She was jostled among the crowds, and the ceiling was immeasurably high. She felt dizzy, but managed to collect herself.

Raflia moved forward while barely suppressing the rising nausea. Just then, she spotted a post office across the way.

“Next.”

After waiting in line for a few minutes, it was Raflia’s turn. She took the letter from her pocket and placed it on the counter.

The postal worker skillfully wrapped the letter in an outer covering, tied it, and attached a stamp.

After writing the address, sender, and recipient according to her instructions, the clerk asked:

“Express or standard?”

“Standard.”

“That’ll be 1 selon and 50 rohen total, including postage.”

Raflia took out her wallet from her pocket and rummaged through it. She held a 1 selon bill and was searching for five 10-rohen coins when someone behind her urged, “Let’s hurry it up.”

Feeling rushed, she quickly placed the money on the counter.

“Here you go…!”

With a clinking sound, the coins collided and spun in place. The clerk counted the money expressionlessly, stamped “standard” on the letter, and called out:

“Next!”

At the same time, the person behind Raflia pushed past her. Nearly falling over, Raflia glanced at the person with surprised eyes.

The man continued his conversation with the clerk as if nothing had happened. Neither the postal worker nor the people in line behind the man spared her a glance.

Right, this is Petre in Buleco.

Raflia sighed and continued walking.

Outside the central station entrance, she saw bustling carriages.

“Just 2 selon to downtown…!”

Listening to the noisy coachmen soliciting customers, she recalled the address she had memorized.

[23-1 Ferret Street, West Wing South District, Petre City]

Despite having arrived in Petre City, she repeated the full address meticulously.

It was a job recommended by the pastor and his wife. Now that she was in Petre, she wanted to do well.

She stopped a station attendant nearby and asked:

“I’m trying to get to 23-1 Ferret Street…”

“Cross the bridge, go south about four blocks, and you’ll be right on Ferret Street.”

He rattled off the answer like a machine gun and then walked away.

Raflia briefly considered taking a carriage but decided against it. She needed to save every penny right now. Instead, she quickened her pace.

Petre’s streets were packed with tall buildings, and the blue sky was obscured by smoke from aircraft.

People were suffocatingly numerous wherever she went, and when she stood at intersections, she felt dizzy again.

About an hour later, she had clearly crossed Banton Bridge connecting West and East, but all she could see were the luxurious mansions of Ferret Street.

’13-1, 2, 3…’

Even counting them one by one on her fingers, it still felt difficult.

She wanted to stop someone on the street to ask, but people were too busy to notice her hesitant approach and simply passed by.

‘I should have just hired a carriage. Am I going to be a lost child at this rate?’

Just then, someone tugged at the olive green linen hem of her skirt.

When Raflia looked down with a “Hmm?”, a girl wearing a flat cap handed her a newspaper.

“Sorry, I don’t need it.”

After she replied, the girl bowed, but Raflia stopped her on a hunch.

“Do you know where 23-1 Ferret Street is?”

The girl nodded.

“Could you show me where it is?”

When Raflia asked with a brightened face, the child held out her hand. After a moment of confusion, Raflia quickly realized what it meant and took out her wallet, handing over 30 rohen.

The girl stared at her intently, as if it wasn’t enough.

“Oh, more?”

Raflia continued to give her change until the girl was satisfied. When 1 selon filled the child’s palm, she turned around and began leading the way.

The destination wasn’t far. It seemed not all of her chosen paths had been wrong.

After going south one more block, turning right, and climbing a gentle hill, the buildings of 23 Ferret Street were lined up.

“Thank you, little one.”

When she smiled at the girl, the child smiled back and handed her the newspaper.

“I don’t need the newspaper.”

Then the girl said:

“The 1 selon is for the newspaper.”

She placed the newspaper in Raflia’s hand and quickly disappeared.

Was the guidance simply the girl’s kindness? Or perhaps she was a natural businesswoman. If Raflia ever met the girl again, she would gladly buy a newspaper from her with pleasure.

Raflia watched the girl disappear, then turned around. Before her eyes were mansions lined up to the end of the street.

They were clearly upper-class residences. You could tell just by the well-maintained street trees and the elegant attire of passersby.

Feeling somewhat dejected, Raflia walked a few more steps and stood in front of 23-1. She climbed the stairs, took hold of the door knocker, and knocked.

“Who is it?”

Soon, a woman who appeared to be a maid came out and asked for her name.

“I’m the governess who came with Pastor Frolia’s recommendation. Raflia Rozantin.”

The maid said she would ask the young mistress and went back inside.

As the wait grew longer, Raflia leaned against the stair railing and half-opened the newspaper.

When she casually glanced at the front page, surprise spread across her face. Elegant yet sharp eyes of a man stared back at Raflia.

For a moment, she stopped breathing and murmured:

“Bronski…”

* * *

The front door opened, and a young lady about Raflia’s age appeared.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Miss Rozantin. Nice to meet you. I am Rain Raihenders.”

Miss Raihenders extended her hand, covered in a velvet glove. Raflia reached out her left hand to grasp it.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Raihenders. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Miss Raihenders smiled slightly. Raflia found her smile impressive. With forsythia-like bright blonde hair, flawless glowing skin, and a smile that made her face clear and bright like chirping sparrows.

At this point, she couldn’t understand why the maids at the Herriot household had mistaken her for nobility.

Miss Raihenders’ smile flowed with ease and hope, not a trace of material hunger.

She called toward the kitchen, “Merhen!” Then the maid who had first opened the door appeared.

“Please attend to our guest. Show her where she’ll be staying… I’m busy, so I must go. Let’s have dinner together, Miss Rozantin.”

As if she was about to go out, she gently grasped Raflia’s wrist in a friendly manner before letting go.

“I’ve never met someone from Corantia before. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Have a good day.”

Raflia responded with a smile, and Rain left the house. As soon as the front door closed with a click, the maid took Raflia’s bag.

“Traveling light, aren’t you?”

Merhen asked with an expressionless face.

“I sold everything.”

Her possessions had only consisted of some accessories and clothes. She had sold them at a pawnshop to secure fare to Petre and living expenses for the time being.

“Your quarters are this way. As you can see, it’s a small mansion, so you won’t be living luxuriously.”

“I’d be grateful just to have a place to lie down.”

Merhen went up the stairs to the second floor. Following her up, Raflia saw four rooms.

“That master bedroom is the mistress’s room, next to it is the older young lady’s, right next to that is the younger young lady’s, and the small room next to that is Miss Rozantin’s quarters. The mistress is sleeping now, so please greet her later.”

The maid approached her room and opened the door. The room was small and cozy. A small single bed, wardrobe, and dressing table made up the modest furnishings.

Raflia slowly entered the room. It was pleasant inside, having been cleaned thoroughly beforehand. Dust sparkled in the warm sunlight that streamed through the window, which had been left open for cleaning.

‘My room…’

Raflia smiled.

Merhen placed the bag near the bed, told her to call if she needed anything, and left.

Raflia said a small “thank you” and bowed her head.

As soon as the door closed with a click, she began to examine the room. The wallpaper had a bright ivory background, and the curtains were intricately woven lace.

She looked at the empty spaces around the room and imagined:

On the bedside table, she would place beautiful flowers like ranunculus or anemones with each season. On the ivory wall, she would someday hang a painting she liked from a street artist, and on the desk would be her diary, books, writing materials, and newspapers…

She suddenly picked up the newspaper she had been holding all along. On the front page, that man was still staring at her with cold eyes.

His expression was so fiercely captured that one might think the photographer disliked him. Yet at the same time, his appearance in military uniform was captivating.

The newspaper article exposed all the misdeeds of Duke Bronski. Two divorces, gambling and alcoholism after the war’s end… The article concluded that now, as the unfortunate prince, both sympathy and admiration for his achievements in leading Buleco to victory had disappeared.

Having spent a miserable childhood as an illegitimate child, overshadowed by his younger brother, the crown prince, he had not shown himself until he joined the war and became a hero.

Talented and handsome, he had become an excellent propaganda tool for the royal family. At one time, he was the most coveted man among Buleco women.

However, his downfall began after the war ended. The duchess he had married right before joining the war left him for a convent as soon as he returned after the war ended.

His second wife was reportedly the younger sister of his close friend. After marrying him, she gradually became mentally unstable. She went around in social circles claiming that her husband was an unclean person who had committed a great sin.

Eventually, Duke Bronski confined his second wife to a facility called Ever Green, and although her brother, who had been his friend, sued him, people whispered that due to pressure from the royal family, the case was quickly dismissed and forgotten.

That was why people couldn’t take their eyes off him. The public was watching to see how far this once diamond-bright man would fall and wallow in the mud.

Raflia put the newspaper in the desk drawer and closed it.

Lesion Bronski—no matter how many rumors circulated about him, such trivial matters were not of interest to her.