* * *
The vast hall was filled with silence.
No one dared to speak or move until a woman stepped forward, pushing through the crowd.
She carried an envelope under one arm and, without hesitation, hurled it at me.
The thick envelope struck my left cheek with a sharp thud before falling to the floor beneath my wheelchair.
As I picked it up, I waved off the knights and Haen, who were approaching with dark expressions.
‘If they wanted to stop it, they could’ve done so earlier. Why wait until after I’ve been hit?’
Scoffing internally, I opened the envelope. It was packed with documents.
The woman, despite having just thrown something at a duke, looked at me with an unsettlingly calm expression.
As if she had done nothing wrong, she lifted her chin in defiance.
Glancing at her briefly, I pulled out the papers.
“…Ah.”
So that’s what this was.
A list of all the ‘crimes’ I had supposedly committed.
I skimmed through the neatly arranged documents, which were meticulously organized as if someone had sorted them by hand.
Nothing here was new to me, but the way they had extracted only the most damning details was remarkably precise.
I knew this wasn’t the time to admire their work, but I almost praised them out of reflex.
Setting the envelope on my lap, I decided I would go through it more thoroughly later.
The moment I lifted my head, the woman spoke as if she had been waiting for it.
“You, of all people, should know exactly what’s written there. After committing those crimes, do you still have the audacity to sit above the duke?”
“It’s temporary. Since I am the one most aware of my own crimes, I will only hold this position until a proper successor is found. Until then, my authority will be strictly limited. Any significant decisions will be divided among the elders. Once an heir is found, I will step down immediately.”
“…When you suddenly announced that you wanted to apologize, I thought you were just after the title. So if you don’t intend to rule as the duke for the rest of your life, why are you stepping forward now?”
Only one person spoke, but the question belonged to everyone in the hall.
I could feel the weight of their cold, scrutinizing gazes.
Keeping my answer simple, I spoke the truth.
“For the end.”
…For the end of Vivisian Teian.
Thirty minutes later, the apology was concluded—aside from the part where I got hit in the face with an envelope.
Some accepted my apology, but most left without a word, heading home.
As the hall gradually emptied, I spotted Master standing there. His face looked as if he was on the verge of tears.
With everyone casting hostile looks at me, his concern was bound to stand out.
And in communal life, drawing attention was never a good thing.
The moment he took a step toward me, I gave a small shake of my head—barely noticeable to anyone else.
But Master, who had always watched me closely, would understand.
He hesitated, like a dog told to stay, so I gave him a slight smile in reassurance.
Before he could change his mind and come over, I decided to leave the hall, away from prying eyes.
Haen, who had been talking with the knights nearby, noticed and walked toward me.
If I could, I would have stood up from the wheelchair and bolted, but that wasn’t an option.
Instead, I masked my exhaustion with a smile and waited for him to approach.
He stopped in front of me and spoke in an unusually gentle tone.
“Go straight to your bedroom tonight.”
I expected him to tell me to return to the office, so the words caught me off guard.
“Really? That’s unlike you.”
“You obeyed me without resistance, so I can at least allow this much.”
His voice, though playful, still carried an underlying authority.
I let out a chuckle and leaned back into my chair.
“How generous of you… But I’m too tired to go alone today. Push my wheelchair, Haen.”
Without protest, Haen took hold of the wheelchair and started pushing.
As I absentmindedly fiddled with the envelope on my lap, I thought about going straight to bed as soon as I got to my room.
Staring blankly into the air, I let out a shallow breath.
We were almost at my bedroom when Haen suddenly stopped.
I wondered if he had remembered something urgent and was about to tell him to go handle it when he stepped in front of me and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket.
Then, without warning, he pressed it to my face.
I instinctively recoiled. What the hell was he doing now?
Haen glanced at me, then wordlessly showed me the handkerchief—streaked with blood.
“You had a cut. I was wiping the blood.”
“You could’ve just told me.”
“It was faster to do it myself.”
Haen smiled faintly and grabbed the door handle.
‘Finally,’ I thought.
‘I can go inside.’
It felt like getting here had taken forever.
As I waited, exhausted, for him to open the door, he suddenly spoke again in a subdued voice.
“The woman who threw the envelope—I didn’t put her up to it.”
“I know. If I had gotten mad after being hit, things would’ve spiraled out of control. You wouldn’t take such a risk.”
“…Don’t twist my words.”
“I’ll try.”
His voice carried warmth, but my response was little more than veiled sarcasm.
Haen, seeing right through me, let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
“Why do you always see me as the villain?”
“Probably the same reason you see me as a piece of trash. Now, let’s stop talking and let me in. I’m dead tired.”
I punctuated my words with an exaggerated yawn.
Haen let out a quiet laugh, as if conceding defeat, and finally opened the door.
“Good night, Vivisian. You did well today.”
I didn’t bother replying.
I simply entered the room, leaving his farewell behind.
Parking the wheelchair in a corner, I staggered toward the bed.
As I passed by the window, my reflection caught my eye—a man with a thin red line streaked across his pale cheek.
Running a fingertip over the wound, I let out a weary sigh.
✽ ✽ ✽
When I opened my eyes, it was morning.
Retracing my hazy memories, I recalled collapsing onto the bed the night before.
As usual, a knock on the door woke me, and I jerked upright in bed.
Sunlight streamed in from all directions.
Back in prison, I had often slept away half a day—or even several days at a time.
So losing half a day to sleep barely registered as an issue.
Accepting it without much thought, I opened the door.
Someone had neatly arranged a basin of water, a toothbrush, and breakfast outside.
After washing my face and rinsing my mouth, I sat by the window and quietly ate.
The sunlight streaming in stung my eyes.
It was so bright that I kept pausing between bites.
Even so, I didn’t move away.
It was a peace I had never known in prison.
This, too, wasn’t so bad.
Squinting against the light, I finished my meal, brushed my teeth, and then smoothly exited the bedroom.
By now, I had gotten quite used to maneuvering the wheelchair.
“…Just how long do I have to keep using this thing?”
He pulled a sour expression, thinking that he should ask Haen about it later.
With two perfectly fine legs, what the hell was he doing?
As he stepped into the office, the familiar sight greeted him.
The master, sitting at his desk, momentarily pausing his work to greet him with a strangely dejected face, and the stack of documents piled on his own desk…
“It feels like there’s more work… or is it just me?”
Muttering in uncertainty, he slowly closed the door.
He moved his wheelchair to the side so it wouldn’t block the way and walked over to his desk.
A closer look confirmed his suspicion—there was, indeed, more work.
Keeping his gaze on the documents, he called out to the master.
“Asis.”
Normally, he would have responded immediately, but there was silence.
Finding it odd, he lifted his head and called his name again.
“Asis?”
This time, the master answered.
“…Yes, Lord Vivisian.”
Hazel eyes, usually clear, now held a mix of disappointment, resentment, and guilt, darkened more than usual.
It was likely because of what he had said yesterday—telling him not to come.
Or maybe because he knew the truth now.
He stared at the man, who often looked at him like a child teetering on the edge of the water, and let out a small laugh.
Bringing up yesterday’s events wouldn’t do any good.
Bad things had a way of spiraling out of control once set in motion, and he never saw the point in offloading his burdens onto others.
So, instead of asking what was wrong, he kept his expression calm and said what he originally intended to.
“It really does seem like there’s more work, or is it just my imagination?”
“No, there is more,” Asis replied firmly.
“Count De Winter’s aide delivered these documents and said, ‘From now on, we’ll be giving you a little more work.’”
“…Why?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
If this kept up, he’d be worked to the bone and then discarded once a distant relative showed up.
Would he really die from overwork at this rate?
No way.
There was no way God brought him back just to kill him off from exhaustion.
‘If I die from overwork… do I start over in prison?’
The mere thought was horrifying, and his expression crumpled instinctively.
He needed to ask Haen about the wheelchair later—and while he was at it, demand that they show some decency and stop increasing his workload.
Letting out a sigh, he slumped into his chair, flipping through the documents.
“Well… doing something is better than doing nothing, I guess.”
At those words, Asis immediately refuted, “No, it’s not.”
But he ignored him and picked up the quill.
The workload had increased, but there was still nothing particularly important.
It had been over a decade since he started his heir training, and since none of these tasks seemed difficult, he must still remember everything.
Time passed quickly as they exchanged idle chatter while working.
By the time he was about halfway through the pile, lunch was only a short while away.
* * *
