* * *
Normally, Ranshel would’ve followed behind Zavad.
But given the circumstances, Petro temporarily stepped in as his servant.
While Petro was being searched, Zavad walked up to Ranshel’s side.
Ranshel looked up at him from his wheelchair.
“Could you give us a moment?”
Zavad addressed Hans kindly, who bowed and quickly moved away.
Once Hans had put enough distance between them, Zavad leaned in and spoke in a low, indifferent voice.
“That guy has no sense. If it looks like I’ve got something to say, he should disappear on his own.”
“Why are you being mean again? He’s just trying to help me.”
“Why are you defending him? When did you become so generous?”
“It’s not defending—just explaining. It’s normal to—”
“Ugh, whatever. Just behave and don’t do anything weird. Don’t go wandering off and get yourself killed.”
“Where am I supposed to go in this condition?”
‘Did he come all this way just to pick a fight?’
Ranshel was dumbfounded.
“Focus on your exam, will you? It’d be humiliating if you came all the way here just to fail.”
“You think I’m on your level?”
“You don’t seem that much higher.”
Zavad glared at Ranshel in annoyance.
“Good. Take this chance to change your opinion of me.”
“Sure. If you bring back a passing certificate, I’ll look up to you. I mean, I’m already physically looking up at you, but if you want, I can squint a little harder.”
“Are you messing with me? Passing is a given. The only question is whether I come out first or second.”
“You’ve already won in confidence.”
Zavad brought a finger to Ranshel’s forehead.
Ranshel shut his eyes tightly, bracing for the inevitable flick.
“…?”
He cautiously opened one eye.
For some reason, Zavad had simply paused, lightly miming a flick without actually doing it.
“Be glad I’m going easy on you because you’re hurt.”
“…I’m not actually hurt, though.”
“Then should I not go easy?”
Ranshel quickly shook his head.
Zavad chuckled and ruffled his hair before turning to board the public carriage stationed at the academy gate with Petro.
“…….”
The carriage disappeared inside the school gates.
Ranshel sat blankly, not even thinking to fix his disheveled hair.
“Ranshel, shall we get going too?”
Hans approached from behind and spoke.
Snapping out of his daze, Ranshel quickly nodded.
Clatter—
The wheels turned.
Ranshel gripped the handles of the wheelchair.
His hands, clenched so tightly, had gone pale.
This was what he’d hoped for.
Zavad, who once shook off Ranshel’s hand like it was filthy, now touched him without hesitation.
The eyes that used to be filled with contempt now held traces of a smile, even a faint warmth.
As if he were Petro, whom Zavad had known since childhood—someone he could trust.
Ranshel was being treated like that.
Everything was going according to plan, and yet…
Why did he feel this cold dread rising in his chest?
Why was his body trembling on a day that wasn’t even that cold?
What was this chill crawling up his spine, this prickling sensation on his skin?
“Ranshel, are you okay? Are you feeling unwell?”
“…No, I’m fine.”
“Come on, you’re shaking like a leaf. Hold on, I’ll go grab something to cover you from the supply cart.”
“No, really, I’m all ri—”
Before Ranshel could stop him, Hans had already rushed off.
‘It’d be faster to just go straight to the annex,’ Ranshel thought.
Hans wasn’t exactly a deep thinker.
Ranshel let out a long breath and rubbed his forearm.
The faint tremble in his body still hadn’t subsided, making his nerves spike.
Pathetic. If he was already losing his composure like this, what good was he?
Leaning back against the wheelchair, Ranshel dropped his gaze.
His fingers, resting on his legs, continued to tremble.
Annoyed by the sight, he clenched and unclenched his fists.
And then—it happened.
His trembling fingers froze.
At the same time Ranshel slipped his hand inside his shirt, a cold piece of metal pressed against the side of his neck.
“…And what exactly is this supposed to be?”
With a dagger hidden inside his clothes, Ranshel spoke in a composed voice.
Fingers tangled in his hair, a soft palm touching his forehead—those touches made Ranshel shiver.
But the clear intent to kill that pierced his skin brought him to a state of sharp calm.
The attacker said nothing.
It wasn’t Hans—he had just run ahead.
There hadn’t been enough time for anyone to circle around via the back alley.
‘If I move, I’ll be cut.’
Without moving, Ranshel reviewed the situation.
He and Hans had been heading to the annex provided for their group.
Aside from the two seeing off Zavad, the other members had already moved ahead.
Hans had taken a quiet alley to avoid crowds and obstacles with Ranshel’s wheelchair.
It was a different path than what other applicants or those riding carriages would take.
So for someone to appear behind him now—they would have to know their movements in advance.
And this murderous intent—it was the same feeling he’d sensed outside Zavad’s inn room.
From the start, it hadn’t been Zavad who was being targeted.
The real target had always been Ranshel.
He spoke again.
“I asked you a question, Miss Daughter.”
A low chuckle came from behind him.
Clatter!
The wheelchair suddenly surged forward.
It was moving fast.
The blade still pressed against his neck as the wheelchair shot down the alley.
Each jolt of the wheels nicked his skin, drawing beads of blood.
Ranshel’s eyes darted, desperate.
One wrong move and his throat would be the first to go.
The veins in his hand, still gripping the handle, bulged.
‘Just a little longer. Hold out a little longer.’
At last, the wheelchair burst out of the alley onto a main road.
As if breaking through a wall, a fierce wind hit him.
Ranshel’s hair whipped wildly in every direction.
Beyond his blurred vision, shadows rushed past at breakneck speed.
The ground shook.
Massive carriages rumbled by on the road ahead.
The wheels kept turning.
The wheelchair charged forward without pause—straight into the sand-choked road where horses galloped blind to anything in their path.
Chapter 46
Amid the dizzying blur of his surroundings, Ranshel thought:
Hans had made it onto the Contribution List as ‘One Who Provokes Reflection’, but he wasn’t a Daughter.
Because he wasn’t hostile to Zavad.
He had handed Ranshel the vial of Merk’s medicine earlier.
‘To push me into a corner.’
What if Hans had succeeded in poisoning Zavad?
The situation would be entirely different now.
First, Zavad would’ve been rushed out of the mansion to receive medical treatment.
The viscount’s household would’ve needed proof that they were doing everything to care for him.
After that, with the viscount left in charge, his priority would’ve been to avoid antagonizing the Pomel family.
He would’ve searched for a culprit outside the mansion, likely among the guards.
In that case, Ranshel—who had served Zavad at close range and was found with the Merk medicine—would’ve been the prime suspect.
Even if the evidence was weak, the viscount would’ve dragged him to trial for insulting a noble.
Even now, the Daughter’s intent was clear.
Zavad was at the testing site.
Hans had gone to the supply cart.
Ranshel’s legs were supposed to be paralyzed.
There would never be a more perfect time.
If something happened to Ranshel here, Hans would be blamed.
He already had the past charge of attempting to poison Zavad—no one would believe his innocence.
Everything was set. It felt like one of the pre-scripted death routes from a game.
Ranshel’s life was meant to end here.
But there was one variable—
Ranshel’s legs weren’t paralyzed.
No one knew that—not Zavad, not Petro.
He had to keep it hidden.
* * *
