* * *
The woman stepped out from Count Serge’s shadow and approached slowly.
She had an unremarkable appearance—dull brown hair and a rounded, ordinary face.
She was so plain that Kaindel had to study her for a moment to commit her features to memory.
At least her gaze was kind, a stark contrast to her father’s greedy one.
Could someone so gentle really be born to such parents?
As Kaindel marveled internally, the woman gracefully held her skirt and curtsied in proper etiquette.
“…Hello, I’m Vivianne de Serge. Please feel free to call me Vivi.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lady Vivianne.”
Kaindel’s reply was polite, his diplomatic smile firmly in place.
Despite her request to use her nickname, he continued to address her formally, causing Vivianne’s neck to flush with embarrassment.
‘Vivi, huh.’
Kaindel smirked inwardly.
He found her nickname meaningless—he wouldn’t even remember it tomorrow.
Nicknames were reserved for close relationships, often romantic.
The fact that Isa had introduced himself with one from the start was an unusual case.
The thought of Isa reminded him of the other’s presence.
Turning his gaze, he noticed that Isa had quietly distanced himself by several steps.
When had he moved so far?
Perhaps this was what he’d meant when boasting about his running skills.
Meanwhile, following Kaindel’s line of sight, Vivianne found Isa and froze, her expression briefly hardening in surprise.
Her lips parted as if to speak but then closed hesitantly.
Seeing through her reluctance, Kaindel smiled and casually stepped between Vivianne and the white figure.
“This is my companion.”
“Ah, you can call me Isa if—”
“His name is Isaac Winter.”
Kaindel smoothly cut Isa off, ignoring his murmur of protest.
The idea of a stranger—especially a woman—using Isa’s nickname irked him.
At that moment, Count Serge clapped his hands.
“Ah, I almost forgot! Could I ask if you’re free this evening? To celebrate your recovery, I’d love to host a banquet for you and your companions.”
“A banquet.”
Kaindel stroked his chin, suppressing a surge of irritation.
It was clear the count’s true motive wasn’t celebration but self-serving.
His eagerness to introduce his daughter only added to the picture. Still, Isa’s obvious interest in the banquet made him pause.
If he declined, Isa might be disappointed.
After a long look at Isa, Kaindel finally nodded.
“I’ll attend.”
“Excellent choice! I’ll ensure it’s a night to remember!”
Count Serge beamed and quickly left with Vivianne in tow.
She cast one last uncertain glance at Isa but was soon dragged away by her father’s firm grip.
Once they were gone, Isa exhaled heavily.
He’d been holding his breath to avoid catching Count Serge’s attention, reducing his presence to almost nothing.
“You could’ve let me introduce myself properly,” Isa grumbled, glaring at Kaindel, whose shameless grin showed no remorse.
“You’ve got me to call you Isa plenty. Isa, Isa,” Kaindel teased playfully.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Even if Isa wanted others to use his nickname, Kaindel didn’t.
And so, what might’ve ended with an apology was drawn out with deliberate teasing.
“Isa, Isa, Isa,” Kaindel continued, his mischievous tone finally coaxing a reluctant smile from Isa.
The tension in his features softened, his crescent-shaped eyes glowing with warmth.
Kaindel etched that tender smile into his memory as his own lips curled into something softer.
It was a far cry from the smiles he’d used earlier with Count Serge.
“Isa, you’re going to the banquet, right?”
“I am. I want to see what it’s like.”
“Good choice.”
As expected, Isa’s eyes sparkled at the mention of the banquet.
Kaindel observed the starlight in those clean, calf-like eyes, pulling him into a light embrace as a rare sense of contentment spread through him.
Perhaps becoming this close to Isa had been the right decision after all.
The garden settled into a calm, almost eternal stillness—whether fleeting or lasting, only time would tell.
Count Serge hosted a grand banquet as promised during the day.
From dishes rarely seen in winter to grilled seafood, it was hard to imagine anything missing.
The table, laden with freshly prepared dishes, was enough to break the patience of companions who had subsisted on little more than soups and fruit for the past month.
Reluctantly invited to the banquet, Ruen and Owen, who had initially voiced their complaints, quickly expressed their gratitude upon seeing the feast and began eating with a near-militant fervor.
Daniel took his time sampling a variety of dishes, clearly enjoying himself.
Even Sehir, who hadn’t had a proper meal in a while, couldn’t hide the faint smile lingering on his face.
“And so…”
“…”
However, Isa, who had most looked forward to attending the banquet, remained hesitant, barely eating a thing.
Clutching a dessert fork as if it were precious, he stared fixedly at the servants bustling about.
It seemed he wasn’t accustomed to settings like this.
Kaindel, noticing Isa’s tightly clenched hand turning pale, stopped mid-conversation with Count Serge and picked up a serving tong.
From the spread, he chose a piece of grilled octopus—one of the few dishes that suited his taste—and placed it on Isa’s plate.
The octopus, grilled with wine to enhance its tenderness, boasted a subtle and savory flavor.
“Try this.”
“What is it?”
“Octopus. Don’t tell me this is your first time seeing one?”
“Octopus… Yeah, it’s my first time.”
Though it had been sliced into smaller pieces during preparation, robbing it of its original shape, Isa still blinked at it curiously, as if fascinated.
“So this is octopus…” he murmured softly, his words vanishing into the air.
“In Luther Village, seafood like this…”
“Are you listening, Sir Hero?”
Isa had just begun speaking after chewing a bite of the octopus when Count Serge, seated across from Kaindel, tapped the table to reclaim his attention.
Kaindel snapped out of his thoughts at the sound.
Distracted by Isa’s struggles to enjoy the meal, he had unintentionally ignored the Count.
“My apologies. What were you saying?”
“Ah, you didn’t hear? I thought as much.”
“Pardon me. Please, continue.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just…”
Trailing off, Count Serge rubbed his palms together, then glanced at Vivianne, who had already finished her meal.
“Our Vivianne, even to her father, seems like the perfect bride. But a month ago, she was inexplicably jilted from her engagement. For the third time now, I think. She’s beautiful, sharp with numbers, and writes impeccably, yet she’s been rejected thrice. It’s heartbreaking.”
“How unfortunate.”
“She was deeply distressed, couldn’t even eat, and fell quite ill over it.”
“Truly unfortunate.”
“And so, I was wondering…”
What is he getting at?
Kaindel’s indifferent expression asked without words.
Undeterred, Count Serge pressed on.
“Would you consider escorting Vivianne to the upcoming ball?”
* * *
🙂