breathing, pupils, pulse.
No visible external injuries.
Just temporary fainting.
Then a few routine instructions: get more rest, avoid emotional distress.
The tone carried no implication of blame whatsoever.
After that, he packed up and left.
Lovejoy escorted the doctor out.
Before closing the door, he glanced at Tim.
The look was restrained—but the exasperation beneath it was impossible to hide.
As if it were saying: Master, what exactly did you do?
Then the door shut softly.
The room fell quiet again.
Tim really wanted to yell what the hell.
How does someone just… collapse while running?
And on a carpet that thick, no less—
And still faint?
Was that even reasonable?
What kind of prank show was this supposed to be?
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He had been the first to rush over.
Completely shocked, he had dropped to a crouch immediately, checking her condition, reaching out to feel her breathing.
At least there was no head injury.
He couldn’t even stop himself from internally complaining—on a carpet that thick, how do you even fall hard enough to pass out?
He had shouted “Rose!” on the spot, loud enough that Lovejoy, outside the door, immediately came in.
The moment he saw the scene, he made his assessment.
He turned at once and ordered a maid to fetch the doctor.
The whole process flowed so smoothly it felt rehearsed.
And the former soldier stepped forward, directly checking the lady’s condition, movements efficient and precise.
After confirming there was no immediate danger, he turned to look at Tim.
That look—
Was deeply disapproving.
Tim really wanted to protest his innocence.
He had already done so three times in his head.
This had nothing to do with him.
Yes, the cause might have been what he said that made her cry—
But that didn’t automatically lead to fainting.
There was an entire stretch of reasonable progression missing in between.
That part could not be blamed on him.
Trust him on this.
But reality was—
No one asked him.
No one needed his explanation.
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Tim couldn’t leave the room.
It was simply assumed that he should stay and keep Rose company. If he so much as took a single step outside, he would probably be met with a whole row of disapproving looks.
That kind of silent pressure was even more troublesome than direct accusations.
He wiped a hand down his face.
His palm lingered there for a second, as if resetting his thoughts.
Then he slowly lowered it.
Seventy hours until the iceberg.
He calculated it in his head.
There really wasn’t much time.
Then he couldn’t help but ask himself—
Could this get any worse?
The answer came quickly.
The door was pushed open.
Rose’s mother rushed in.
No knocking. No warning.
Her voice arrived before she fully entered, already crying out—high-pitched, dramatic, tearing through the quiet of the room in an instant.
Tim sat at the bedside.
Completely blanking out against the background noise.
And then, with absolute clarity, he realized something.
He had made a mistake.
He should have chosen to be the telegraph operator.
At least then, there would have been a keyboard for him to touch.
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and then Add to home screen.