On Friday morning, Oscar stopped by Greenbird Bookshop to pick up the restored book.

At first glance, The Henry Milton Sonnets looked almost unchanged.
The spine, once so frayed it had been on the verge of coming apart, was now slightly reinforced,
and the pages that used to spill out when turned upside down sat neatly back in place.

“The spine can be reinforced further if you’d like,” Mrs. Maxana said.
“But I had the feeling you wanted to preserve its condition as much as possible,
so I only did the minimum work necessary.”

“It’s perfect,” Oscar replied.

Mrs. Maxana’s craftsmanship had exceeded his expectations,
so he willingly paid her more than he had originally planned.

The book was wrapped in a crisp dark-green paper and tied with a gold ribbon.
The moment it touched his hands, he felt an almost unbearable impatience.

He couldn’t wait to give it to Mia—
to see her reaction.

Those wide, astonished eyes.
The lips parting slightly in admiration.
The faint, crescent-shaped smile.

Each feature was lovely on its own,
but when they all came together, her expression bloomed like a flower.

“…She’ll look beautiful,” he murmured.

Once he’d admitted his feelings for her, everything suddenly became clearer.
Even the strange thrill he’d been feeling every morning when he woke—
it was because, without realizing it, she had already become the first thought in his mind.

The reason dawn swims had become more enjoyable
was because he could still picture her crouched by the lake, searching for a four-leaf clover—
and because her words, “Everyone needs a place to breathe,”
still echoed softly in his chest.

Now that he finally understood the feeling that had swelled within him for no reason,
the vague unease that had once haunted him was completely gone.

Lately, Oscar had been at peace—emotionally, mentally, entirely.

He spent the whole day waiting for Mia.
For her classes to end,
for her to finish her afternoon tasks,
for that quiet hour before dinner when she liked to take a short walk through the garden.

If the idle gardeners or the huntsmen had any sense at all,
they would surely make way for the two of them to have that moment alone.

“……”

But then he heard that Mia had gone out.
Well, perhaps she had some errands to run in the city.

“She went out with the eldest young master,” Alfred informed him.
“He said they might be back late.”

“Late? Why?”

Alfred rolled his eyes thoughtfully.
“Not sure. Maybe they’re dining somewhere nice…”

A restaurant that serves courses over two long hours—
Oscar knew the kind of place he meant.
The sort frequented by lovers… or by people soon to be married.

That was when he realized that his so-called emotional and mental “stability”
had been nothing more than a temporary illusion.

He was nothing but a plank afloat on the sea.
Until now, he had simply been lucky—
the weather calm, the sunlight bright, the waves still.

But now came the storm.
Wind and rain lashed down, white waves crashed hard, and the plank flipped over entirely.

The force of it stunned him.
He even let out a laugh—half disbelief, half helplessness.

He’d had no idea that liking someone could feel this ridiculous.
Then again, how could he know?
He had never felt this way before.

So yes, his heart twisted.

Even as the sun sank lower in the sky, and she still hadn’t returned,
a petty kind of stubbornness began to rise in him.

After a late dinner, he took a seat out on the porch and pulled out his cigarette case.
Beside him, the green gift box rested neatly by his side.
He placed a handkerchief over it so that no stray ash would fall.

And then—

It was only after the sun had completely set that he finally caught sight of them—
Mia and Clive.

The carriage stopped where the lawn began, and the two stepped down.
They walked side by side, sometimes one a little ahead, sometimes behind.
Though the distance between them wasn’t far, they didn’t seem to notice Oscar at all.

“Heh.”

Oscar let out a breath that was half a laugh, half disbelief.
He lit his sixth cigarette, the flame flaring a deep crimson in the darkness.

But even that glow wasn’t enough to draw their attention.

They had nearly reached the far end of the lawn when Oscar rose to his feet.
He’d long since decided that, when the time came, he would mock them to his heart’s content.

But then—
they stopped.

“……”

Clive was facing this way.
Mia had her back turned.
From the look on Clive’s face, it seemed they were in the middle of something serious.

“What…?”

The words barely carried across the night air.
Oscar held his breath, straining to listen.

The night wrapped around him like black velvet—
and then, slicing through it like a blade, came a single sentence.

“I love you.”

For a moment, time stopped.
Or maybe it was his heart that did.

“……”

Instinctively, Oscar clutched the left side of his chest.

But what came next was even more shocking.
Clive began to cry.

A few drops of tears turned into trembling shoulders, shaking violently.
He collapsed against Mia like a fainting woman, and she—she comforted him.
She took his hand.

She whispered something softly, soothing him, and then—still hand in hand—
they began walking this way.

“……!”

Oscar shot to his feet.
He shouldn’t be here.

Quickly, he pressed himself against one of the pillars, praying they wouldn’t notice him.
The two were completely absorbed in each other, unaware of anything else.

As they climbed the low steps, their joined hands slowly slipped apart,
falling away as naturally as if the moment itself had decided it was time.

Mia opened the door.
Clive stumbled inside.

From within, Alfred’s startled voice could be heard.

“I’m fine!”

Mia’s voice rose slightly.
The light spilling from inside fell across her profile—
her cheek dry and pale, exhaustion clinging to her like a thin film of dust.

Why…?

That wasn’t the face of a woman who’d just been confessed to.

Just as she was about to close the door,
Mia turned her head to the right.
Her gaze drifted toward the bench where Oscar had been sitting.

Oscar’s eyes followed hers—
and there it was, the ashtray overflowing with ashes.

D*mn it.

He bit down on his lower lip.
Did she notice?
Did she realize he’d been here, watching them?

But Mia’s expression didn’t change.
Without a word, she turned away.

The door shut, and her footsteps faded into the house.

“…Ha.”

The breath he’d been holding escaped at last.

I love you.

Clive’s confession echoed in his ears like a ghost.

Oscar leaned the back of his head against the cold pillar and breathed slowly.
The colder his heart became, the clearer his mind grew.

Clive loved Mia.

Oscar dragged a hand down his face.
“Tears…” he murmured.

He muttered to himself.
The man who’d just confessed his love had burst into tears.

“Was he… rejected?”

But then, they’d walked off hand in hand.

“If it were just out of comfort, maybe.”

But Oscar knew himself—
he would never hold hands with a woman who didn’t return his feelings.
At best, he would’ve lent her a handkerchief.

Those two, though—they were different.

Clive was the kind of man who could embrace a woman weeping because she didn’t love him,
the kind who would gently console her and escort her home.

Then what about Mia Green?

Oscar’s mind spun furiously, until a wave of dizziness hit him.

“What the h*ll am I doing?”

Shame lashed across him like a whip.
Hiding behind a pillar, contorting himself into the shadows,
agonizing over meaningless speculation.

Whether Clive cried from heartbreak or from being moved—it didn’t matter.

“In the end, the two of them can’t be together anyway.”

Clive was the heir to House Midstern—
not some minor baron’s son or lowborn noble,
but a true aristocrat, a family whose name had been recorded in the peerage
since his great-great-grandfather’s time.

No matter how much the world changed,
his parents’ generation still clung to their beliefs,
unyielding and absolute.

His father would never allow the heir of Midstern
to marry a mere governess.

That was the weight—and the curse—of inheritance.

Oscar straightened his collar,
picked up the ashtray from the bench,
and muttered under his breath.

“What a fine family this is turning out to be.”

Just then, the front door opened.

“……”

Mia Green stood there—still dressed exactly as she had been earlier.

When she spotted Oscar, she quietly closed the door behind her, careful not to make a sound.

Her eyes flicked over him—the ashtray in his hand, the stiffness in his expression.

“I thought so,” she said softly.
“You were here, after all, weren’t you, sir?”