* * *
Watching him work, Ranshel suddenly grinned and squatted beside him.
“The flowers are beautiful. I’ve worked in different places, but I’ve never seen a garden this well-maintained.”
“Forget it. Flattery won’t change anything.”
The gardener didn’t even glance at him as he replied.
Ranshel reached out and picked up a pebble from the garden bed.
“I mean it. I’ve never seen a garden where even the stones in the soil are pretty.”
At that, the gardener finally cast him a sideways glance.
“Of course. I specially order them from outside. They’re not easy to get.”
“I see. So they only exist here…”
Murmuring, Ranshel looked down at the pebble in his hand.
With his other hand, he clutched the stone he had been carrying in his pocket all along.
It was the same kind of white pebble that covered the garden bed.
A shattered flower vase, worms in the food, and even the white pebbles that only exist in this place.
‘Found it.’
If someone still couldn’t figure it out after being spoon-fed this much, they’d have to be an idiot.
With a goofy grin, Ranshel rolled his eyes to sneak a glance at the gardener’s appearance.
The burn that covered half his face extended down to the nape of his neck.
His left eye, badly scarred and distorted, had a pale gray iris—cloudy, as though the vision in it was poor.
There was no way someone with such a distinct appearance could be forgotten.
This must’ve been their first meeting.
‘No data. Must be a background character.’
Unless they were a romance target, there was never much information about them to begin with.
Which meant he’d have to find out the hard way.
Ranshel reached out to the gardener, who was holding pruning shears.
“Should I trim the ones on the lower side?”
The gardener frowned and scoffed.
“You think I’d let some stranger touch the flowers?”
“Then, what can I help with?”
“Stay out of the way, for starters.”
“Still…”
“If you keep annoying me, I’ll have you making compost out of cow dung.”
With that threat, the gardener went back to trimming the wilting leaves.
Ranshel, who had been standing upright watching him, casually turned on his heel and walked off elsewhere.
The gardener felt his departure but didn’t bother to look up.
‘Good. One less nuisance.’
Sweat dripped from the gardener’s face as he focused on the flowerbed.
It was nearly autumn, but midday sun still blazed fiercely.
Working bent over under the sun, neck craned, it was only natural to feel exhausted.
‘Maybe I really am getting old.’
How much longer could he keep working as the castle’s gardener?
Glancing down at his wrinkled hands gripping the shears, the man gave a small, wry smile.
But it was fine.
There wasn’t much time left anyway.
‘Just a little more now… really, just a bit…’
“Aaack!”
He cried out without realizing it, startled by the sudden cold touch on his cheek.
Turning his head, he saw the young servant boy from earlier, holding out a cup of cold water with wide, innocent eyes.
“I thought you might be thirsty.”
“You could’ve just said something. Why put it on my face?!”
“But that’s cooler, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Here, take it.”
The man, dumbfounded, still instinctively took the offered cup.
The moment it touched his hand, a small “Oh” escaped him—it was really that cold.
He immediately gulped down the water.
After sweating so much, the cool drink tasted sweet, like it had sugar in it.
“Here, use this to wipe off the sweat too.”
In a better mood now, the man accepted the cloth the boy offered—only to stop.
The texture was far too soft.
Clearly not the rough towels servants usually used.
And those stains…
“Wait, is this… blood?”
“Oh, yeah. It was originally one of Young Master’s clothes, but the bloodstains wouldn’t come out, so I just decided to use it as a rag.”
“…That’s the Young Master’s blood?”
The gardener looked slightly unsettled.
Ranshel nodded calmly.
“You’re… the new one…?”
“Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Ranshel, servant to Young Master Zavad.”
“Then… if you’re here, that means the physician’s visiting today…?”
“Yes. I hope the treatment goes well. He’s really hurt badly.”
Snip.
The shears suddenly twisted, slicing through the healthy stem of a perfectly fine flower.
The tool, which had been delicately avoiding any healthy leaves, trembled and began to sever flower heads one by one.
“…Where… how did he get hurt…?”
The man didn’t even seem to realize what he was doing.
As if possessed, he mumbled to himself while his hands moved mechanically.
Snip. Snap.
Ranshel gazed at the dying flowers with sympathy in his eyes, before suddenly narrowing them.
The hand holding the shears froze.
It wasn’t the man’s doing.
At some point, Ranshel had grabbed his wrist.
“Are you okay?”
“…”
The grip wasn’t strong. He could easily shake it off if he wanted.
But when had this hand grabbed his wrist?
Had they always been standing this close?
He had no idea.
No—what he didn’t understand wasn’t just that…
“I didn’t… mean to hurt him…”
All he wanted was…
“I just… wanted to create a rumor…”
The man’s blurry eyes slowly rolled back under heavy lids, and his slurred words trailed off into silence.
The gardener’s body went limp.
As soon as Ranshel confirmed he was unconscious, he quickly dropped him to the dirt.
‘Ugh, nearly killed me with how heavy he was.’
Picking up the cup that had rolled onto the ground—now empty from when the gardener drank from it—Ranshel examined it briefly.
‘Well, it wasn’t just water, after all.’
Time to destroy the evidence.
He hurled the cup, shattering it, then crouched beside the unconscious man.
He rummaged through the gardener’s dirt-stained clothes, eventually pulling a crumpled envelope from his pants pocket.
Inside was a white powder.
Narrowing his eyes, Ranshel checked the contents, took a bit of it and wrapped it in a piece of cloth, then stuffed the envelope back into the man’s pocket.
Anything else?
He searched the man’s entire body, even checking under his straw hat, but found nothing else worth taking.
Satisfied, Ranshel laid the man down properly, exhaled a long breath—and immediately began slapping his cheeks and shouting.
“Gardener! Sir, can you hear me? Wake up!”
Smack! Left cheek.
Smack! Right cheek.
He gave equal attention to both sides.
A servant working in the distance heard the commotion and hurried over.
“What happened?”
“The gardener suddenly collapsed!”
“Oh no, he looks flushed—maybe heatstroke?”
It wasn’t just the slapping; the man’s whole body had turned a reddish hue.
The other servant checked the gardener’s face with concern.
“He must’ve overexerted himself… Is there any water around here?”
“I gave him some just now, but he collapsed while drinking it, over there…”
Ranshel pointed to the shattered glass shards.
The other servant nodded, understanding.
“Probably didn’t hydrate soon enough. Let’s move him to the shade.”
“Ah, yes, yes. I’ll lift his legs.”
Heave-ho.
The two of them moved the man away from the flowerbed strewn with decapitated blossoms, into the shade of a large tree.
“Can you bring some water and a towel?”
“Oh, um, who should I ask? Maybe the stables?”
“No, you’ll need to go into the castle.”
“The castle? You mean… for water and a towel?”
“…I’ll go. You stay here and watch over Petro.”
The servant, clearly not trusting the flustered Ranshel who kept fidgeting since earlier, chose to go himself.
And of course, the moment he left, Ranshel dropped the act and wiped the worry from his face.
He was glad his body still looked young.
If he’d been acting like this as a grown adult, people would’ve thought he was seriously lacking.
Ranshel let out a soft chuckle as he rubbed his still-narrow, not-yet-fully-grown shoulders.
Then, he leaned down and brought his lips close to the gardener Petro’s ear.
“We’ve got our witness, so how about a little chat now?”
“…….”
“What did you mean by saying you wanted to start a rumor?”
“…….”
Hm. No answer. Ranshel tilted his head.
‘Did I use too much of the drug?’
No, that couldn’t be it.
He hadn’t made a mistake.
He was sure he’d used the correct dosage.
* * *
