* * *
Staring at the documents with a conflicted expression, the Master let out a long sigh.
He didn’t know how he’d gotten involved in something like this.
Of all things, this reminded him of a family member who had been caught in a similar mess and ended their own life.
He couldn’t look away.
Running a hand down his face a few times, the Master finally muttered in a weary voice:
“…First, I promise to help prove Sir Vivisian’s innocence.”
“Mm. Good.”
“The problem is, I’ll need more information to do that. Would you be able to wait a little?”
“Of course. Right now, I’ve got an abundance of two things: time and money. Take it slow if you must. But in the end, you have to uncover the truth so thoroughly there’s no room for doubt.”
Though his voice sounded relaxed, the Master, trained to read people, clearly saw Hesia’s trembling hands.
For someone claiming to be in no rush, he seemed to be haunted by invisible pressure.
Staring at that beautiful, yet pale and tormented face, the Master carefully gathered the documents and asked:
“This is a personal question, if I may. Just one.”
“Sure.”
“Were you… romantically involved with Sir Vivisian?”
At the word “romantic,” Hesia blushed briefly like a boy experiencing first love—then returned to his pale usual self and slowly shook his head.
“No. I just liked him. Only me—just me. But I liked him so, so much. A ridiculous amount. And I never said anything, so Vivisian never knew. He never knew….”
Murmuring a bit forlornly, Hesia let out a bitter laugh.
“I was an idiot.”
The self-mocking whisper wasn’t seeking comfort, so the Master remained silent.
“I’m sure he wasn’t lonely.”
The Master’s words slipped out involuntarily, recalling the family member who had died alone.
Hesia laughed. It was hollow, and that empty sound echoed in the warmly decorated room.
“I hope you’re right.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Just as the Master predicted, Hesia did not lead a leisurely or peaceful life while waiting for information.
Though he stayed at a fine lodging provided by the Master, ate delicious meals, and had more than enough money to buy whatever he wanted—this place was still his nightmare.
The place that tormented the younger “Sia” had become a true nightmare after killing the one he loved.
His head knew not everyone here was a criminal.
But his heart kept screaming that he hated them all. If he went outside, he feared he might lash out at innocent people.
And Hesia didn’t want to become that kind of fool.
So, he didn’t go out.
Instead, he locked himself in and passed the time by painting.
It was a long time ago, but in his youth, he had learned sketching and coloring from the famous artist Mujin himself.
Hesia had talent, too.
One by one, his paintings began to stack up—different sizes, different backgrounds, but only one subject.
In the large canvas before him, Hesia was painting Vivisian—alive and vivid in his memory—when a knock came at the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s the Master.”
“Come in.”
As soon as permission was granted, the door opened slowly.
Without turning around, Hesia continued drawing the face he longed for.
Quietly closing the door behind him so as not to disturb, the Master stood there, observing the room.
Before a canvas larger than himself stood a lightly dressed young man, painting with ease.
It was hard to believe he was someone dreaming of the empire’s destruction.
He looked almost serene, humming the same lullaby each time as he filled the canvas with expensive paint.
The Master finally spoke to the figure before him.
“Have you been painting all day again today? Why don’t you try going outside for a bit?”
“Outside? What if I get caught up in some violent incident? Besides, there’s nothing else to do. Should I try knitting? Want to get me some yarn?”
“…You can knit?”
“I can embroider, too. When I was little, I used to cry all the time while searching for Vivi, so Mujin tried to distract me by teaching me everything under the sun.”
Even as he replied half-heartedly, Hesia’s hands never stopped.
The oil-paint scent filled the spacious room.
The Master carefully crossed the floor, now cluttered with art supplies and finished pieces, and walked up beside him.
It was impossible not to recognize the figure standing still among the field of blue hydrangeas, dressed in the traditional clothing of the duchy.
With jet-black hair cascading down as he took in the scent of the flowers, the man in the painting wore an expression so gentle it felt almost unsettling.
His long, narrow eyes and blue irises, tinted as if painted with ground gemstones.
Pale lips curved softly, and sunlight glimmered faintly on his cheek.
The translucent scars scattered across his pale skin looked delicate enough to belong to someone still alive.
“That’s Lord Vivisian.”
“Who else would I paint if not him?”
With a snort, as if the question had been foolish, Hesia set down the brush in his hand.
Then he shot a sidelong glance at the Master standing beside him.
The Master, who had been silently gazing at the smiling figure on the canvas as if entranced, finally broke the silence under Hesia’s sharp gaze.
“Ah. I just stopped by to inform you that we’ve nearly gathered all the intel. If things go quickly, maybe four days. A week at most.”
Hesia paused at that and glanced down at the Master’s composed face before turning back to the canvas before him.
The figure there was indeed a ghost, but one so vividly rendered, so alive, that calling him a ghost felt wrong.
Gazing at the smile on the canvas, Hesia asked calmly, without shame:
“Vivi… he’s innocent, isn’t he?”
“There’s likely no one more innocent than him.”
“…How ridiculous.”
It was so obvious.
Why did no one believe Vivi?
Though the question lacked any real edge, the Master still flinched.
Seeing this, Hesia let out a small laugh.
“I wasn’t blaming you.”
“I know.”
The Master, as if saying this was just human nature, drew a smile from Hesia.
“You’re strange. You act like you actually understand me.”
Hesia’s voice, though as gentle as usual, carried the weariness of someone exhausted.
At that, the Master pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Is it even possible to understand me? Someone who plans to destroy the very territory you live in?”
“…That’s why I’m saying—can’t we just prove his innocence and leave it at that? Yes, many are guilty. But there are also those who know nothing.”
“As long as there are people like you, this land won’t fall. And besides, just because the Duke dies doesn’t mean the duchy will collapse overnight. Don’t worry.”
“Are you going to kill the Duke?”
“Yeah.”
The response came so effortlessly that the Master was left speechless.
Just as Hesia was about to confirm that he wouldn’t change his mind, mistaking the silence for discomfort, the Master spoke.
“Then—what if we reveal the truth after the Duke is dead?”
“After he dies?”
“If Lord Vivisian’s innocence is revealed after the Duke’s death, it’ll be more dramatic—more memorable. If we do it beforehand, it might be overshadowed by the anger toward the Duke. Worse, the ducal house might act to manipulate public opinion before that can happen.”
Hesia looked at the Master, who laid out the logic with cool detachment, then curved his lips into a small smile.
“So what you’re saying is—I should go ahead and kill him now?”
“Yes.”
The clean, matter-of-fact answer left Hesia unsure how to respond.
He rolled his eyes thoughtfully, turning the idea over in his head.
It wasn’t wrong, he had to admit, and that made him chuckle faintly.
“If I kill the Duke, I become a criminal. Even if he’s a sinner, killing a Duke can’t be brushed aside that easily, can it?”
“Not really, no.”
“When I kill him, the truth will come out immediately after. But I can’t be the one to speak it. That would taint it. It has to be someone else. Preferably someone with ties to Vivisian… and it’d be great if it felt like a confession.”
Dipping his brush into the water jar, Hesia washed off the paint while pondering.
Standing in the sunlight, cleaning his brush and dipping it into fresh paint to fill a blank canvas—he looked no different than any noble’s child with artistic talent.
No one would have suspected him of planning the perfect murder.
Hesia looked utterly serene.
“Is there anyone who fits that role? It has to be someone on the inside, ideally with some connection to Vivisian… it should sound a bit like they’re confessing.”
“What about the former steward? The one who worked until Vivisian was imprisoned and retired a few years after.”
“The former steward?”
Hesia froze at the words, his hand halting midair.
A drop of paint fell from his brush, staining the floor and his pale wrist.
His expression faltered for a split second—then returned to calm.
“Why suggest him?”
“Our investigation shows he was one of the people who helped the Duke frame Lord Vivisian.”
“…That bastard, huh? Not bad. Do you know where he is? Bring him in. No need to persuade him. Just tell him that if he doesn’t tell the truth, I’ll kill him. Once he sees I’ve really killed the Duke, he’ll talk.”
As Hesia recalled the man who was once cruel and tenacious in the worst way, a grin spread across his face.
A face that looked like it had been frozen in the most beautiful moment of the past.
* * *
