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Summary
Illya is frustratingly observant, much to Napoleon's detriment. A keen eye is the worst possible company for a man who relies on illusion and magic tricks.
When Napoleon’s bedroom door opened that morning and two figures slipped out—Napoleon’s company looking immediately alarmed and Napoleon himself offering nothing but a lazy, satisfied smirk—Illya swept his gaze disdainfully over the former and ignored the latter.
"He was faking it," he informed the stranger, taking a sip of his tea.
