* * *

“I’m scared I might mess everything up again.”

“…….”

What?

I swallowed the question that rose to my throat.

Kaindel’s words boiled down to this: he was afraid that the endeavor he was planning this time might go awry, just like before.

Back then, the “mistake” must have been hiding the fact that I was one of the Hero’s companions.

But now, what could it be?

My doubts, which I thought had been put to rest, grew louder.

Is it about Gazette? Could I find out if I go to Gazette?

Fidgeting with my pen, I gripped it tightly.

Scratch, scratch—the ink drew lines across the empty paper.

[What are you planning…]

I was about to finish the sentence when Kaindel, who had been rustling as if pulling something from his pocket, suddenly softened his tone.

“Time’s up.”

Already?

I suppressed the rising sense of dismay.

It was the first time I hadn’t checked the clock while with Kaindel, and the realization of how quickly time had passed startled me.

I thought it had only been thirty minutes at most, but checking my pocket watch proved his words correct—an hour had already slipped by.

Without even a moment to process the fleeting time, the meeting was coming to an end.

“…….”

But as I opened my mouth to speak, the words caught in my throat.

There were so many things I wanted to ask Kaindel, who had just been honest about his fears.

Whether he still kept in touch with the sponsors he met as a child. If he knew Viscount Chernian.

What his relationship with Gazette was. Questions piled up—ones I couldn’t ask as “Ain.”

That’s why I didn’t want to know more about you.

Stories about him that hadn’t crossed my mind when we were lovers started to intrigue me.

While his candidness now was enigmatic, the irony of understanding him better only after we’d parted was almost laughable.

It was as if this moment highlighted how broken our relationship had been—a one-sided connection disguised as love.

If I ever got the chance, I’d want to tell Kaindel.

That I’ve been dreaming about him lately. In those dreams, I’m in his arms, hearing confessions of love.

But strangely, they don’t excite me like they once did. Instead of feeling thrilled, I’m jolted back to reality by the hollowness of his warmth.

And now, after hearing about his childhood, I suspect I’d feel not love but pity in those dreams.

“I love you.”

It feels as if Kaindel’s first confession—his recounting of a nightmare—has become my own.

“Until now, your servant has confessed his sins. If my voice has reached you, I pray you will absolve my sins within your merciful embrace.”

As I stifled a hollow laugh, Kaindel finished his prayer, signaling the end of his confession.

Today marked the first time he recited it properly.

The first time, he’d fled the scene.

The next, it was I who ran away.

From behind the partition, I stared blankly at his silhouette and slowly moved my hand.

‘I hate you.’

‘You’re on my mind.’

‘I want you to be miserable.’

‘I want you to live.’

‘I want you to change.’

[The Lord has heard you.]

So, I’ve decided.

I’ll stop meeting you from now on.

Before I start wanting to understand you.

---

After identifying the spy within the temple and deciding to remove the infiltrator’s cloak, there was no reason to keep meeting Kaindel.

So, I asked Owen to take over Kaindel’s confession sessions.

That way, I wouldn’t have to face him anymore.

But capturing the spy required that they attempt to access Owen’s notebook.

Since I wasn’t meeting Kaindel, I couldn’t carry the notebook myself, and it was inconvenient to keep it on me.

I planned to hand it over to Owen, who would carry it during Kaindel’s confession sessions.

If the spy made a move, I could investigate through other means.

The problem was that Owen had been too busy to meet me as Kaindel’s wedding day approached, so I hadn’t yet passed it on to him.

What a predicament.

Dusting dirt off my hands, I stretched my back.

Pulling weeds under the hot sun had left me sore, but the physical labor helped clear my tangled thoughts.

It was time for lunch.

As I adjusted my clothes to leave the garden, Herilson approached with a glass of water.

“Thirsty?”

“A little.”

What’s this about?

I hadn’t expected Herilson to notice me weeding, let alone bring me water.

Surprised, I blinked up at him. Without a word, he smiled and shook the glass slightly.

“Here, drink this.”

“Thanks, Herilson. I appreciate it.”

But as I reached for the glass, I froze.

His thumb, smudged with faint ink-like marks, caught my eye.

My gaze shifted to his index finger, noticing the same marks there.

Ink stains?

No, they looked familiar.

It hit me: a few days ago, after handling Owen’s notebook, my hands bore the same marks.

Herilson tilted his head, puzzled by my hesitation.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Alright then.”

As he walked away, waving lightly, I stared at the untouched water in the glass.

My lingering thirst vanished.

“Herilson, huh.”

Why had he handled the notebook?

It didn’t matter.

One thing was clear: from now on, I couldn’t trust Herilson.

“Herilson, huh.”

I didn’t know why Herilson had touched the notebook, but one thing was clear:

From now on, I couldn’t trust Herilson anymore.

“Why him of all people?”

The realization that I could no longer trust the first friend I made at the temple caused my face to twist in anguish.

I felt unsettled.

Sitting absentmindedly for a while, I finally rose, only to feel a wave of dizziness.

Perhaps it was due to the heat—so oppressive it made me sweat profusely.

I wiped my face, trying to refocus, and began walking.

Being on an empty stomach seemed to make my thoughts spiral unnecessarily.

Eating something might help calm the turmoil.

I planned to carefully sort through my scattered thoughts after lunch.

Letting out a sigh, I moved forward, only to unexpectedly encounter a tall man standing in the middle of the corridor.

The man had his hair neatly styled, giving off a cool and composed impression.

His small, sharp eyes were somewhat chilling, but when viewed as a whole, his handsome features and well-maintained skin spoke of careful grooming.

His impeccable posture and attire made it clear he was a nobleman.

He studied me briefly, then smiled faintly.

As he smiled, dimples formed at the corners of his lips.

“Good day to you.”

“Hello.”

“You don’t look well. Are you unwell? Shall I assist you?”

“No, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

His kindness seemed excessive for a first meeting.

Awkwardly shaking my head, I glanced at the pendant on his chest.

The design engraved on it was familiar.

A shield divided into four parts with two crossed spears beneath it.

Feeling uneasy, I wracked my brain until I realized which family the emblem belonged to.

The Vismerg Dukedom.

The Vismerg Dukedom was, as Kaindel once described it, a “perfectly pure-blooded” lineage.

Along with the Schudergarten Dukedom, it was one of the only four ducal families in the Hadelber Kingdom.

I knew of them well, having encountered the previous Duke of Vismerg a few times at banquets.

But I had heard that the old Duke passed away due to an illness.

So, was this man the new Duke of Vismerg?

As I stared at him, his smile deepened, as if acknowledging my interest.

“I’m glad to hear you’re fine. Well, then, I’ll take my leave.”

With that, the Duke of Vismerg walked away, leaving only those words behind.

The sound of his footsteps gradually faded.

Only after they were entirely out of earshot did I release the breath I’d been unconsciously holding and head toward the dining hall.

The unexpected encounter with the Duke of Vismerg slipped from my mind entirely.

* * *