He thought she was beautiful.

That may seem trivial to most, but it was significant for him. Despite seeing the most renowned beauties from various lands, he had remained as indifferent as a statue. He had glanced at impressive adornments or garments in passing, but he had never truly admired a person before.

Yes, admiration. That was the right word. He couldn’t take his eyes off her for that brief moment. It wasn’t a detached, analytical assessment. His heart moved before any evaluation crossed his mind.

It was an extraordinary experience. The moment their eyes met, surrounded by green eyes like a forest, the entire scene suddenly faded to monochrome. Only she retained color and life in that fleeting instant.

It was something he had never experienced before. Even if only for a moment.

‘What was that?’

Even an assassin waiting to strike while disguised as a pillow would not have startled him as much.

Rohayden, seldom caught in confusion, averted his gaze briefly and then looked at Mail again. Thankfully, she no longer stood out with that solitary glow.

What on earth was that?

While he was struggling to shake off his bewilderment, Mail managed to regain her composure. She realized why she had been nervous when he looked away for a moment.

His gaze. The moment she entered the garden and their eyes met, he had stared at her without moving. His red eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that bordered on relentless.

‘That startled me.’

Realizing this cleared her confusion. Mail, although still a bit stiff, resumed walking with a semblance of normalcy.

Her eyes landed on a basket sitting under the shade. Once she retrieved that, her task would be complete.

‘Oh, right. The mat.’

She had two targets. The mat wasn’t something that needed to be returned, but it was hers, so she planned to take it while she was there. As she searched for the mat after spotting the basket, she paused.

She had expected the mat to be rolled up or folded, ready to be carried, but it was spread out on the ground as if inviting someone to sit on it.

And on it sat a basket. Though similar in appearance, it wasn’t the one she had left—or thrown—earlier.

‘Huh?’

Unless she was imagining it, it seemed as if a spot had been prepared. Mail blinked and then reached out for her basket. She could think about the mat later; for now, she needed to retrieve the basket. But before she could, a hand snatched it first.

“Huh?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mail looked up. His expression was hidden by a mask, but his eyes, less tense than before, were fixed on her.

She glanced from his red eyes to the basket that was held just out of her reach.

“…Master.”

“I never said I’d give it back willingly.”

“Don’t hold the basket hostage.”

Rohayden skillfully dodged Mail’s attempts to reclaim the basket, hiding it behind him.

It was only natural that Mail found this absurd. The familiar childishness washed away her tension. She gave up her careful, cautious posture and stretched her arm out forcefully.

“Stop being petty over a basket, will you?”

“You’re certainly putting effort into getting it.”

“Of course, I came here for that.”

Rohayden’s tone and demeanor were as they always were. Thus, Mail didn’t notice his concealed confusion. She couldn’t have known that his playful antics were an attempt to mask that very disarray.

“Phew, I understand. I don’t know how you came to care so much about that basket, but if you really insist, as a junior, I’ll concede it to you… just kidding!”

“No chance.”

“Tch.”

A childish battle ensued over the basket. After trying various ways to snatch it, Mail soon gave up and dropped her hands.

Though her determination flared, it seemed impossible to reclaim it no matter how much she jumped up and down. Accepting reality, Mail crossed her arms and squinted at him.

“Can you even see with your eyes like that?”

“Fine.”

“Hmm?”

“What should I do? To get that hostage— I mean, to get the basket back.”

In the end, it turned into a real hostage situation. To ensure the safe ‘rescue’ of the basket, Mail declared her surrender. Rohayden looked down at her and suddenly chuckled.

It seemed like nothing had changed when he looked at her like this.

The lush green garden no longer turned into a monochrome void, and Mail no longer appeared as a solitary, unique figure. The mysterious woman who once walked with her feet in the sea was gone, replaced by a familiar garden enthusiast now negotiating over a basket in front of him. Just like usual.

Rohayden’s confusion subsided a little. However, he couldn’t achieve complete tranquility. Even though it was brief and now gone, it had been such a vivid and unfamiliar feeling. It would probably continue to unsettle him for a while. No, it certainly would.

Unaware of the ripple effect she’d caused, Mail squinted her eyes even more at his smile.

“Why are you laughing? Are you mocking me?”

“Of course not. I find the lady’s sacrifice for the basket quite noble.”

“Oh, great. I’m honored.”

Mail’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. Rohayden laughed again and set the basket down to one side.

While Mail debated whether to grab the now-unclaimed basket, Rohayden sat down on the mat with a thud and called out to her. When she looked over, he gestured to the spot next to him with his eyes. To be exact, it felt more like across from him than beside him.

“Sit down?”

“I prepared this on purpose.”

“My mat?”

“I borrowed the mat for a bit. Specifically, this.”

Rohayden picked up a different basket, one that Mail hadn’t tried to grab. He started taking out its contents.

Before long, a feast was laid out on the mat.

“… What’s all this?”

“It’s time for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Am I, by any chance, invited to this banquet?”

“You could say that.”

Rohayden grinned. He looked annoyingly innocent despite having used a basket as a hostage to tease her. It was infuriating, yet strangely, she didn’t mind seeing it. Shaking her head as if she had no choice, Mail obediently sat across from him. The setting sun cast its light over them.

The moment she sat down, Mail, who had been staring at him instead of the food, suddenly burst into laughter.

“Master, your mask.”

“Mask?”

“I think orange looks better on you than white.”

Mail’s sudden mention of orange was because of the sunset. Rohayden’s white mask was bathed in a reddish-orange glow from the sunset.

Mail gave her evaluation in all seriousness. A mask with color didn’t seem so bad. If he wore a mask that wasn’t white but a single-colored one, it might even look like an individualistic accessory. Except for black, of course.

“Why don’t you get a colorful mask instead of the one you’re wearing now? I’d suggest pink—it might suit you.”

As she spoke, the sunset also shone on her. Bathed in the glow, Mail smiled bashfully. Though her neatly combed hair was slightly disheveled from her earlier efforts to reclaim the basket, the added liveliness made her look even better.

The garden at dusk. The person who had thrown him into confusion was now facing him, smiling like a child.

Her eyelashes, dusted with the evening light, were long and even. Her eyes, filled with the greenery of the garden, curved into crescents. Without realizing it, Rohayden opened his mouth.

“My name.”

“Pardon?”

“I promised to tell me your name.”

Had he been mistaken in thinking he’d regained composure? His words were spoken impulsively. He might regret saying them later, but for now—

“Van.”

“…”

“You can call me Van.”

Several pseudonyms he had considered vanished without ever being spoken.

Rohayden van der Helvern.

Van. His baptismal name, one that only those with permission could utter.