Adollo was as cold as ice when addressing Sion, making one wonder if he was the same person. At the word “town,” Sion’s seagull-shaped eyebrows twisted into a diagonal line.

“…Town, you say?”

“Yes, when the young lady is ill like this, she loses her appetite, but the one thing she will eat is the mille-feuille from the bakery in town.”

Sion nearly fainted when Adollo smiled shyly on behalf of Agate, saying that the young lady unexpectedly liked sweet things like a child. It was too absurd to even laugh at.

‘No, wait, that’s not the issue here.’

He couldn’t hide his reluctance. Going to town? Leaving this remote villa? As a wanted swindler, he was in a position where showing his face was burdensome.

Of course, the possibility of someone connecting him—perfectly disguised as a butler—with the swindler on the wanted posters after just one trip to this rural town’s center was extremely slim. But naturally, he wanted to minimize variables.

He could easily make excuses to avoid Adollo’s instructions. In that brief moment, Sion’s eyes rolled to the left.

“I see. If it’s a dessert the young lady frequently requests, I should certainly be familiar with it.”

But the words that escaped his lips were completely contrary to his true feelings.

His mouth had moved on its own because of the small head of the lady hovering under his shoulder. If he made excuses to avoid going to town, he would obviously have to stay with Agate, and he was currently quite irritated with this woman.

He needed to get away from his target briefly to subdue his clumsy, awkward irritation. Surely he wasn’t unlucky enough to encounter that slim possibility. Or perhaps that was incorrect—his miserable life of wandering through such sewers was already proof of his misfortune.

At any rate, Sion decided to follow Adollo without protest. It wouldn’t do to get on the bad side of the stubborn old man, as that could make things difficult going forward. He pushed up his slightly lowered glasses.

* * *

It had been roughly two weeks. Since entering Ponten, this was his first time leaving that stifling villa. Though it couldn’t compare to the capital or other major cities, even small Ponten had quite a few people in its center. After getting off the carriage, Sion pulled his black fedora down low and kept his gaze fixed ahead, avoiding looking around.

Since he would only be traveling by carriage and showing himself briefly when entering the bakery, he felt quite reassured that this level of exposure would be fine.

“This is the place.”

Following the direction of Adollo’s pointing finger, Sion’s eyes fell on a shabby sign reading “Jerry’s Bakery”—a provincial name that matched the lady’s disheveled appearance.

How fitting that she would like desserts from a shop that resembled her so perfectly. He wondered if the reclusive noble lady knew that “Jerry’s Bakery” was such a run-down establishment.

“Indeed… it seems like a dessert shop with a rich history.”

“Despite appearances, it’s the only dessert shop in Ponten with a hundred years of tradition.”

Pleased by Sion’s hollow flattery, Adollo nodded with satisfaction before stepping into the shop.

“Oh my, Butler! It’s been a while! I guess the young lady is ill again.”

No sooner had they entered than a ponytailed man who appeared to be the owner rushed forward to greet them. How often must they have visited when the lady was ill and had no appetite for the owner to deduce her condition just by seeing the butler?

Sion let out a faint sneer at this provincial scene.

“It has been a while. She seemed to be getting better for some time, but her fever is acting up again. I’d like the usual, please.”

“As luck would have it, I just baked some mille-feuille. Since the young lady loves our shop’s cream, I’ll add plenty. But…”

The owner, who had been attending to his prime customer so attentively, cast a glance over Adollo’s shoulder, revealing his curiosity about the new figure.

“Ah, let me introduce you. This is Daniel, the replacement for Hindler who is on sick leave.”

Adollo didn’t ignore the unspoken question and half-turned to present Sion. Sion didn’t hesitate either, stepping forward and bowing slightly.

“I am Daniel O’Neil, butler to House Irone.”

“Hahaha, I am Jerry, the owner of ‘Jerry’s Bakery.'”

Jerry, who had apparently been waiting for Sion’s introduction, awkwardly shook hands with him. Even in that brief moment of greeting, his eyes shone brightly at the new face.

“…You’re incredibly handsome.”

Then, as if in a trance, he muttered without realizing it before quickly covering his mouth with a gasp. Fully understanding the man’s thoughts, Sion responded by slightly raising the corner of his mouth.

“Fortunately, my wife is at home today. Otherwise, it would have been tiresome for both of us, haha.”

But Sion couldn’t respond with a smile to Jerry’s frivolous joke. The “tiresome” consequences for Jerry and for himself were vastly different in their severity. If he caught someone’s eye and rumors about him spread throughout the village… the mere thought made him shudder.

In a small town, rumors would spread in an instant. In a stagnant pond-like village with little change, interest in an unfamiliar face would be substantial.

This wouldn’t do. From now on, he would have to avoid coming to town by any excuse necessary—Sion made this firm resolution.

After staring at Sion uncomfortably intensely for a moment, Jerry caught Adollo’s pointed look and, with an “oops,” lightly tapped his own head before hurrying back to the baking room.

“That fellow has a good personality but can be a bit silly.”

“Haha, not at all. He seems very kind to his customers.”

When Sion showed no sign of displeasure at such blatant attention, Adollo cast him a curious glance.

“…Are you always this unruffled?”

It was a first. Until now, Adollo had treated Sion strictly professionally, but now he was showing personal curiosity. Sion didn’t particularly welcome this interest.

“I hear that often. Since I was young.”

Sion displayed meticulous acting, deliberately adding a few awkward laughs as if embarrassed.

Unruffled? On the contrary, he had reached this level of realistic, artificial performance precisely because he was so twisted with wrinkles.

Most people who knew Sion didn’t know anything about him at all—not his name, his exact face, let alone his identity. Those who knew “Sion Benzef” could be counted on one hand, and among them, none knew his perfectly designed persona, the inferiority complex and deficiency thoroughly hidden beneath it, and his contempt for those who praised him arbitrarily without knowing this.

That most vulnerable essence hidden beneath was something that even Sion himself persistently refused to face and acknowledge.

Born an orphan, he had lived on the streets of the slums with no one to take him in. For him, each day given was not about living but surviving. As he grew older and larger, he mastered the art of survival and no longer had to wander the slums, but occasionally when his dark side was stirred, it would emerge with sharp edges.

Like now.

“By the way, this is a bakery, but it’s unusual that they also sell meal items like sandwiches.”

Sion smoothly shifted the topic by casting his gaze toward the counter. Nothing good would come from prolonged talk about himself, and there were no pleasant subjects in his life story worth chattering about happily.

It was indeed unusual to see sandwiches in a shop that originally specialized in desserts. Their diverse offerings suggested they had abandoned any claim to specialization.

“Well, it seems more people visit than expected despite appearances.”

Even this didn’t seem to bother common folk, but for the strict Adollo who endlessly preached principles, the hearty sandwiches among the colorful, dainty desserts were clearly an eyesore.

“Haha, since you’re our regular customers, I took extra care. Above all, it’s for the young lady to eat.”

Thanks to Jerry’s timely return with a genial smile, the almost-gossip conversation vanished without a trace. Both Adollo and Sion composed their postures and expressions as if nothing had happened.

“Ahem, thank you as always.”

Adollo cleared his throat and accepted the carefully packaged dessert bundle, which Sion naturally took from him. Just as he tucked the large paper bag into his arms, the bell attached to the bakery door jingled.

“Jerry! I’ll have a ham sandwich and a bottle of milk!”

At the rough voice of a man who entered shouting his order loudly as if it were his own shop, completely lacking in dignity, both Sion and Adollo’s eyebrows involuntarily twitched.

“Oh? Mr. Adollo! Fancy seeing you here, hahaha.”

‘Do they know each other?’

Sion, turning his head with a grimace toward the source of the sound hurting his ears, suddenly froze in shock.