* * *

In the end, Hernan’s insistence led to ordering a formal southern-style outfit for myself as well, much to the tailor’s delight.

He eagerly took both of our measurements—shoulders, arms, wrists, waist—meticulously noting every detail.

By the time the process was complete, both Hernan and I were thoroughly exhausted.

“Well, at least we’ve overcome a significant hurdle.”

We had successfully avoided the disaster of showing up at a gathering of the nation’s elites dressed in a style that had been out of fashion for twenty years.

It felt like a small victory.

“Do we have to go through this every time there’s a banquet?” Hernan asked, looking thoroughly fed up as he wiped sweat from his brow.

I shrugged. “Not necessarily. The outfit you’re having tailored today should last you until next year. Since men’s fashion trends shift more slowly than women’s, you can probably use it for a few years unless there’s a major change.”

Those who didn’t care much about their image might get by with a single outfit for every occasion, but that was a luxury only afforded to men who weren’t concerned with public appearances.

If Hernan wanted Velon to become the premier winter destination, he needed to put some effort into his image as its host.

“What a tedious affair,” Hernan muttered, stretching his arms and shoulders after standing still for so long.

“Just bear with it for now. Once the initial phase of establishing things is over, it’ll be much easier,” I said, patting him lightly on the shoulder before heading back to work.

As I leisurely walked down the corridor, mentally sorting through the business partners I needed to contact today, I noticed merchants struggling to organize a pile of crates with dejected expressions.

Why burden yourselves with so much clutter?

Clicking my tongue in mild disapproval, I recalled a small, intricate button decoration I’d seen earlier.

It was delicately crafted, more an art piece than an accessory.

…Not that I need it.

I shook my head, dismissing the thought.

Acquiring unnecessary trinkets was wasteful, especially when I was urgently trying to liquidate assets to settle debts and break my engagement.

Though the button didn’t seem particularly expensive, spending money on indulgences was out of the question.

Still, as I reached the office door, I hesitated, my steps faltering.

Five paces, four paces, three.

Finally, I gave in and turned around.

The merchant, who had just finished loading the last crate onto his cart, looked startled by my sudden reappearance.

Beads of nervous sweat dotted his forehead as he greeted me.

“Ah, Lord Everdeen! We were just about to set off. Is there a problem?”

I had been such a picky and exacting customer earlier, trimming down all unnecessary accessories, that the poor merchant seemed worried I had returned to lodge a complaint.

“No, there’s no problem…”

Not really.

But when someone suddenly starts acting out of character, driven by an inexplicable desire, it’s usually because they’re under some strange spell.

This wasn’t like me at all.

But the die had been cast, and keeping my expression as neutral as possible, I said, “There’s something I’d like to take another look at.”

After (somewhat) peacefully finishing the order for the ceremonial attire, I began instructing Hernan at the appointed times about the royal family-related houses and the key figures he would meet at the parties.

From families holding significant positions in the council of elders to those whose only claim to fame was a marriage connection with the royal family, I carefully selected the ones worth noting.

While Hernan wasn’t in a position to bow his head to anyone as a non-royal, unnecessary conflicts wouldn’t do him any good either.

“You’re listening with one ear and letting it out the other, aren’t you?”

The tragic irony of this painstakingly thorough, survival-critical lesson on social etiquette was that Hernan had no genuine interest in other people.

“Not at all. I’ve been listening attentively.”

His composed reply made me jab back without hesitation.

“Then tell me which family the consort of Princess Eloni belongs to.”

It was a house I had drilled into him a mere 15 minutes ago, yet Hernan, whether deliberately or out of genuine obliviousness, spouted nonsense.

“The Marquessate of Sausage?”

“It’s Poézi.”

“Ah, something like that.”

Hah… If it were up to me, I’d give him a pop quiz and mark every mistake in bright red pen.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten the name and background of the princess at the center of the celebration you’ll be attending in two weeks?”

I peered into Hernan’s face, hoping to prevent such a tragedy.

Meeting my desperate gaze, he finally answered.

“Her Highness Evelyn de Noire, the Third Princess. Her mother is Queen Marina, and she’ll be celebrating her 18th birthday this year.”

Relieved that he at least remembered the essentials, I let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s fortunate you remember the most important details.”

As I visibly calmed down, Hernan shot back in a slightly disgruntled tone.

“You’ve been talking about other people for over a week now.”

Well, of course I’d talk about others.

Was I supposed to discuss my life story here?

Most of these people were ones I’d grown sick of seeing since childhood, making them easy topics to talk about without extra preparation.

Like how the second son of one family keeps insisting others drink more wine and should be politely declined, or how another’s daughter is the type to spread nasty rumors over a single careless remark and is better avoided entirely.

These were all things that would come in handy if he were tossed into the middle of a ballroom, yet there he was, sulking as if I was gossiping for no reason.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

“Then should we sit here and discuss our impressions of each other instead?”

Obviously, I wasn’t serious—it was pure sarcasm.

But Hernan seized the moment like it was a brilliant idea.

“That doesn’t sound bad. If you were to introduce me to someone else, how would you describe me?”

Caught off guard by the question, I frowned.

“What kind of nonsense…?”

“It’s not nonsense. I’m genuinely curious.”

“Why now of all times?”

Hernan smirked, his expression composed again.

“It’s not just now. I’m always curious. What sort of person do you think I am?”

Now that I thought about it, he had said something similar before—hinting at concerns about what others thought of him.

The sudden change in topic made me determined not to engage further.

“I don’t think this is important right now. Let’s get back to the influential families in the western region—”

Refusing to indulge him further, I shifted the topic back, but Hernan persisted.

“Are you avoiding the question? What’s there to be afraid of?”

Afraid?

Who, me?

I wanted to retort confidently, but I couldn’t.

A month ago, perhaps, but since being saved by Hernan, I wasn’t even sure what I wanted anymore.

I wasn’t planning to let him lead me around, but I couldn’t push him away completely either.

My resolve wavered in this ambiguous state.

Feeling like I was teetering on the edge without a safety net, I snapped back to my senses.

“I’m not sure what you mean. If someone were to ask me about you, I’d say you’re someone with limited experience but who has shown great merit on the battlefield, so I’m optimistic about your future.”

It was mostly sincere.

I could add some embellishments about his military accomplishments, but pretending to know more than I did could backfire.

My knowledge of his past was limited to what little I’d heard—like a 30-second unskippable ad—and the fact that since Berta disappeared, his obsessive attention had shifted entirely onto me.

“I need to look into this further.”

Whatever happened in his past to make him so different from the Hernan I remembered, I needed to find out to plan my next move.

Until then, I refrained from drawing any conclusions.

“Now, if you’re satisfied, let’s get back to the western region—”

I ignored how Hernan’s ears seemed slightly redder than usual as I turned away.

For now, I wasn’t ready to figure out what Hernan truly wanted—or if I even had the courage to confront it.

---

Meaningful friction with Hernan didn’t arise until two weeks later.

* * *