* * *
Ranshel trudged back toward the school gates.
Simon’s voice still echoed in his mind.
—I couldn’t figure out where he is right now. It’s weird—almost too clean. Like someone erased all traces on purpose.
—I don’t know if he’s still alive, but from what I found, Charlotte did attend the seminary’s prep academy at one point. You’ll probably find more info there.
Ranshel clutched his prayer book tightly.
That flicker of suspicion was becoming near-certainty.
These were definitely traces Charlotte had left behind.
Charlotte had originally been a commoner like Ranshel.
She probably learned noble etiquette while studying at the seminary’s prep academy.
That’s likely where she met Laruca, the daughter of Viscount Drowe, and despite her low status, became her personal maid.
After that, as everyone knew, he became the Emperor’s lover, gained noble status, married a Duke, and became a Duchess… then fled with a commoner for love, leaving their son behind in noble society.
And that son was—
“Why are you going? It’s not even urgent for you.”
Zavad let out a dry chuckle as he looked at Ranshel, whose forehead was beaded with sweat.
“I just… thought I should get the medicine delivered quickly. I don’t know what condition they’re in right now…”
“Ranshel…”
Hans looked at him with tearful admiration.
Ranshel felt a twinge of guilt.
His intentions hadn’t been that pure.
“You could’ve just called a courier here. Why you of all people had to run…”
Sighing, Zavad dabbed Ranshel’s damp forehead with a handkerchief.
“If you’re dying to suffer, just tell me. I’ll make sure you’re drenched in sweat.”
“I actually prefer being comfortable…”
“Then try matching your words to your actions for once.”
“Says the one who’s worst at that.”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re tired at all—look how much energy you’ve got to talk back.”
He chuckled as he wiped Ranshel’s flushed cheeks with the handkerchief.
“You’re not a potato. Why’d you come back so boiled…?”
Ranshel blinked and opened his eyes as the cloth brushed past them, then closed his mouth mid-reply.
Zavad’s smiling face flickered in and out of view between his lashes.
The curve of his red eyes made it impossible to speak.
Zavad must have taken after Charlotte.
Even without seeing Charlotte’s face, Ranshel could tell.
With a face like that, of course people clung to him—offering up their status, wealth, everything.
Ranshel could understand them.
He, too, wanted to give Zavad something.
Anything—if only he could give him what he needed most.
Even knowing it was impossible, Ranshel couldn’t help thinking that way.
“Let’s head back to the estate. I need to wash this potato off or something.”
“Yes. The coachman is waiting over there.”
Zavad shoved Ranshel into the carriage, then climbed in beside him.
Hans, who had come along as their escort, followed on horseback.
As soon as they arrived at the villa, Ranshel ended up using the bathwater that had been prepared for Zavad.
He couldn’t argue—Zavad had insisted that after sweating so much, he couldn’t just stand around stinking beside him.
A smelly servant wouldn’t do, after all.
Melted into the warmth of the bath, Ranshel emerged relaxed and changed into clean clothes before stepping outside his room—only to jump slightly at the sight of Zavad waiting right at the door.
“Wh-What are you doing here?”
“You’re in my room.”
“But… there are plenty of other rooms. You could rest somewhere else…”
“Shut it and get back inside.”
Still radiating residual heat from his bath, Zavad entered the room and flopped onto the bed.
“I’m taking a nap.”
“Ah… should I leave you alone then?”
“You got a problem with your ears? I said get in.”
“But… you said you’re going to sleep…”
Zavad tugged the blanket over himself and lazily motioned with a finger.
“You sleep here too. Just don’t go wandering off while I’m asleep.”
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere…”
Ranshel sat lightly on the edge of the bed.
Zavad frowned, clearly not satisfied.
“Why aren’t you lying down?”
“How could a servant lie in the master’s bed?”
“And for once, you say something that makes sense.”
“Looks like your training is finally paying off.”
Ranshel pulled the blanket up to Zavad’s neck as he lay on his side, still frowning.
“…Why’s there suddenly progress out of nowhere?”
“Why do you complain even when I behave properly?”
Ranshel gently patted the blanket above Zavad with his palm.
Normally, a servant shouldn’t touch the master’s bedding.
Ranshel knew that now.
But he couldn’t act exactly according to the rules.
His master wasn’t a pampered noble surrounded by peace.
Every time Ranshel came to wake him, Zavad was already up and dressed, never letting him see him sleep.
He clearly didn’t like showing vulnerability.
He didn’t sleep much during the day either.
Usually, he’d just lean on a table and close his eyes for a few minutes.
Even then, the slightest movement nearby would snap him awake.
So lying down properly like this was rare.
Perhaps it was because they were now in the Pomel family estate, where no one bore him ill will—maybe, just maybe, he could let his guard down a little.
“…I don’t like it.”
“What don’t you like?”
“The way you… look down at me like that.”
Zavad’s voice was noticeably lower than usual, weighted with sleep.
His blinking grew slower, as if he might fall into deep sleep any moment.
“How about this then?”
Ranshel lay down on his stomach on top of the blanket, meeting Zavad’s eyes head-on.
“Is this better?”
“…No.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Just… get under the covers. Sing a lullaby or something… anything like that.”
“You won’t sleep well with me here anyway.”
Even if he did manage to doze off, the slightest stir beside him would wake him up.
That’s how tense and sensitive Zavad was.
He could never truly relax—he lived each day as if walking on a blade.
Even with Ranshel at his side, it was the same.
Zavad could only sleep peacefully after slaying every last enemy with his own hands.
In the game too, he only truly rested when he was next to Frey.
Suppressing a bitter smile, Ranshel looked down as Zavad murmured in a dazed, sleepy voice.
“You’re going to leave… while I’m sleeping.”
“Why do you keep saying that like I’m going somewhere?”
Ranshel brought his fingertips to Zavad’s eyelids.
He could feel the other man forcing his eyes to stay open.
Then, with his palm, he gently covered Zavad’s eyes completely.
“…You’re hurting… and planning to leave…”
“Hm? Are you in pain?”
“…I am…”
The faint mumbling gradually faded.
Zavad’s eyelashes, which had tickled Ranshel’s palm moments before, stilled.
With the same hand, Ranshel smoothed down Zavad’s forehead and gently stroked his soft cheek.
No fever. But… what kind of pain was it?
“I should call the physician.”
Ranshel waited until Zavad’s breathing deepened, then rose quietly and slipped out of the room.
After explaining the situation to the butler, he made a quick detour to find Petro.
“Mr. Petro, do you know how to restore a damaged book?”
Ranshel held out a prayer book with pages fused together, asking as he did.
Petro, his face mottled with burn scars, examined the book from different angles.
“Judging by the look of it, it’s not some ancient tome—but it looks like a handwritten prayer book. Cheap ink tends to clump and do this sometimes.”
“So what can I do about it?”
“I don’t know where you picked this up, but honestly, maybe you should just give up. Even if you restore it, the letters might be too smudged to read.”
“Oh… okay.”
Ranshel took the book back, muttering softly.
“Didn’t think there’d be something you didn’t know. I thought you knew everything…”
“……”
“So restoring books is that hard, huh? I guess I’ll have to ask someone else…”
“……”
“Wonder if there’s anyone more reliable than Mr. Petro…”
“……Wait.”
Petro suddenly raised a hand, stopping Ranshel in his tracks.
* * *
