‘Was this what he meant by reflecting?’

The Emperor’s kiss this time was slightly different from before. He lingered on her lips briefly before pulling away to press kisses along her cheek. He pecked lightly at her ear, then playfully nibbled her earlobe.

Her forehead, her nose, her cheeks—there wasn’t a part of her face his lips didn’t touch. It was all so evenly distributed it felt almost mischievous.

As a result, when the kiss finally ended, Mail had to cover her face with her hands for a moment—not for any physical discomfort, but out of sheer embarrassment. Her lips stung less this time, but the embarrassment seemed to have doubled.

“Why do you look so composed?”

“About what?”

“It feels like I’m the only one embarrassed here.”

“So, you’re saying I don’t look embarrassed?”

“Aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re shameless…”

“I don’t have the time to feel embarrassed. I’m too busy liking you.”

Since confessing his feelings, the Emperor seemed to have lost the ability to hold back his expressions. If he’d been like this from the start, perhaps Mail would’ve grown accustomed to it. But the problem was that he had held back all this time.

Without any immunity to this sudden openness, Mail found herself at a loss for words. She turned her gaze elsewhere, unsure why she was the one feeling flustered when he was the one speaking.

As she let her eyes wander, her attention landed on a portrait. For a moment, she felt captivated. Though it was merely a painting, she could almost imagine the sky-blue eyes looking back at her as if they were alive.

Noticing where Mail’s attention had shifted, the Emperor followed her gaze and let out a short sigh.

“…That’s my mother.”

A simple introduction. He fell silent after that, leaving a brief pause in the air. Mail turned her gaze back to the Emperor.

There was no need to ask; she had known from the moment they entered this room. The Emperor had retrieved a forgotten memory. Mail quietly observed him, choosing her words carefully. Everything that had been buried was now laid bare. There was no longer any reason to hide anything from him.

“Van, I have something to tell you. Actually, just before I came here, I met Lady Tengott.”

“…Iseline?”

“And I’ll also explain why I went to the pleasure district to look for Elisa before. I think it’s time I tell you everything.”

Mail had once promised the Emperor that she would explain why she had attended a party in the pleasure district. That moment had come. She prepared to recount the story, knowing it would begin with Gerton.

As she organized her thoughts, Mail’s gaze drifted to the Emperor’s chest. There was an old, festering wound he’d carried since he was seven years old. It wasn’t visible to the eye, but she couldn’t help feeling as if there was a hollow, empty space there.

Feeling a sudden pang of sympathy, she instinctively reached out her hand.

“…Mail?”

“…”

If only it could heal.

Her hand brushed over the spot briefly before she lowered it. Then she met his gaze again and opened her mouth to speak.

“I’ll tell you everything. Let’s catch the culprit together.”

***

“You idiot!”

Despite having vented his anger thoroughly the previous day, the marquis wasn’t satisfied. He kicked his subordinate as soon as dawn broke. The man, guilty as charged, silently endured the *buse without a word of protest, kneeling and bowing his head.

After several more kicks, the marquis, now breathless, stood fuming.

“Why do I feel so uneasy? Why does this d*mn anxiety keep creeping up?”

Deep wrinkles, etched into his face with age, revealed his growing nervousness. He muttered as though he couldn’t understand it himself.

He had gone to the trouble of bringing Ormil into the palace but had failed to manage him properly, rendering him useless. While it was frustrating and infuriating, it wasn’t catastrophic. The problem was merely a nuisance, nothing more.

As for his main goal of targeting Mail von Vizeat? He could always try a different method. There was no real obstacle in his way.

And yet, Marquis Bolthen couldn’t shake the ominous feeling gnawing at him since the early hours of the morning. No amount of berating his servant or taking out his frustration on the maid cleaning his chambers could rid him of it.

“This is strange. There’s no reason for it. So why…”

At that moment, a loud noise shattered the silence. The marquis turned quickly, realizing the sound was his door being forced open. Before he could make sense of the situation, armed soldiers stormed in.

“What is the meaning of this…?”

“Long time no see, Marquis. Well, I suppose it hasn’t been that long.”

Banther casually strolled in, flanked by soldiers. He glanced around the room before fixing his gaze on the marquis. Though his steps were unhurried, his expression was anything but calm. His eyes burned with a cold, deadly fire.

The marquis stiffened, his face hardening. Banther ruffled his hair in frustration as though trying to calm himself.

“Ah, just seeing your face makes my blood boil.”

“Lord Mohaim! What is the meaning of this outrage?!”

“Where do you get the nerve to raise your voice? To think I’d witness such shamelessness from someone born without an ounce of conscience. Bind him.”

“W-What? Lord Mohaim!”

The marquis and his servant were swiftly tied up with ropes. Immobilized, they were forced to kneel. Banther stared down at them with icy disdain.

“Marhim Bolthen, Marquis. For defying imperial authority, desecrating the dignity of the crown, and coveting a throne you have no right to, you are hereby arrested for treason.”

“T-Treason? What nonsense is this?!”

Bound and helpless, the marquis shouted, his eyes wide with disbelief. As expected, his reaction was brazenly shameless, prompting Banther to click his tongue.

“Well, if you’re so intent on denying it, go ahead. But just so you know, not only this place but your entire estate has already been secured. Scream all you want; it’ll only tire your throat.”

“H-Ha! Lord Mohaim, listen to me. I would never…”

“I don’t want to hear it. Take them away.”

The marquis and his servant were dragged out by the soldiers. Even as they were hauled off, the marquis continued to shout, but no one paid him any heed.

Banther coldly watched as the soldiers began thoroughly searching the now-abandoned room.

‘Depending on the person, for some, it is an unbearable tragedy, and for others, it may be a trial they can endure.’

Banther clenched his teeth. It felt as though curses would slip through the gaps. He couldn’t believe the result revealed by the tower at first. It was difficult to accept that a father could be so cruel to his child. To him, it was a tragedy far from anything endurable.

What shocked him more was that someone had tried to exploit such a tragedy. Even the slightest bit of humanity should have prevented that. How could anyone do such a thing?

“Bastard.”

A curse finally escaped his lips. Several soldiers flinched, hearing Banther curse for the first time. He didn’t care. With sunken eyes, he continued to watch the search.

***