He’d only handed her a handkerchief out of pity for the maid sobbing over missing her hometown and family. After that, the maid started hovering around him noticeably, leaving behind prettily wrapped cookies or flowers.

Royden, who’d been watching that pitiful one-sided love, clicked his tongue. Only after being called out did Julian realize his mistake. 

Didn’t he know how cruel unrequited affection could be? If his half-hearted sympathy only made the other person sad and miserable, it was right to correct it.

He’d definitely learned how to draw that line and had become skilled at it. Yet somehow, in front of Chartia, he kept acting contrary to his thoughts. He just needed to maintain appropriate distance and stick to a formal attitude. Even knowing that…

The way she sat precariously before his mother, the way she rested apart from the group, the way she habitually swallowed her words—all of it kept catching his eye.

That was why he’d picked wild strawberries for her despite her terrible table manners, why he’d taken her to the sea.

He couldn’t find a reason for these impulsive actions.

At first, he thought that even if it was fake, she was his fiancée, so treating her accordingly, acting more kindly toward her, was the proper thing to do. He believed the reason his gaze kept turning to her was simply because he felt a sense of kinship.

But was this feeling kinship too?

[I’ll give you my happiness too.]

Julian carefully stroked the delicate wildflowers wrapped around his wrist. Compared to bouquets or dried petals gifted by people whose faces he didn’t know, they weren’t glamorous or fragrant. Yet the small wildflowers seemed to flutter down into the center of his chest.

So much so that he even had the illusion that the flower called happiness might truly bloom within him.

But he soon shook off the delusion. Those words were just a metaphor borrowed from the child’s words. Besides, they clearly held no deep meaning—no meaning at all.

‘Still, the flowers are fine…’

That evening, Julian carefully arranged both their shares of wildflowers in a vase. He was staring at the leaves still emanating fresh vitality for a long time when suddenly a paper slid through the crack under the door.

The faint presence outside the door disappeared immediately. Julian slowly rose and picked up the paper. On the palm-sized card, a short phrase was written in familiar handwriting.

<Observation deck basement>

He let out a soft sigh. Most of the tasks his mother assigned him in Rubenitar took this form. 

She’d throw him a location, and he’d find some old parchment—one with magic on it, no less—without even knowing what it contained.

He thought she wouldn’t give him more work today. Still, consoling himself that it was within the estate, he silently changed into outdoor clothes. Then, carrying a single lantern, he headed to the observation deck following his mother’s instructions.

Until that moment, he had neither worry nor expectation. He anticipated returning empty-handed like before. But an unexpected companion appeared, a space revealed itself, and eventually he found the parchment.

To Julian, who had no talent for magic, it was just old parchment. Of course, with a swordsman’s instinct, he could sense something suspicious about it. Still, his reaching hand held no hesitation. Following his mother’s orders was natural to him.

Kugh!

The moment he picked up the rough-textured object, shocking pain spread rapidly up his arm. It was similar to the pain when he first swallowed poison to build resistance. 

The tingling in his throat faded, then intense pain struck his entire body, seemingly stopping his blood. 

Similarly, the sensation transmitted through his hand stiffened his whole body and soon blocked his throat.

Unable to breathe, he staggered while clutching his throat. Just before collapsing to the ground, a startled Chartia rushed over in one stride and supported him.

“Julian!”

Laid down on the damp, filthy floor, Julian barely held onto the thread of consciousness that seemed ready to snap at any moment. It was because he thought Chartia might be in danger too.

Then his mother appeared from the pitch-black entrance.

“You finally found it. I’m so proud.”

She was extremely pleased that her objective had been achieved. Even in his agony, he thought it was fortunate. But a sharp voice poured out right beside him.

“How, how can you do this? He’s still your child!”

“…”

“If you think of him as even slightly special… please treat him as a son, not some useful tool.”

The voice that followed, the hands touching his body—both trembled pitifully. Was it from shock? Or perhaps, maybe…

But even at Chartia’s plea, his mother showed no wavering. As she always had in his memories, she remained firm as she stated the cruel truth.

“You’re greatly mistaken. It’s not that I don’t love this child.”

“…”

“Love just isn’t that important to me. Not everyone can have the same hierarchy of values.”

I see. The thing he’d hoped for, longed for, expected, then been disappointed by and sorrowfully given up on—it had been impossible from the start.

He had convinced himself that he had long abandoned all expectations of his mother. Yet, as the realization struck that it had been a hopeless wish from the start, waves of despair and sorrow surged from deep within him.  

‘I thought I had let it go, over and over again, but some part of it must have lingered.’  

It was both pathetic and heartbreaking. Overwhelmed, he finally released the fragile grip he had on his consciousness.

* * *

After losing consciousness, he sank somewhere between reality and dreams, like someone submerged in the deep sea. Childhood waiting, birthdays spent ill, comrades he couldn’t protect, disappointment, pity, lamentation, regret…

Just as he was sinking deeper and deeper to a darker, denser bottom, he suddenly heard a tearfully tender voice.

[You are the most special person in the world to me. A precious person. The person whose happiness I wish for most.]

A hand as warm as that voice lingered on his forehead and cheek, caressing him like someone precious. Then, miraculously, the agony that could have killed him at any moment slowly lifted.

[Just remember that you are loved like that.]

Was he hearing the words he desperately wanted to hear, like an auditory hallucination?

It was clearly a dream, yet it felt like salvation, like his only breath. He desperately wished these sentences, the person speaking them, were real.

“Julian.”

At the quiet call, his eyelids, which seemed like they’d never open again, trembled. Soon he blinked, and familiar scenery and air registered.

‘So it was a dream after all.’

Just as he was barely thinking with consciousness not yet fully returned, a calm voice continued from beside him.

“Are you awake?”

He stared blankly at the swaying red hair.

Was it because he’d witnessed Chartia shouting at his mother right before collapsing? He suddenly thought that red hair, and perhaps the owner of that voice, might be Chartia.

But the forest green he met was deeper. The one who saved him was Rosenia—the “child.”

“…Did you save me again?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

A water tray sat on the side table, seemingly from keeping watch all along, and a wet cloth was held in her hands.

So the child nursed him through the night, and the child was the owner of that voice. Once again, you were the one who pulled me from the mire.

“…Thank you. I will definitely repay you.”

He bowed his head, forcing out the words in a hoarse voice.

The child had completely kept her promise, so now it was his turn to keep his. Whatever the child wanted, he had to make it happen.

Rosenia, who’d been watching him steel himself with an unreadable gaze, opened her mouth as if she’d been waiting.

“Then there’s something I’d like to ask.”

* * *

When Chartia woke, the long dawn had passed and the sun was fully up. The sensation of hands rummaging through her organs persisted, and she tasted blood in her mouth. 

However, her bitten lips and self-inflicted wounds from the agony had completely disappeared.

‘Was it Rosé?’

No. That couldn’t be. After making her so angry, she wouldn’t have helped.

Chartia smiled bitterly and stumbled down from the bed. She nearly pitched forward but barely caught the wall. Though her condition still wasn’t good, she had to see that he’d recovered safely.

Fortunately, no marks had formed on her face, so she carefully wrapped herself in a long coat and left the room. Since Julian’s room was right next door, she arrived quickly.

The hand she raised to knock stopped abruptly in midair. Through the slightly open door, she saw a familiar figure from behind.

Rosé was seated beside Julian, who sat on the bed. Her vision hadn’t fully returned yet so it wasn’t precise, but his complexion looked reasonably good.

Just as a relieved Chartia was about to quietly withdraw—

“…Did you save me again?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

At the answer that fell without hesitation, her heart sank with a thud. Since Rosé had moved him here and nursed him, it wasn’t wrong.

But still…

She quietly gripped her sleeve, still unable to change and stained with blood. If Rosé being by his side could prevent the wound to his heart from his mother from festering, there could be no better ending. 

Yet she didn’t know why she felt this strange feeling.

Chartia ultimately fled from that spot. Like a shabby sewer rat retreating to an underground burrow, she hid herself inside her wrecked room.

Thud—the moment the door closed, her body crumbled. But her precarious body didn’t touch the cold, hard floor.

“Where are you wandering around in that condition?”

Caught by solid arms, Chartia lifted her heavy head. The cool voice of the man supporting her came from right beside her.

“…Cain.”

So Cain was the one who treated her wounds after all.

That was her first thought. She tried to ask how he’d noticed her condition and helped, and to thank him, but his expression was far from normal.

“Are you dying to die?”

The cold, low voice was laced with intense anger. For someone so indifferent to everything, it was exceptionally rare to see them express any emotion other than irritation—let alone such powerful emotion.

When she remained silent, unable to think of a response, he roughly rolled up her sleeve. Her bony wrist was stained with dark, terrible marks.

“I warned you not to use magic with your shitty body, didn’t I?”

‘So that was why.’

Understanding the reason for his anger, Chartia responded as if it were someone else’s business.

“I had no choice.”

Wasn’t it magic she’d learned to help Julian in the first place? Though the person himself didn’t know, she was greatly relieved to have been able to help him.

Perhaps frustrated by her foolishness, Cain sharply furrowed his brow.

“I had a feeling… The reason you learned it, the reason you use it knowing the consequences—it’s all because of one guy?”

“…”

“Why do you go that far?”

‘Why, he asks.’

Having the issue pointed out—something she’d taken for granted, like how people naturally drink water and breathe—left her speechless.

“I just… want him to be happy.”

She’d read his story, his tragedy, over and over. A character whose situation was different from hers but in a similar position. She pitied him and wanted to make him happy.

“Because a life that’s nothing but loneliness is terrible…”

“You talk like someone who’s experienced it.”

She affirmed with silence. Then a deep sigh flowed from his lips.

“Did you feel some kinship? Then isn’t that really about you wanting to be happy?”

“…Maybe it was.”

At first, the reason she acted blindly and recklessly might have been for that reason. Because she’d never experienced the emotion called happiness. Because she was ignorant. 

If someone in a similar situation became happy, maybe she could become happy too.

But not anymore. Julian as a person had truly become important.

Like a bookmark, he was positioned in the middle of her life, so whenever she chewed over or looked back on her life, scenes with him drawn in them would unfold. So inevitably she’d think of him, care for him, and ultimately love him.

At her listless acknowledgment, Cain roughly ran his hand through his ashen hair.

“Whatever. Stop with the magic and everything else right now.”

“I can’t.”