Mia decided to forget about The Henry Milton Sonnets.
Unless she could turn back time like the Fairy King in her sister’s novel, there was no way to recover something that had already turned to ash.

Even so, a small, lingering hope remained—maybe it’ll show up somewhere unexpected.
With that faint wish in mind, she tidied up her room.

“As expected… nothing!”

She called out cheerfully and flopped back onto the bed. Then, her thoughts drifted to Oscar.

Even when she remembered that incident—the uproar caused by his birth mother—Oscar had shown just how quick-witted he was.

Handsome, athletic, brilliant, and unimaginably rich.
A little prickly, sure, but that only added to his charm.
And those occasional flashes of kindness made him stand out even more.

Mia counted each quality on her fingers before reaching a conclusion.

“He’s basically a unicorn.”

Yes—his thighs were firm as a horse’s, his shoulders broad, his waist lean.

The moment that thought crossed her mind, Mia shot upright.

“Get a grip, Mia Green!”

She smacked both cheeks with her palms and muttered to herself,
“One careless moment and you’ll fall for him. Stay focused, stay sharp….”

After all, wasn’t it far more realistic to help Rio get into high school and earn her bonus, rather than live out some cliché romance with a young master like him?

Mia didn’t even realize she’d been imagining a romance with Oscar—she just muttered under her breath and kicked the blanket off with both feet.

***

Oscar hadn’t given up on The Henry Milton Sonnets.

He was gripped by a strange sense of fervor—as if finding that book were somehow his personal mission.
Of course, that wasn’t his only reason.

She’d smile, wouldn’t she? If I found it for her.

Seeing Mia Green’s smile—simple, yet powerful motivation enough.

So here he was, skipping rowing practice to wander through the city.

A green signboard read “Greenbird Bookshop” in elegant cursive.
A small door with a hanging Open sign, and above it, a tiny green bird icon.

When Oscar pushed the door open, the bell above chimed with a clear jingle.

The air smelled faintly of paper and dust.

Behind the counter on the left sat a woman in her late fifties, her gray hair softly curled to her shoulders. She wore a staff apron in the same green as the sign.

The shopkeeper—Mrs. Maxana—lifted her eyes from the ledger just long enough to glance at him, then gave a relaxed nod.
It meant, Look around. Call me if you need anything.

But Oscar didn’t need to browse.
He walked straight to the counter.

“I’m looking for a particular book.”

Mrs. Maxana flipped a page in her ledger.
“What book would that be?”

“A collection of sonnets by Henry Milton. A boy, maybe around twelve or thirteen, came in a few days ago and sold it.”

“Ah, that book.”

To Oscar’s relief, Mrs. Maxana remembered it right away.

Greenbird Bookshop had a small section reserved for secondhand books—
but they didn’t accept just anything. Only rare or valuable titles made the cut.

The copy of The Henry Milton Sonnets that the little boy had brought in three days ago was a Paler Edition—
meaning it featured a cover illustration by the famous Romantic painter, Paler.

It hadn’t been a rare release at the time, but it was a limited-run promotional edition, and since it had long been discontinued, Mrs. Maxana had accepted it despite its worn-out condition.

Besides, she was a book restorer herself, perfectly capable of repairing and reselling it.

“The boy who brought it in—he had darker skin, about this tall, and a big mole right around here…”

“Oh, you don’t need to say any more. I remember him.” She smiled. “Just a moment.”

Mrs. Maxana disappeared into the storage room and soon returned with the book in her hands.

Oscar reached for it eagerly.
She handed it over with a kind smile, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief as he inspected it carefully.

“Yes, this is the one. I’d like to buy it back.”

Mrs. Maxana could guess there was some story behind this tall, handsome young man and the book.
Of course, that didn’t mean she intended to give away a paid-for item for free.

She nodded and added with the practiced ease of a seasoned merchant,
“Would you like it restored as well?”

“You can restore books?”

“Of course. It’s old, sure, but more than that, the pages are quite frayed.”

“Hmm…”

Oscar fell silent, thinking.
Was it really right to tamper with something that carried such memories?
The faded cover, the worn edges—those might be precious to her too.

As he rubbed his lower lip with his fingertip, lost in thought, Mrs. Maxana gave a knowing, relaxed smile.

“You prefer the marks of time, don’t you?”

“Ah… yes.”

“Book restoration isn’t about magically making something look brand new,” Mrs. Maxana explained.
“Of course, if that’s what you want, I’ll do my best. But—”

“……”

“There’s another way. You can preserve the marks of time and only restore what’s absolutely necessary.
In this book’s case, several pages have already come loose. If we leave it as is, the rest will start tearing soon too.
Do you still read this book often?”

This time, Oscar nodded without hesitation.

“I thought so,” she said with a small smile.

“Then… how about this? I’ll just reattach the pages that have already come loose for now.
Ah, of course, it won’t be free. But please don’t think I’m suggesting it just to make a few extra coins.”

At that, Oscar’s lips curved faintly.

“I believe honest work deserves fair pay.
In fact, the fact that you’re charging for it makes it all the more trustworthy.”

He set The Henry Milton Sonnets down on the counter.

“Let’s do as you suggested. How long will it take?”

“Come back the day after tomorrow.”

“And the cost…?”

“Just pay for the book today. We’ll settle the restoration fee once you’ve seen the results.”

Oscar took out his wallet and handed her the payment.

While Mrs. Maxana filled out the receipt, he let his gaze wander around the quiet, peaceful shop.

A poster on the wall behind the counter and on one of the shelves caught his eye:

Greenbird Poetry Reading
Every Tuesday & Friday, 19:00–21:00
Participation limited to token holders only.

To dry the ink, Mrs. Maxana waved the receipt gently through the air.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

Oscar turned his head slightly. She was pointing at the poster.

“Poetry,” she said.

“I’m… hopeless when it comes to literature or art.”

“What matters is whether you enjoy it. You don’t have to understand it to feel it.”

“I’m not even sure if I like it or not.”

“But you do want to find out, don’t you?”

“You’re talking about poetry, right?” Oscar asked, momentarily unsure.

Mrs. Maxana chuckled softly.
“Yes, we were talking about poetry. But somehow, I think you might be talking about a young lady instead.”

“……”

“You’re planning to give this book to her, aren’t you?”

Oscar wasn’t particularly surprised by the question.
A seasoned bookseller like her would easily notice that the book wasn’t his to begin with.

Once upon a time, he might’ve scoffed—
‘She’s a young lady, sure, but “someone I like”? That part might need revising.’

But now, Oscar simply acknowledged it in quiet acceptance.

He folded the receipt neatly in half and slipped it into his wallet.

Mrs. Maxana spoke again.
“You know, personal taste is really just a matter of experience.
For example, a child raised listening to classical music might grow up to say, ‘I hate it,’ or ‘I love it,’ or ‘I prefer this composer over that one.’”

“On the other hand,” Mrs. Maxana went on,
“a child who never gets the chance to hear classical music won’t have any preference for it at all.”

“So if you’re interested in something, start by reading—or listening—to a lot of it.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Oscar replied.

“Do you have a moment right now?”

As he slipped his wallet back into his coat pocket, Oscar tilted his head slightly.

Mrs. Maxana stepped out from behind the counter.
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to recommend a few poetry collections.”

Out of habit, Oscar glanced at his wristwatch. His next lesson wasn’t until late afternoon.
Spending a little extra time here wouldn’t cause any trouble.

He gestured toward her with an amused smile.
“You’re quite the businesswoman.”

Mrs. Maxana let out a hearty laugh.
“Of course. A customer in a fine coat like yours? I can’t let him walk out empty-handed.”