The moment Raylin took half a step closer, arms open wide, Aiger instinctively took two steps back.

The sheer clarity of his rejection left Raylin utterly bewildered.

For some time, she had felt a sense of emptiness—no, worry—over his absence at night.

She had even fretted over the possibility that he might resort to taking some dubious medicine, claiming to be a remedy for insomnia.

She had been so anxious that she had even considered going to the palace to confront him about his prolonged absence, to demand an explanation.

She had even sent a letter.

But her request for a visit to the Crown Prince’s palace was summarily denied.

Not by him, but by someone higher—by the Emperor himself.

“What? Even an engaged woman can’t visit her fiancé? Why not?”

“His Majesty said that His Highness is reflecting on his past transgressions.”

Even the reason given for the rejection was utterly absurd.

But avoiding a mess wasn’t out of fear—it was to avoid dealing with the filth.

And even a mongrel commands respect in its own territory.

Since the palace was still the Emperor’s domain, she had no choice but to retreat for now.

Besides, she was still investigating the relationship between Sillion and the Emperor, as well as whether the Emperor was aware of Sillion’s attack on Roir. Drawing unnecessary attention at this point would have been unwise.

Of course, that didn’t mean she intended to give up.

She summoned Kertan.

Not long ago, she had heard that his younger sister’s condition had improved significantly, and that they had moved out of the annex to establish a home of their own.

Though this world had no custom of housewarming gifts, she had still prepared something for the occasion.

“Everyone who has tasted it said it was so sweet that it made their heads spin. This time, I’m sure this special chocolate will surpass even your and your sister’s impossibly high standards for sweetness.”

Raylin delivered this speech with utmost seriousness, despite the trivial nature of the matter. Then, she turned to Kertan, who had silently bowed his head.

“Are you very busy these days?”

“It is as usual.”

“I see. Then… um, what about Aig—no, His Highness?”

She had grown accustomed to calling him Aiger in private, but she couldn’t very well address the Crown Prince so casually in front of others.

Reminding herself to be careful, she tightened her tongue’s reins.

Kertan’s response, however, left her dumbfounded.

“His Highness is not much different from usual.”

“So you’re saying he’s not too busy to meet people or anything like that?”

The oddly specific phrasing caught Kertan’s attention, and sensing an undercurrent of tension, he chose silence.

But silence, as they say, is often a form of affirmation.

Annoyed, Raylin pressed a letter into Kertan’s hand, urging him to deliver it to Aiger.

Yet even after that, there was no response.

What made her even angrier was that, while he was so blatantly avoiding her, he had started sending her small gifts—something he had never done before.

Of course, it wasn’t as though she had never received gifts from him in the past.

Since their engagement, presents had arrived from the Crown Prince’s palace on her birthday, during the founding festival, and on other formal occasions.

But those were merely customary offerings.

These recent gifts, however, were different—far more personal and intimate.

If he had simply sent her extravagant gemstones, she might have assumed he was using her as a safe to store his secret funds.

But instead, under her bed, she now had a secret stash of things perfectly suited to her taste: delicate ribbons, a soft quilted pillowcase she had once mentioned preferring before falling asleep, a large plush toy perfect for hugging on chilly early mornings—something that seemed more suited for a child than for her.

And, as if to top it all off, even a bouquet of fresh wildflowers—something she never would have expected Aiger to personally pick up.

So, he must have felt guilty, at least.

Something else tried to surface from the depths of her mind, but she ignored it, choosing instead to dismiss it all as an expression of his remorse.

Then, finally—finally—Aiger came to visit her at night again.

She wanted to demand an explanation, to ask why he had been so openly avoiding her.

But the moment she saw him, all those complaints vanished, replaced by sheer concern.

Anyone could see that he hadn’t been sleeping.

Confronting him could wait—first, she needed to get him to rest.

She turned towards the bed, intending to guide him there.

But then, Aiger avoided her touch and continued to retreat.

Realizing that he might actually leave, a sudden sense of urgency gripped her, and she sniffed her palm.

Did she… smell bad?

Raylin lifted her arm and buried her nose in it, but as usual, she detected no noticeable scent.

She had always avoided strong fragrances since childhood, as they gave her headaches due to her frail health.

But one’s natural scent is something one cannot perceive oneself.

Raylin was unaware, but a faint aroma of osmanthus blossoms lingered around her.

Aiger, however, was fully aware.

He had known…

On the countless nights he had held her close, that scent alone had been enough to lull him into drowsiness.

But now, it had the exact opposite effect.

The faint scent of osmanthus seeped in through the tip of his nose, making his back tense up, his mouth dry. He could feel even the dry swallow traveling down his throat, his senses heightened to the extreme.

Yet, strangely, all of that sharp awareness was directed solely at Raylin. Just like that moment in the greenhouse when he realized he loved her.

In the bedroom, where only the moonlight streamed in, her bright golden hair glowed faintly, and beneath it, those verdant eyes held only him. The scent of osmanthus seeping into his skin, the occasional soft beat of her heart. The breath slipping through her plump, red lips…

Aiger wanted to shut his eyes, cover his ears. Because if he didn’t, he would surely reach out, embrace her until she broke, and devour every tepid breath she exhaled.

That was an instinct bordering on prophecy.

If he held her now, he would truly do something irreversible. There was no way he could hold her as he had before. The word ‘hold’ would take on an entirely different meaning now.

And she wasn’t ready. No, she hadn’t even considered it.

A sharp, searing pain clawed through his heart.

“Oh? Aiger! Aiger!”

Just as he had arrived without a sound, he vanished without one.

Raylin, left staring blankly, feeling like a dog chasing after a chicken that had flown onto the roof, muttered to herself,

“What the hell was that?”

***

Knock, knock, knock-knock, knock, knock-knock-knock-knock.

A few moments after the distinct pattern of knocks, the door creaked open.

A young boy peeked his head out from inside, looking rather unimpressed as he asked,

“What brings you here?”

“I’m here to see Arian.”

The visitor, who had knocked on the door of an ordinary house—not a tavern or even a café—had their face completely hidden under a hooded robe.

However, the robe itself was fine enough to catch the interest of the back alley scoundrels, and a group of at least six had trailed after the visitor.

Noticing the hungry, hyena-like gazes aimed at the guest, the boy stole a quick glance behind them before heaving a deep sigh and stepping aside.

“Go ahead and sit on that sofa over there.”

Without a word, the visitor stepped inside, while the boy waved off the gathering hyenas.

“This one’s a guest. Back off, all of you!”

Despite being scrawny and smaller than most his age, the boy’s words had an immediate effect.

The onlookers clicked their tongues in disappointment but withdrew without resistance.

They had already seen, more than once, what happened to those who broke the unwritten rule of never touching a guest of that house.

After shooing away the riffraff, the boy remained alert, eyes scanning the surroundings before stepping inside.

The guest, however, was not sitting on the sofa as instructed.

Not seeing them anywhere, the boy frowned and grumbled,

“For crying out loud, can’t they just—”

“Where’s Arian?”

Before the complaint was even finished, the guest suddenly appeared, asking the question bluntly.

Startled, the boy let out an annoyed yelp, pointing to the sofa.

“Ah! You scared me! I told you to sit over there!”

“You mean wait?”

“No, I mean just sit down for now.”

With one leg slightly bent, the boy jerked his chin toward the sofa once more, making the guest—Catherine—scowl.

Who did this insolent little brat think he was ordering around?

A mere street rat from the back alleys acting so high and mighty.

Although her hood obscured her expression, the boy wouldn’t have cared even if he had seen it.

Instead, he reached out and tugged at the edge of her robe.

“Just sit down.”

“You really don’t have anything else to say, huh? Is that all your mouth is good for?”

At the thorn-filled mockery, the boy’s face scrunched up, but he didn’t bother responding, simply turning on his heel and walking away.

Catherine, barely restraining her irritation, begrudgingly sat down on the pathetic excuse for a sofa, which looked as uncomfortable as it felt.

Once more, she asked,

“Arian?”

This time, the boy only cast her a fleeting glance before scurrying off somewhere.

Catherine, now moving past irritation into outright anger, shot up from her seat, ready to follow him.

But then—

“What the hell?”

The boy had vanished into thin air.

He had headed toward a solid wall, yet his small figure had disappeared without a trace, as if he had evaporated.

Frowning deeply, Catherine ran her hands along the wooden wall, mumbling,

“There must be a hidden door.”

She wracked her brain, trying to recall everything about Arian, the back-alley informant, from 『Julia, Where Are You?』.

But as expected of a mere sub-character floating in the heroine’s orbit, his place of residence hadn’t been described in any detail.

Her brow furrowed as she carefully examined the wall, searching for some kind of hidden mechanism that would open the concealed door.

***