Bleria wobbled slightly as she stepped out, likely because her legs were numb from sitting crouched for too long, and leaned against Mixel momentarily.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Mixel did his best not to let his tension show. He swallowed hard several times.

You idiot, it’s not like you’ve never been around a woman before.

When Bleria straightened herself again, now steady, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. Shaking off the sentiment, he started the conversation.

“Daisy must have explained the important details. Do you have any other questions?”

“Yes, you sent Daisy—to the hunting grounds and the carriage.”

“I thought you might feel frustrated, so I sent her as a punching bag. But she came back unscathed, didn’t she? You’re a saint.”

Bleria’s lips twisted slightly, but Mixel brushed it off casually. He stopped walking and extended his hand. Bleria looked at him with a face that seemed to ask, What’s this about? Cute.

“We haven’t properly introduced ourselves, have we?”

“……”

“Mixel Luke Duraic Dice.”

Bleria hesitated for a moment before finally shaking his hand. Her hand was as cold as it looked.

“Mel Slopey.”

“Come to think of it, I shouldn’t call you Bleria anymore, should I?”

“That’s my real name. Should I come up with an alias?”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter. Unless you mention your full name, the name itself is pretty common among commoners. Do you want to change it?”

“Not necessarily. Even if I tried to avoid it, eventually…”

Mel trailed off, lowering her gaze with a sorrowful expression.

That look tugged at his heart, but her apparent melancholy worked in his favor. Mixel softened his tone as much as possible.

“Honestly, I went out of my way to come here today. I wanted to help you quickly because I thought you might be struggling.”

As he spoke, he pulled a glass vial from his pocket. Inside was a crimson liquid.

“Dreamer’s Bloom extract. You remember it, don’t you?”

She likely knew it as the plant used to manipulate Duke Heaven into harming his daughter. Since time was short, Mixel jumped straight into the explanation.

“When you dream, have you ever had that feeling? For example, if you think a building will collapse, does it actually do so? Or if you fear a ghost will appear, it suddenly jumps out? Dreamer’s Bloom magic works similarly. Just inhaling its scent can make you see illusions and even distort what others say.”

“……”

“It sounds dangerous when I put it like that, but it’s also used as a remedy for mentally ill patients. Inhaling the scent has temporary effects, but consuming it affects memory.”

Mel froze for a moment, staring directly into Mixel’s eyes. Her gaze made his stomach churn, but he swallowed his discomfort discreetly.

“Someone who’s emotionally fragile can take it, repeat self-affirmations, and forget terrible experiences. It doesn’t work on stable people; it only reacts to easily agitated or weakened people. That’s probably why it was created—to serve a purpose.”

Mixel deliberately left out the fact that improper dosage or resistance from the user could cause severe mental instability. There was no need to mention that risk when he tried to make it seem like a positive solution.

As head of the intelligence department, Mixel had become highly skilled in handling Dreamer’s Bloom. There was no real danger, so there was no reason to mention the side effects.

“So what you’re saying is…”

“I heard that bastard Gopher followed you to the hunting grounds, claiming he wanted to call off the engagement. Dwelling on someone like that can’t be enjoyable.”

Mixel’s gaze briefly flickered downward. Mel still wore the locket that Duke Heaven had given her.

Fine. She could hold onto whatever lingering affection she had for Heaven. What mattered was—

“I’ll help you forget Gopher Allnight.”

Mixel smiled with an expression of pure kindness.

***

“Gopher Isaac Allnight.”

Stella called his full name in a low voice.

How long had it been since he last heard his full name? She must be furious.

Gopher bowed deeply. Summoned immediately after his bath, his bare hands were visible—no gloves. As he glanced down at his hands, faintly scarred by burns, Stella’s angry voice erupted.

“Not content with revisiting settled compensation matters, now you want the ashes of the dead? Have you lost your mind?”

Gopher thought of Damian Heaven. He didn’t look like the type but had a loose tongue.

“Isn’t the gossip in the capital enough for you? How could you be so reckless?”

“Gossip?”

“Yes, rumors are flying that you’ve been cursed by a wraith and had your soul stolen! People are thrilled to spread the news!”

A wraith… Bleria, perhaps? These people always had too much time and imagination. He didn’t think he’d made any mistake deserving of such dramatic accusations.

His indifference must have shown as Stella finally hurled an inkwell at him.

Gopher didn’t dodge. The ink-stained his clothes and splattered cold drops onto his cheek. He remained unfazed, but Stella, who had thrown the inkwell, clenched her face in frustration and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

“What’s the matter with you? Why are you wallowing in this state, holed up like a recluse, over the death of some con artist? You claimed you wouldn’t end up like Duraic, but you’ve become much worse.”

Gopher still believed he wasn’t acting any differently than usual. He was on leave, so he wasn’t working. He didn’t see the need to explain himself, and he simply didn’t feel like smiling, so he didn’t.

Yet, judging by the reactions of everyone who had seen him recently, perhaps his sense of normalcy was broken. Even so, it didn’t seem like a significant problem to him.

He picked up the inkwell, noting again that he hadn’t worn his gloves. Setting it back on the desk, he replied that the issue was someone else’s.

“It will get better with time.”

“It should be better!”

Stella growled through clenched teeth.

“Because if it doesn’t, I will never allow you to ascend to the dukedom.”

Ah, there it is—the threats. Gopher answered obediently.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Grandmother.”

Then, a strange sense of incongruity crept in. Becoming a duke had been his lifelong goal. Yet today, Stella’s use of the title as leverage didn’t faze him.

Had he really started to change?

But, to begin with, why did he want to become a duke?

Before that question, the first of its kind could branch out further, Stella sighed heavily. It was her signal that the reprimand would end there.

A carrot always followed whenever he obediently endured her lashings. Stella’s tone softened as she spoke again.

“I trust you understand. You’re not so dull as to miss my point.”

“……”

“Wait here for a moment. I have something to give you.”

Stella left the room, leaving Gopher standing in place.

He glanced down at his hands again. The burn marks were obscured by black ink, the smudges spreading across his skin like discolored blood.

Clenching and unclenching his fists a few times, the stains spread further across his palms. Midway through the motion, he paused.

Where did I leave my gloves?

They were a gift from Bleria—not the formal ones sent from Heaven on his birthdays, but ones she had personally bought for him. Durable and easy to move in, he wore them often. Now, they were nowhere to be seen.

He scanned the room, but the black leather was nowhere in sight. Instead, his gaze was drawn to the fiercely burning flames in the fireplace.

The fire lashed out with scarlet tongues as though eager to devour something. He thought he caught a glimpse of something black between the crackling firewood.

Are they in there?

Without much thought, he crouched down and reached toward the flames. Just as his hand neared the searing heat—

“Gopher!”

A sharp cry rang out, and his arm was grabbed. It was Stella.

“Oh, you’re back, Grandmother.”

“What… were you about to do just now?”

“I thought I might have dropped my gloves in there.”

As the words left his mouth, he suddenly recalled that he hadn’t been wearing gloves since he had just bathed.

Then they must be in my room.

He corrected himself.

“Must have been my mistake.”

Retracting his outstretched arm, he straightened up and looked at Stella. But she only stared at him, pale-faced, without speaking for a long moment. Confused, Gopher asked,

“Grandmother?”

“Did you… drink while bathing?”

He hadn’t touched alcohol recently. He thought about denying it but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle of the ensuing conversation. Instead, he nodded, reasoning that his odd behavior might seem more plausible if attributed to drunkenness.

“Your leave was set to end this month, wasn’t it? It would be better if you stayed out of sight for another month. There’s still much gossip outside.”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Stella continued.

“I heard you’ve been losing sleep over nightmares lately.”

Gopher hesitated, not immediately understanding her words. Nightmares?

Was that what they were? In those dreams, he simply lived as he had before.

Chatting over tea with Bleria or dancing with her at a ball. Just before waking, her face constantly shifted into Eos’s, but that was the only oddity.

Though Gopher remained silent, Stella seemed to take his quietness as confirmation.

“This is a consecrated item blessed by a priest. Keep it in your room, and it should ward off nightmares.”

She handed him a small object, no larger than his palm. It was a pale blue feathered ornament woven together like angel wings.

“Then.”

With that, Stella left the office first.