Nora sat in her chair, opening her fan with an elegant motion.
The fan spread open softly. She raised it before her chest, covering half of her expression, leaving only her eyes visible—along with that perfectly measured smile, flawless to the point of near artifice—as she gave small nods in response to the people passing by.
It was a smile designed in advance.
Most of the people in the ballroom belonged to European and American high society.
Their clothing was refined, their speech measured, their laughter kept at appropriate volume. Every sentence seemed filtered before it was spoken.
But the things that truly moved—
Were never on the surface.
And tonight, the most talked-about subject—
Without question—
Was Hockley.
The wealthiest heir aboard this ship.
And at the same time—
Quietly mocked as a “nouveau riche.”
Then there was the engagement—So obviously rooted in an exchange of interests.
Rumors of an unfaithful fiancée.
And that mother—Greedy enough to wear her intentions openly on her face.
All these elements combined—Turned this newly formed “engaged couple” into the center of attention for the entire evening.
Gazes fell over them in layers.
Not directly.
But not concealed either.
Some leaned in to whisper.
Some exchanged looks.
Some didn’t even bother hiding their scrutiny.
The entire space seemed wrapped in fragments of hushed conversation.
Nora and Tim showed no outward reaction.
Her fan continued to sway gently, covering half her face, her smile steady.
Tim sat beside her, composed, as if none of it entered his calculations.
But those gazes remained.
Constant.
Subtle.
Falling again and again upon them.
Given enough time—
They began to create a tension that could not be ignored.
Being watched.
Being assessed.
Being waited upon—
For a mistake.
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Within that atmosphere, a lady in a blue gown approached.
Her steps were light, her smile already prepared before she even arrived.
Then, she took a seat beside Nora.
The distance was measured perfectly—close enough to feel intimate, yet still within the bounds of etiquette.
She turned her head slightly, her expression carrying that kind of concern that never truly entered the heart.
“Miss Bukater,” her tone was gentle, but deliberately slowed, “I heard the doctor visited your suite just now.”
She leaned in just a little, as if lowering her voice to share something confidential.
“May I ask—was someone feeling unwell?”
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These wealthy people—
Useless when it comes to anything real, but exceptional when it comes to gathering gossip.
Nora made the quiet assessment in her mind.
The fan in her fingers swayed ever so slightly, her smile remaining perfectly in place.
And perhaps because of that—
Tim’s presence stood out all the more.
He, too, was born into the upper class.
But the path he chose was entirely different.
He had learned from Batman.
At a young age, he had stepped into that world of his own accord, becoming one of Gotham’s protectors.
He wasn’t chosen.
He chose to step forward himself.
The only Robin who succeeded by volunteering.
And the most unique one of them all.
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She turned back, letting her smile settle naturally on the lady in front of her, her tone gentle with just the right touch of soft helplessness.
“Of course, it was me,” she said quietly. “The ship is moving a bit too fast—I felt a little seasick.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for the other woman to hear.
“Carl even had the doctor come to check on me.”
She paused for a moment.
Then turned her head, offering the man beside her a smile so sweet it could have been written directly into a script.
“Isn’t that right?”
Those green eyes—
Looked straight at him.
Tim froze for a brief instant.
Not because of the content—
But because of that look.
He was caught in those eyes for a few seconds.
Like a system momentarily lagging—
Before he came back online.
“…Yeah. That’s right.”
His voice came out just half a beat slower.
“I was very worried about you.”
He adjusted his tone enough to fit the setting.
After speaking, he returned her smile.
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Nora caught that response.
She didn’t linger.
Turning back, she faced the lady who had come to inquire, giving a light shrug of her shoulders, as if it were nothing of importance.
“That’s all there is to it,” she said, her tone easy. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t have it—he insisted on calling a doctor.”
As she spoke, almost casually, she extended her hand—
And took hold of Carl’s hand where it rested beside him.
Tim didn’t pull away.
He simply allowed that lace-gloved hand to hold his.
The image—
Perfectly intimate.
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The smile on the lady in the blue gown stiffened for a moment.
She forced a small smile, her gaze drifting slightly, as if suddenly realizing she had become somewhat unnecessary in this space.
Her tone loosened, growing more casual as she offered a few polite remarks—take care, look after your health—her sentences even ending a little too quickly.
Then she stood up and left in haste.
As if she had finally found an excuse to retreat.
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Nora watched her leave.
Her gaze didn’t follow for long.
She pulled it back quickly.
Her fan swayed lightly once—
Then stilled.
Her mind began working again.
The timing was clear now.
After tonight, there would only be two days and one night left.
She already had a rough plan.
But that plan carried too many variables.
It was difficult to control.
And it carried risk.
Still—
It was worth trying.
Could things get any worse?
She ran through risk analysis in her mind at high speed—breaking it apart piece by piece, restructuring it, listing possible branches and outcomes.
Different points of entry.
Different time gaps.
Different character behaviors.
She fed them all through, one by one.
If she could obtain the key item—
The difficulty would drop significantly.
The problem was—
How to get it.
Just as her thoughts continued pushing forward, she suddenly sensed something off.
Her left hand was moving.
Nora paused slightly and turned her head.
And only then did she realize—
Their hands were still clasped together.
They hadn’t let go.
And Tim—
Seemed to treat it as if it were nothing at all.
He even picked up his spoon with his left hand, continuing his meal as naturally as ever.
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Nora instinctively tried to pull her hand back.
The motion had barely begun—When it was held in place.
Not forcefully.
But firmly.
Her hand was kept where it was.
Tim lifted his gaze, glancing at her once.
Then continued bringing the spoon to his lips.
After finishing, he picked up a white napkin and slowly wiped the corner of his mouth.
The motion was clean.
Then—He leaned forward slightly.
Closing the distance.
Nora’s gaze tightened just a little as his face drew nearer.
A very direct question flashed through her mind—
If you have something to say, just say it—why get this close?
But she couldn’t ask.
Not a single word.
This was not a place where she could casually complain.
Right now—
They were a loving, engaged couple.
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Nora leaned in slightly, bringing her ear closer.
She simply wanted to hear clearly what he was about to say.
But she didn’t notice that the distance between them had already shrunk to something far too intimate—
Close enough that even breathing became noticeable.
Tim’s face was very close.
There was only the smallest gap between them. His breath brushed lightly against the edge of Nora’s ear—warm, carrying a faint trace of moisture—sliding along the curve, lingering at the point where the back of her ear met her neck.
That small patch of skin reacted instantly.
Like it had been lightly touched.
Honestly—
It tickled a little.
A sensation that shot up through her nerves, making her instinctively want to pull away.
Then his voice came.
Too close.
It no longer traveled through the air—
It felt as if it vibrated directly against her ear.
Low.
Clear.
Carrying a subtle resonance.
Each word spread through her hearing, creating a faint echo inside.
Nora’s first instinct was to cover her ears.
To lean back.
To escape this distance—
To get as far away as possible.
But she didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
The situation didn’t allow it.
Her whole body seemed held in place, frozen at this distance, even her breathing becoming careful.
Tim spoke.
His voice falling right beside her ear.
“Shall we dance?”
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The moment Tim took Nora’s hand and pulled her up, she truly realized things had begun moving in a direction she could no longer control.
Around them, couples rose almost at the same time. Chairs were gently pushed back. The sound of fabric brushing and quiet conversations layered through the air as people naturally drifted toward the center of the ballroom, as if guided by some invisible rhythm.
The orchestra was already prepared at the side. Bows rested lightly against strings, waiting for the conductor’s signal.
And almost without exception, everyone’s gaze settled on the leading pair.
As one of the most prominent first-class passengers aboard this ship, Carl was the obvious choice. No matter how much people mocked him in private as nouveau riche, those tones of disdain faded in this moment, replaced only by unmistakable envy and focused attention. The wealth of the Hockley family was simply too vast—so vast that any judgment lost its weight.
Nora couldn’t help but feel a flicker of nervousness.
She knew very well that partner dancing was an inherently intimate act—especially a waltz in 3/4 time. The closeness, the guiding motions, compressed the distance between two people.
When Tim’s right hand settled against her back, her entire body stiffened for a brief moment.
His hand was large.
The instant it touched her, it felt as if she had been drawn into a space that belonged entirely to him.
Nora instinctively pressed her lips together.
A completely inappropriate thought flashed through her mind—
Rose’s figure was far too… full.
She placed one hand on Tim’s upper arm, the distance between them forced even closer. Her upper body was almost pressed against his, while her other hand remained intertwined with his.
The sensation of their fingers laced together was so clear—
Impossible to ignore.
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Everyone was watching them at the center of the floor.
Not just the guests already in the dance.
But those standing at the edges as well.
Even the conductor had paused, his attention fixed on them.
Nora suddenly felt her legs tremble.
That pressure—being watched by everyone—tightened her body without her even realizing it.
Tim lowered his head slightly, the distance between them shrinking once more. His voice dropped low, meant for her alone.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Nora looked up instantly.
She didn’t even have time to compose her expression—only to catch a glimpse of those blue eyes.
They no longer held that cold, pressing intensity from before.
Instead, there was a faint trace of gentleness.
The next second—The conductor’s hand fell.
The first note sounded.
Before Nora could react, her body was already being guided by Tim. Her steps were led, her center of gravity controlled. She was pulled into motion, spinning along with the music.
Her skirt swept through the air, tracing arcs.
Light and figures began to blur at the edges of her vision.
And the only thing she could hold onto—Was him.
Like grasping the only piece of driftwood in a rising tide.
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The surroundings began to spin.
Lights stretched into blurred streaks. The colors of gowns, the gleam of polished silverware, even the expressions of the distant crowd—all dissolved at the edges of her vision into shifting shadows.
Only Tim, in front of her, remained sharply defined.
As if locked in place—A fixed point that refused to blur.
Nora stared at him, her gaze almost unable to pull away.
She knew very clearly—This was not her stage.
Her body was being led.
Guided.
Enveloped within a steadier rhythm.
Tim moved with long strides, his steps precise and effortless. Every turn flowed without excess hesitation.
The distance between them stayed within that perfect range—
Close enough to feel each other’s breath,
Yet never losing the space needed for rhythm.
The fluidity of it all created an illusion—As if the two of them were merging into one.
That was the structure of ballroom dance.
The man led seventy percent.
The woman followed the steps.
The rhythm was controlled from the front,
And matched from behind.
In earlier eras, it was even a silent test—
A way to determine whether two people were in sync,
Whether they could understand each other’s timing and intention without words.
If they couldn’t dance well together,
Then in a sense—There was no spark.
A direct judgment.
And a cruel one.
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Nora’s mind wavered between all that information and the immediate sensations of her body.
She didn’t miss a single step.
Didn’t lose her balance.
Didn’t even hesitate.
But she knew very clearly—It wasn’t because she was good at dancing.
It was because Tim never gave her the space to make a mistake.
The melody shifted at a turning point.
The rhythm modulated slightly.
Across the dance floor, the other guests began exchanging partners mid-rotation—hands meeting and parting, figures reorganizing in motion, like a carefully designed flowing structure.
Everyone knew exactly when to let go.
And when to catch.
Nora instinctively prepared herself.
She had already anticipated what would happen next.
Waiting for the moment when, at a certain beat, Tim would release her hand—
Pass her on—
Let her be guided toward someone else.
She had even noticed several gentlemen already watching her.
Waiting.
For that exact moment.
But—It didn’t happen.
One beat passed.
Then another.
Her hand was still in Tim’s.
His hand was still at her waist.
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Nora looked at the adult version of Tim.
She had never been able to figure out what he was thinking.
Under the light, the contours of his face were sharply defined. His expression always held itself at a perfectly measured distance—neither too close, nor completely detached.
She could see every decision he made—Yet she could never grasp the logic behind them.
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And just as the ballroom seemed perfectly stable—14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDRcRGtryUn
Music and laughter woven together into a fluid, refined scene—
The doors of the hall were violently pushed open.
The sound was abrupt.
Rough.
A forceful intrusion that tore straight through the smooth atmosphere.
Nora’s gaze snapped toward the entrance almost instinctively.
She saw a group of people rushing in from outside.
Their steps hurried.
Uneven.
As if they had been thrust forward before they even had time to compose themselves.
At the same moment—Tim stopped dancing.
No excess movement.
No hesitation.
The rhythm of the entire dance floor was cut cleanly—
As if someone had severed it in an instant.
Nearly everyone in the ballroom turned at the same time.
All eyes converged.
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At the front—Joseph Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line.
His face was pale—ashen, almost green.
As if he were suppressing something that should never have happened.
His expression was stretched tight, stripped of any composure.
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And behind him—Thomas Andrews, the ship’s chief designer, his brow deeply furrowed.
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The atmosphere shifted.
The conductor stopped.
His bow hung in the air, never falling.
The music cut off mid-phrase—
Incomplete.
The entire ballroom fell into a heavy silence.
A silence with weight.
Pressing down on everyone.
Unease began to spread.
From the doorway—
Outward—
Eroding the calm, little by little.
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Tim frowned.
He knew this feeling too well.
Gotham nights were always like this.
Right before something broke—
The whole city would go quiet for a moment.
As if holding its breath.
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Nora frowned as well.
She hadn’t felt this kind of atmosphere in a long time.
In the wasteland, every day had been like this—
On the verge of collapse.
On the verge of death.
That pressure clung directly to the skin.
Gotham, in comparison, had felt almost manageable.
Because there was Batman.
And the others.
They were a shield—
At least enough to keep her from losing all sense of direction.
The two of them stood at the center of the dance floor.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t move.
They didn’t even notice—
That the hands they had joined while dancing—
Had never let go.
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And just as everyone waited—
Waiting to hear what the master of the Titanic would say—
Tim saw someone else first.
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Lovejoy—his valet—had entered as well.
His face was ashen.
That wasn’t ordinary seriousness.
Tim’s gaze deepened in that instant.
What kind of situation—Would make a retired soldier look like that?
Lovejoy approached.
He didn’t disturb the others.
Didn’t create additional noise.
He moved with precision, stopping at just the right distance—close enough to speak, yet far enough to remain unheard.
Tim inclined his head slightly.
Nora leaned in as well.
The aged voice dropped low—But it was impossible to ignore.
“Edward Smith is dead.”
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Tim’s blue eyes widened instantly.
The captain was dead?!
Nora’s eyes widened too—But her reaction lagged half a beat.
She turned to look at Tim.
A very direct thought flashed through her mind.
So this—Is how you stop the ship.
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and then Add to home screen.