Chapter 10.3

“How did you find me? I thought I hid pretty well!”

“I’ve wandered here for years. I know where people drift when they have nowhere else to go.”

“Nowhere to go? I’ve explored Horaiden inside and out! I could draw a map if you asked.”

“That’s good. No one bothers, so every year the freshmen get lost.”

At Ian’s suggestion to draw a map, Jane glanced away.

“No, it’s just a saying… I’m too scared to even joke.”

Her excuse, muttered as if she really thought he’d make her do it, was so pitiful it was cute. Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it was so pathetic it was endearing. Apparently, extreme pettiness just makes you laugh. Ian chuckled and picked up Jane’s coat, which she’d tossed aside. He brushed off the dust, his voice still tinged with mischief as he changed the subject.

“I doubt you’ll get into a Holy Scripture lesson, but if you’d like to hear about the High Priest, I can tell you?”

He brought it up lightly for that reason. He didn’t want to start heavy topics in a heavy way. So Jane didn’t catch the fleeting emotion in Ian’s gaze. She dangled her toes in the air and nodded.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“You know the Former Emperor relied heavily on the High Priest, right?”

“Oh, I know that.”

It was a story that had made the rounds. Jane didn’t know much about the Former Emperor, but she’d heard about the relationship with the High Priest.

“So when the High Priest was expelled, people were shocked, right? No other High Priest had held so much power.”

“True. In the last years of His Majesty, that man’s power peaked.”

Ian recalled distant memories. It was a very long time ago—over ten years.

“His Majesty was frail, so he got anxious if the High Priest was away for even a moment.”

“Why?”

“Ah. He believed so sincerely in the goddess that he thought her blessing would let him escape death. Did I tell you about the Crown?”

“It’s hard to forget a story about raising the dead.”

Ian chuckled at Jane’s words. She really was incorrigible, he thought, and continued.

“Yes, that. His Majesty believed in the Crown more than anyone. He even believed Generald might have similar powers.”

Jane didn’t immediately understand Ian’s words. What did faith have to do with death? She frowned, unable to grasp it with her own logic. ‘This is more complicated than I thought. Did I get involved for nothing?’ She realized at the same time that she hadn’t really chosen to get involved.

‘Ah, really.’

If she’d known, she would have quit everything at the ball and run away. Jane, regretting too late, gestured at Ian to continue.

“Anyway, with all those circumstances, the High Priest came up with an absurd plan—the Holy Crusade.”

“Oh, I know the Holy Crusade. I heard about it once. They sent a crusade north, um, and it failed. Right?”

Her voice was uncertain. Ian shrugged as if that was understandable. It had been over ten years. There hadn’t been an imperial newspaper then, and the High Priest had worked hard to suppress the story, so it wasn’t strange Jane didn’t know. She’d been very young, too.

“Right. The north—the imperial northern border touches the land of monsters, you know? The army was sent to conquer it, officially. But the real goal was to find the goddess’s Crown.”

“…You’re joking?”

Ian smiled faintly. Joking? He wished it were. But sometimes the world is stranger than anyone’s imagination.

“No, it’s true.”

“To send an army for a Crown stolen a hundred years ago, without even knowing if it was there? Is that possible?”

“His Majesty feared death, and the High Priest wasn’t satisfied with what he had.”

Anyway, Ian skipped over the grim, personal details.

“In the end, they failed. Thousands of Priests died, and nobody knows how many soldiers died. But the fact they could hush it up so easily shows how much power the High Priest had. Anyway, from then on, His Majesty started to distance himself from the High Priest.”

That was where the problem started.

If the Former Emperor had dismissed the High Priest, things would have been simpler. But the Emperor died sooner than the High Priest was dismissed. The Ports family tried desperately to bury the incident, and it seemed the truth was lost. Not knowing that a Hixston who’d lost both parents would bare their teeth and bite.

Jane watched Ian, who was stretched out on the sofa. His voice grew heavier as the story went on.

‘Why?’

She didn’t know the reason, but she felt it.

And just as she felt it, Ian suddenly smiled, propping his chin in his hand. The atmosphere flipped as easily as a palm.

“That’s enough heavy talk. No good comes from dragging it out—there are more important things.”

“More important than this?”

Jane asked, incredulous, and Ian replied as if it was obvious.

“So, how’s the next deadline, author?”

“How can you say such a dreadful thing when I just finished the last one?”

“Dreadful? Author, I trust you haven’t forgotten there are only a few days until the next printing.”

Surely not. His added words were full of mischief. Thud. The heavy coat on her shoulder made Jane narrow her eyes at him. Her foot nudged Ian’s shin with surprising force.

Seriously, if you’re going to cheer someone on, just cheer—don’t nag. But it was cold, so Jane quietly pulled the coat’s sleeves on. She buried her face in the fluffy fur at the collar and exhaled, retorting proudly.

“See, Mr. Editor, writing doesn’t just come out if you poke it! This is why it’s frustrating to work with an amateur. If you’ve never written, you don’t know anything.”

If you poke it, it pops out? Ian looked away from her breath swirling in the air. Her blonde hair, round and messy, and her arrogant chin—Jane had no idea, but Ian couldn’t help but laugh. He let the rest of his laughter drift away on the breeze, then asked in a mock-serious voice,

“If you have a secret for getting writing done, please tell me, author.”

“Why? So you can try it yourself?”

“Of course. An editor should do everything possible to help the author meet deadlines.”

“What if you agree without knowing what I’ll demand? What if I bankrupt Hixston?”

“Don’t worry. It’s unlikely you could put even a dent in Hixston’s finances.”

Really, this man. Jane let out a sigh at Ian’s casual way of throwing out dangerous words. This is the problem. If he’s going to use her, he should be consistent from start to finish like Richard. If she draws a line, he notices immediately and crosses it, as if it’s nothing. He never considers how the person who drew the line feels.

Jane sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, if I could turn back time like Izabelua, I’d consider it.”

It was pure mischief to say something even Hixston could never do.

“Time, huh. How much?”

The unexpected answer followed smoothly. Ian didn’t even hesitate. His voice was calm, as if he could do it. The baton passed to Jane. She blinked rapidly in surprise.

She was flustered, and just happened to be sitting in Horaiden’s abandoned garden, and unfortunately—

“Five years?”

“May I ask why?”

—the conversation didn’t end there, of all places.

“…I might have entered Horaiden then, in the literature department.”

Swept along by an unexpected flow, Jane blurted out something she’d never told anyone.

It really wasn’t something she’d planned to say… The moment she said it, Jane regretted it.

***

—Literature department.

Jane lay blankly on her bed. It was well past midnight. Since returning from Horaiden Academy, she hadn’t seen Ian’s face and had been holed up in the study for six hours. Yet she couldn’t sleep. Not only could she not sleep, the lines from the only opera she’d ever seen in her life kept echoing in her head.

—Oh, regret that grows the more I dwell on you. You gnaw at me, and only the darkness I measure grows endlessly.

It was more something she’d heard than seen. The seat she’d managed to get with great effort barely had a view of the edge of the stage. But that wasn’t the important part. Jane held her breath.

—At Horaiden. You could have been my junior.

—Yes.

—Yes. I didn’t really like the academy, but still…

The words, so quiet they would be missed unless she focused, circled in her mouth and were swallowed.

—That’s a shame.

Yet the words she heard were far from what she expected.

Jane thought. A shame? Did she really hear that right? If she did, why would he say it’s a shame? If she didn’t, why did she think Ian said that… Goodness gracious.

‘You’re crazy, Jane.’

Jane had to admit she was truly losing her mind. There was no other way to explain this situation.

‘Come on, Jane. Sleep. You have to write tomorrow! The deadline is only a few days away!’

With every exhale, Ian’s tilted face, his jet-black hair falling, appeared. She was sure his eyes were closed, yet around her was the midday academy. D*mn it. Jane tried to cut off her thoughts, but it didn’t work.

Even counting sheep, even counting numbers, if she let her guard down for a moment, she was back at Horaiden.

Swoosh—

The academy, silent during class, was filled only with the sound of wind. The open surroundings made it a cold day, even though the sun was high. Even in winter, weeds tickled her ankles everywhere.

Ian, legs crossed, turned his upper body toward her, resting his chin on his knee, and just,

just quietly looked at her—

Jane couldn’t stand it and opened her eyes. The ceiling, tangled with the Hixston crest, was vivid. Even in the dark.

—Author, or junior, huh.

Then suddenly, she was dragged back to Horaiden Academy.

Ah, Ian again. His head tilted, words rolling in his mouth like candy, his red eyes narrowing. Those dark red eyes, just quietly watching her, seemed especially deep. The emotions sunk at the bottom almost felt tangible, and knowing it was just her illusion, Jane couldn’t say anything. Facing those dark red eyes, her fingertips tingled. Even though the weeds were just brushing around her ankles.

In the end, just like during the day, Jane couldn’t stand it and jumped out of bed.

“Ugh! This is driving me crazy!”

The kicked blanket rolled off the bed, but she didn’t care. The blanket wasn’t the problem. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep a wink like this! She hadn’t written a single line all afternoon. She’d hoped at least to sleep, but she couldn’t.

That was the problem. The night was deep, the bed was comfortable, and unfortunately, she was at Hixston Manor. She had to get out. Everything around her was filled with reminders of Ian Renschtein Hixston, so nothing could go right.

With that conclusion, Jane got out of bed. She stomped around the room, put on a dress that reached her ankles, and snatched up her robe. With a fierce look, as if she might k*ll someone, Jane slipped out of Hixston Manor in the dark early morning.

If Ian had seen, he would have sighed, hand on his forehead.