When Rochelle frowned in suspicion, he straightened his posture and took off his hat, placing it over his chest.
His movements were precise and restrained, almost like a soldier—no unnecessary gestures.
His delicate face was fully revealed, and though he smiled kindly with his eyes, there was an inexplicable chill about him.
Rochelle lowered her gaze from him, rose from her seat, and walked toward the drawer on her left.
The man naturally followed behind her.
The sound of his shoes on the wooden floor grew closer and closer. The pungent smell of tobacco that lingered around him now clung to Rochelle as well.
Coughing softly, she hurriedly pulled out a menu from the corner of the drawer and handed it to him. She wanted nothing more than to escape the oppressive presence that weighed down on her without a word.
After a moment’s hesitation, the man belatedly extended his right arm.
His white silk glove brushed against the back of Rochelle’s hand. A faint wrinkle appeared on his otherwise smooth forehead, and as if he couldn’t stand it any longer, he pulled a small handkerchief from his pocket and vigorously rubbed his glove.
Rochelle frowned at his rude and completely unguarded action. It wasn’t just the attitude of someone who despised and looked down on the lower class. It felt closer to outright hostility toward her very existence.
“Sir?”
“…Ah, thank you.”
The man, who instantly regained his relaxed smile, nodded leisurely and walked off to find an empty seat.
But the inexplicable unease only grew with time, and as the sun set, it turned into a suffocating anxiety clutching at the back of Rochelle’s neck.
Sitting on her bed, she carefully rubbed cheap ointment over her knuckles when, from far away, an explosion echoed, chilling her as if she stood before a blade.
She froze and fell silent.
His speech had always been awkward, flat, and monotone.
He was a foreigner.
A cruel butcher who had drifted in from the northern Castiya.
Rochelle remembered him clearly.
Those eyes, burning with madness, and the way he would grin, stretching his red lips wide as he drew a gleaming pistol from his waist.
The terror of that day swept before her eyes once again.
The man had dragged her parents like dogs, calling them “criminals” instead of their names as they stood n*ked in the square.
She had only closed and opened her eyes, but in that instant, the blood of her loved ones was spilled across the world, and their severed heads became playthings for children.
For Rochelle, that day had been a merciless storm, but for him, it was nothing more than a fleeting spring rain.
He said so himself—burning the filthy and hideous things to ashes on the altar, bringing forth new life to a new land with the first great spring rain. He declared this before all.
And now, he had come in person to hunt down and brutally murder Rochelle herself.
The realization stabbed through her heart with sharp pain.
Rochelle got up, pressed her back against the wall, and gasped for breath. Her whole body trembled, and her heart pounded wildly.
“Ah, ah…!”
Tears burst out reflexively, but only animal-like moans escaped her aching throat. Clutching her shaking legs, she crawled to the door.
Rather than suffer the humiliation of being stripped and beheaded before a crowd by their hands, it would be better to end her own life. That would be the cleanest end.
So she had to survive—for now, at least.
***
Ivan stood in front of the tavern, a thick cigar clamped between his teeth. Through the half-closed window, a small woman appeared and disappeared in quick succession.
With a broad smile on his face, he looked up.
The sky he glanced at absentmindedly was a hazy shade, somewhere between blue and gray.
“Looks like it’s going to rain soon, doesn’t it?”
“Th-the forecast said it would rain tomorrow, Sir Ivan.”
The young man with the boyish face replied, trembling all over from nerves.
Ivan laughed so hard at his ridiculous appearance that he nearly doubled over. Some merchants preparing for the new day glanced over, but he seemed not to care.
“What was your name again?”
“Dennis, sir.”
“And your surname?”
“Kirevsky, sir!”
Ivan wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes as he looked at Dennis, who stood rigidly with clenched teeth, and then started chuckling again.
“Alright, Dennis. When did you join the army?”
“Last month, sir.”
“So this is your first mission, then.”
“Yes, that’s right! Sir Ivan.”
“No need to be so nervous.”
Goodness. Dennis felt like he might faint. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He might die if he
made a mistake. To be paired alone with Ivan, known for his cruelty and brutality…
Of course, Ivan was a hero, revered by all as a revolutionary soldier.
His father was none other than the great General Alexander, who led the early revolution.
But who could say when that gun, aimed at the enemy, might turn on his own heart? Ivan seemed to have no intention of killing him, but Dennis couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
Ivan’s moods changed unpredictably.
As Dennis nervously licked his lips, Ivan smiled and spoke again.
“Tell me. Do you really think that woman in the tavern is a daughter of the Kotov family?”
“Th-that, I’m not sure, Sir Ivan!”
“Why not?”
“Um…”
Dennis couldn’t answer easily.
He thought it too primitive to identify people just by their eye or hair color and drag them to the execution stand, but if he said so, he and his family would be next.
Watching Dennis hesitate, Ivan clicked his tongue in disappointment.
“Idiot.”
“…Sorry, sir.”
“Just watch. We’ll know soon enough.”
Far off, a woman’s thick hair fluttered and disappeared from sight.
Ivan, his black hair slicked back with pomade, stared intently out the car window and pulled a small pistol from his back pocket.
“Even if she isn’t, it’s no big deal to kill a woman with nowhere to go.”
Rochelle had now disappeared from view behind the car door.
Maybe she’d noticed and run away? Dennis glanced nervously at Ivan, who didn’t seem to care.
Ivan spoke to Dennis in a relaxed tone.
“Don’t worry. Just wait.”
Dennis clamped his mouth shut and nodded.
Ivan was always right.
Time would pass, and just by waiting patiently, this was a game they would win.
***
As Ivan took a final deep drag from his cigar, the woman finally opened the heavy wooden door and appeared.
Ivan exhaled, letting the smoke out like a sigh. Unlike the flustered woman who dropped her bag in surprise, his expression was calm and composed.
But there were things he couldn’t hide. Seeing her innocent, pretty face, he felt a surge of irritation and anger. Dennis felt the same.
Standing stiff as a board under the contemptuous stares of the two men, she swallowed dryly and opened her mouth with care.
She tried to appear calm, but her voice trembled pathetically.
“…Excuse me, sir? We don’t open until the afternoon.”
Because of this, Ivan was once again certain.
Rochelle Kotov—a wretched worm.
A woman who had always shone brightly like a doll, possessing from birth the glory others could never have no matter what they did.
If that innocent face ever cleared of gloom and filled with a bright smile, she would surely be quite charming.
But now, the eyes that once sparkled with curiosity only held despair, looking about to burst into tears.
Ivan lightly bowed his head to the pitiful woman and replied,
“Good morning, miss.”
“…”
“No, Miss Rochelle Kotov. Where are you off to so early this morning?”
At the man’s chillingly low voice, Rochelle’s heart dropped.
His golden eyes seemed to bind her tightly, making her avoid his gaze and glance nervously around with a pale face.
Maybe because it was still early, or because the sky was heavy with rain clouds, the street was unusually quiet and dark.
Bending down slowly, Rochelle picked up her small bag from the ground and forced a pitiful smile.
“Rochelle Kotov? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you mean. I’m just a commoner with no surname, an employee at the Villette tavern. I was just about to leave for a late summer holiday.”
“Is that so, Miss No-Name? Was this holiday properly discussed with your employer?”
“Yes, of course. Naturally—”
“Always scheming, aren’t you?”
Cutting her off as if bored, Ivan slowly looked Rochelle up and down. With each shallow breath, her long purple hair swayed over her full chest.
He strode over and, in one motion, grabbed her bothersome purple hair roughly.
“Honorable noble lady. If your life was so precious, you should have moved faster. Don’t you think?”