Fish Don't Know About Water - Chapter 45

“You… fool…”

Her face quickly turned into a tearful expression, and her cheeks and neck flushed pink. She fidgeted, her face reddening, then suddenly turned around.

“…The princess’s advice was right!”

“Huh?”

Rose, who had staggered over at the commotion, looked surprised.

“What did I…?”

“A man who prioritizes his wife over embarrassment and humiliation!”

“…Oh, my life advice? Yes, a wife should always come first… Huh?”

Rose, who had been staggering, finally wobbled greatly. She unconsciously grabbed the table, pulling the white tablecloth with a loud swish.

At that moment, the five-tiered cake, already marked with knife cuts, tipped over towards Viett.

“Oh no… The cake!”

“Your Highness!”

The moment the giant five-tiered cake tilted towards him felt like a scene from a movie.

Like a scene from a silent film he had seen once, the speed seemed slow. All the surrounding noise suddenly disappeared. His ears were ringing.

Damn. Today is just one of those days. Unless God is determined to humiliate me, there’s no way such a crappy thing would happen on my birthday…

He looked up at the cake helplessly. Already soaked in wine, he had no will to dodge it. Either way, he would look ridiculous and pathetic.

Just as the tall five-tiered cake was about to fall on him, a slender arm wrapped around his neck. Phenelity held him tight and curled her body protectively.

“Miss!”

Hilias Law’s shout came from afar. The fragrant scent of flowers covered the apple wine smell that soaked his body. Viett, taken aback, hugged her waist and slowly lifted his head.

“Wh-what are you doing…”

“Surprise!”

Phenelity, still holding his neck, looked up sharply. Her neatly styled hair, neck, shoulders, and back were covered in white cream. Behind her, the five-tiered cake lay in a mess.

“Haha, we must look like cream puffs right now.”

Phenelity laughed brightly at his dazed face. He blinked in bewilderment. The cream that had piled on her head started to flow down her ears and neck. Cream also dripped onto his hand holding her slender waist.

“Ugh, it’s so sweet…”

Phenelity mumbled as she wiped the cream off her forehead and nose. The people gathered around were too stunned by the situation to react. Rose, finally coming to her senses, cried out.

“I’m sorry, Pepe!”

“Aren’t you sorry to your brother? Both of them are covered in cream.”

Cecilia clicked her tongue as she approached. At that moment, someone laughed quietly. That seemed to be the signal for a few others to start laughing. It was Viett’s fellow officers.

These bastards. Viett glared sharply at the officers laughing drunkenly.

The officers, who had been laughing with tears in their eyes, began to tighten their lips one by one. Those holding their bellies in laughter also started to sneak away.

“A-a-are you hurt…”

He wiped the cream off her white face with the wet towel Cecilia handed him. Phenelity shook her head, laughing innocently.

“It’s okay. The cake was soft, so it didn’t hurt at all.”

“…W-why… why did you, why did you do that?”

He squeezed the wet towel in his hand and bit his lip. Just let someone like me fall apart. Don’t ruin yourself for my sake.

Viett looked as if he was about to cry. He bowed his head and clenched his teeth. But the next moment, he slowly lifted his head at the warm hand touching his cheek.

“Why?”

His wife was brushing his hair, dripping with wine, and smiling. Her smile was sweeter than the apple scent that surrounded them. Just like the gentle smile she had shown under the big tree at some point.

“We’re a couple, so we have to share the embarrassment together. Right?”

“…”

Viett sat there, staring at her smile for a long time. Forgetting his wretched situation, he thought only of her.

Surely, he would reminisce about this moment far in the future.

The moment when he fell hopelessly in love, that love also existed for him…

* * *

At the same time. Inside the women’s restroom on the fourth floor of the <Evening Whisper> office. The editor of a propaganda novel boasting a history of hundreds of years was brushing her teeth diligently. She scrubbed her tongue, which was full of the taste of coffee, with a toothbrush and mumbled indistinctly.

“Ugh, this crappy job…”

Her boss who dumped work on her, the old building with only one women’s restroom on the fourth floor, and the government officials who constantly pressured her to publish voluntary enlistment ads in the newspaper.

Everything was crappy and unsatisfactory. But the worst of all was the ghost clinging to the office building, known as Lord Gallant.

“Does he think I’m his slave or something?”

The editor spat out the toothpaste foam and checked her wristwatch. There were less than three minutes left until midnight. In a few minutes, Lord Gallant would come to her office with a new manuscript.

“Ha… He’ll throw a fit if I’m late…”

She mumbled weakly and rinsed her mouth roughly. This crappy job didn’t even allow her the time and leisure to rinse her mouth properly.

Shoving the toothbrush cup into her pocket, she left the chilly restroom. To get to her private office on the sixth floor, she had to walk down a dark hallway and climb the stairs.

Even though it wasn’t a long distance, it was a tough journey for an editor who spent most of her day sitting and typing.

“It’s cold.”

The editor sniffled and shivered from the cold. Since all the political department staff on the fourth floor had left, the deserted hallway felt even colder today. It was the perfect atmosphere for a ghost to pop out. Of course, the editor who saw ghosts every day wasn’t scared at all.

What was really scary was money. Damn rent. Damn taxes. She couldn’t quit this annoying job because of the skyrocketing prices after the war. If she left to find freedom, she’d just starve to death without being able to pay the rent.

“Ugh, it’s so dark.”

Relying on the lamp light near the stairs, the editor was startled by her own words. That sounded just like the Little Lady. Reading her thoughts every day had made her way of speaking rub off on her.

“Though I’ve never heard her voice…”

The editor smacked her lips in regret. Even though she had watched her for a long time, she still didn’t know her face.

But she thought she might see her face soon. Wasn’t her wedding with the prince today?

“No, it’s yesterday now.”

The editor glanced at her wristwatch. Midnight had just passed. She hurriedly walked, filled with a strange sense of anticipation. The thought of soon seeing the wedding photos of the prince and the Little Lady quickened her steps.

No matter which media outlet, there would be at least one wedding photo. Since it was a foreign country, security wouldn’t be that tight, and there would be at least one daring reporter sneaking into the secret wedding…

“Today too, no. It’s just yesterday now… Anyway, good job.”

She trudged along and slowly stopped walking when she heard a familiar voice. Lord Gallant?

The editor hurriedly looked around the dark hallway. Damn. Was he on the fourth floor? Why was he on a floor where all the staff had left?

Listening carefully, she could hear the sound of a typewriter. The loud sound that she had heard so often it almost made her ears go deaf. That sound echoed in the quiet hallway at regular intervals. Lord Gallant’s voice was mixed in here and there.

“Yes. Yesterday was the wedding day, so everyone’s attention will be focused on this issue. Hmm… Yes. You say you put more effort into the sentences than usual?”

The editor tiptoed along, following the gentle voice. Lord Gallant’s voice was coming from a private office of a political department reporter. Not even a hint of light was coming through the slightly open door.

“…It doesn’t seem like it though? You should strive harder to improve your writing skills.”

Only his voice could be heard. She wondered who he was talking to in the dark office, but worrying about ghosts was as stupid as it got, so she dismissed it.

“Hm? You just finished writing ‘Pepe.’ And you’re starting the next chapter right away?”

She wanted to dismiss it. If the words she heard weren’t so extraordinary, the editor would have tiptoed to the stairs. She had to get to her office before the damn ghost arrived.

‘What does he mean, starting to write Pepe? But the one writing the Little Lord’s novel is the magic typewriter…’

The editor’s mouth dropped open as she thought quickly. Oh my God. So the one Lord Gallant is muttering to is…

‘Does that mean the damn magic typewriter is in there?!’

Did the owner of that office know this? Or was there a hidden passage connected to the secret room where the typewriter was concealed?