Keeping the Yandere Duke in check chapter 52

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“I won’t let that happen.”

[How do you stop a man who brings all the work upon himself? Come now, how many people have I seen suffer their entire lives by getting swept up next to someone like that?]

Hernan had long known that Jurgen was like a relentless storm, constantly creating work wherever he went.

And, to top it off, he was needlessly popular, drawing hundreds, if not thousands, of people into his whirlwind.

So if one didn’t have the right mindset, it was better not to try monopolizing him.

Instead, you might as well be satisfied by dragging down anyone who dared to.

As Hernan rejected one after another of the chaotic financial reports from the various estates, he thought, ‘It’s fine. I won’t be so easily overwhelmed either.’

Thus, at 8:55 p.m., five minutes before their regular meeting time, Hernan, already drowning in work, eagerly walked towards the door.

Just before he opened it, he heard the sound of something falling over inside, making him stifle a laugh. What was Jurgen up to this time?

Curious and amused, he waited a bit longer to let Jurgen clean up.

When the shuffling noises stopped, Hernan knocked lightly.

A clearing of the throat followed.

“Ahem! Come in.”

Hernan opened the door to find Jurgen lying awkwardly on the bed, pulling the covers up to his waist, leaning back against the headboard as if he had been resting comfortably the whole time…

‘How could someone be so obvious…?’

It seemed that the perfect man had never done something like this before.

Jurgen was no different from an ostrich that buried its head in the bushes, thinking it was completely hidden.

Hernan, carefully pretending not to notice the stack of papers sticking out from under the pillow, spoke calmly.

“You seem to have finished your preparations earlier than usual today.”

Jurgen, with all the composure in the world, replied, “Yes, I was just about to settle in and sleep early tonight.”

His expression was so convincing that if it weren’t for the papers poking out, Hernan might have fallen for it himself.

Instead of pointing it out, Hernan smiled subtly, his eyes crinkling.

“I’m glad to see you’re so mindful of your health. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m the one who’s always grateful.”

Hernan watched Jurgen’s shameless smile before calmly picking up the lamp by the bedside.

It was better to deal with things this way than to embarrass him by pulling back the covers.

“Oh, the wick of this lamp is quite worn out. I’ll have someone bring you a new one tomorrow morning just in case. Hopefully, you won’t need it tonight, but if you do, ring the bell for a servant.”

‘He was planning to stay up all night reading documents by the lamplight on that uncomfortable bed, wasn’t he?’

Hernan casually picked up the lamp, pocketing the flint from the wall lamp nearby so that Jurgen wouldn’t be able to light anything later.

“…I see.”

Jurgen hesitated for a moment, realizing that acting suspicious now might expose his plan. Nodding, he accepted defeat.

“See you in the morning, then.”

With a simple farewell, Hernan left Jurgen’s room.

Moments later, the sound of frantic rummaging inside told him that Jurgen had discovered the flint was missing.

‘If he’s the workaholic, then I’ll be the obstacle.’ Smiling to himself, Hernan walked back to his office, imagining the curses Jurgen must be muttering under his breath somewhere, like a hymn of praise.

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The next morning.

Jurgen had hidden his documents under the bedding, only to realize it was all in vain after the lamp had been taken away.

He wasted no time, immediately summoning all the artists in the region.

They were busy with schedules, complaining about their aching bodies or training apprentices, but they had no choice once they were promised travel expenses and told to come no matter what.

One might think it petty to go this far for something as simple as a portrait, but Hernan felt a small act of revenge was in order.

Yes, come to think of it, Jurgen had seemed uncomfortable when the topic of his own face came up recently.

Now, he could be surrounded by endless flattery and suffer through it.

By the time five or six renowned artists from across the empire gathered in one place, grumbles could be heard even before Hernan arrived.

“What kind of person gathers us all here just to make us into a laughingstock? I came after hearing the reputation of Mr. Everdeen, but I never expected such treatment.”

“Indeed. What was he thinking, gathering all of us so suddenly like this!”

While the servants tried to calm the complaining artists, Hernan entered the room, greeting them with a soft smile.

“Thank you for coming such a long way. I truly appreciate you taking the time despite your busy schedules.”

Hearing his polite tone, free of the arrogance typical of nobles, the oldest of the artists coughed indignantly.

“Mr. Everdeen! You’ve been hiding away in Nirvan for some time, and now you call us all to this remote place—what exactly have you been doing?”

Though only one spoke out, the others clearly shared his frustration, glaring at Hernan.

Hernan, ignoring their hostility, raised the curtain obscuring Jurgen’s portrait and spoke with a calm, flowing tone.

“First, let me clarify that I do not intend to choose just one of you for this task. If all of you are willing, I’ll gladly sign contracts with each of you.”

The artists snorted in disdain.

They were proud of their skills, and the idea that the work didn’t matter who took it on felt insulting.

“If I’d known Mr. Everdeen was so rude, I wouldn’t have come at all.”

As the painters began to gather their belongings, one of them scoffed, preparing to leave the hall.

At that moment, I raised my hand, signaling to a servant, perfectly timed.

“Perhaps you should make that judgment after meeting the Grand Duke in person.”

With a business smile firmly in place, I watched as the curtain concealing Hernan fluttered lightly.

Then, as Hernan finally appeared in front of the painters, wearing a reluctant expression—

Thud.

The painter, who had been clutching his belongings tightly in both hands, let them drop helplessly to the floor.

“Hernan Velon Iyudenet.”

After Hernan’s brief, disinterested introduction, the sound of sharp intakes of breath came from all around the room, as if they were about to faint.

“N-No, I mean… this is…”

“I wondered what could’ve inspired such audacity, and now I see…”

Clearing their throats awkwardly, they exchanged glances, trying to assess the situation.

Then, the youngest of the painters raised his hand abruptly.

“Please, allow me to paint him!”

It seemed he quickly realized that if he didn’t act, given his lesser experience and reputation, the opportunity would slip through his fingers.

But he wasn’t the only one.

The other painters, now desperate, also shot up their hands and began shouting.

“I’ll do it!”

“No, I must paint him!”

As they scrambled to capture even a moment longer of Hernan’s face, I gestured again to the servant.

With a quick snap of my fingers, the curtains closed once more, hiding Hernan from view.

“Now then, shall we discuss the terms of the contract in detail?”

The real negotiations started now.

People might wonder how I could possibly haggle with some of the Empire’s most renowned painters, but everything depends on the model.

Let’s be honest—who would willingly volunteer to paint a portrait of some ordinary nobleman with a plain face?

Sure, if the man were royalty, someone might do it for the prestige, but the motivation wouldn’t be enthusiasm.

However, if the model is the most striking beauty in the entire Empire, one that cannot be found anywhere else?

Well, despite how annoying he might be when he opens his mouth, I could personally vouch for Hernan’s face as an appraiser of art and fine gems.

It was a masterpiece.

It was no wonder they were all scrambling to paint him.

There was no need to worry about a lack of volunteers.

Calling so many painters at once was a deliberate choice.

After all, who would look kindly on a young Grand Duke who had just returned from the battlefield and resumed his duties less than half a year ago?

His martial prowess was famous, sure, but rumors—mostly spread by himself—had it that the young Grand Duke of Velon was just as vicious as his predecessor, with a horribly disfigured face that kept him out of high society.

This was an opportunity to dispel at least some of those rumors—especially the one about him being a hideous monster hiding from the world.

The plan was to generate new stories: “How handsome must he be for these master painters, who have only ever seen beauty, to fight over who gets to paint him?”

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