#036 Don't worry, I've got you.
"Don't worry, I've got you."
Chezare's words struck her as oddly awkward. Was this the profound bond he had spoken of? It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not an unpleasant one.
"Does that mean you can just throw money at everything and fix it?"
"Well, that's not entirely wrong. But I meant more that you can use my magic... or my minions."
Chezare, who had seemed lost in thought while stroking his chin, turned slowly.
"Come to think of it, you still don't know how to make use of me. Once the trip ends, I'll teach you how to command the demons and monsters under my control. You'll pick it up quickly, Miss Catherine."
With that, the three dispersed to their respective cabins. She couldn't hide her bubbling excitement, no matter how she tried to play it cool. The receding port, the waving crowds. The blaring horns piercing her ears, the salty sea air, the passengers' thrill vibrating through the thick walls.
Catherine stared out the porthole at the harbor for a moment before rising.
Nothing like the day I left Orleans.
To use the powder Chezare had gifted her, Catherine headed straight for the bathroom. For a shipboard bath, it was lavish—rivaling even the ones back in her old mansion... no, in Orleans itself.
"Let's just live here forever. A thousand times better than your place, Catherine."
"You're telling me. This is the taste of money. And you get a sea view out the window."
"Now that you've tasted money, your corruption is inevitable. They say it changes people."
"Where do you even hear this stuff?"
"Everywhere!"
The furniture exhibition was set for exactly tomorrow at 10 a.m. Lest she forget, Catherine repeated it to herself dozens of times in her head as she filled the sink with water, dissolved the powder, and followed Chezare's instructions—wetting her hair and body.
The result was a resounding success.
"Whoa, who is that? Really you, Catherine?"
Yaong wasn't the only one stunned; Catherine herself was shocked. Her skin had deepened to a noticeable tan, her hair had turned a bright golden blonde. Her eyes were now a cobalt blue like Chezare's, and even her lips gleamed a richer red than before. Just a change in color, and she looked like an entirely different person.
"How's this? No one would peg me for Catherine Panya, right?"
At her question, Yaong bounced around excitedly.
"This great Yaong can't be fooled, but any human would never guess it's you!"
Catherine changed into casual clothes and stood before the full-length mirror.
"If someone asks what my connection to Chezare is, what should I say?"
"Mommy?"
"Who'd buy that? Hmm, how about disciple?"
"Looks like you'd skip class and slack off. With your hair tied up like that, you don't even seem Imperial."
Satisfied with the assessment, she spun in place and stepped out of the cabin. With the deck party still hours away, the corridor—which had been buzzing with voices moments ago—now lay eerily silent and empty.
Everyone must be busy with party prep. Good timing— the decks should be quiet too.
She stuffed Yaong into her tote bag and made her way lightly to the deck. Smart move veering toward the stern instead of the busy bow. Aside from a few people out for air here and there, the atmosphere was perfectly serene.
"Yaong, just in case, keep it short from now on. Don't want anyone overhearing."
"Got it."
High railings. Wide decks. Blue skies. Crimson sunset. The wind rushed in like migratory birds, mercilessly tousling her tightly bound hair. Yet the refreshment far outweighed any annoyance. Catherine relaxed her instinctively rising smile and closed her eyes.
She'd made the right call contracting with Chezare.
"Feels nice and cool."
"Right?"
Even in that short reply, Yaong's excitement shone through.
"The ship's going faster than I thought. Isn't it?"
"Super fast."
"It picks up speed before hitting open ocean."
Catherine blinked slowly at the overlapping voices. Were other people talking? She clamped her mouth shut for a moment—wouldn't want to look like some crazy lady talking to herself.
After a brief pause, she spoke again.
"A ship this huge with so many people aboard. It's wild."
"For the price tag, it better deliver."
Yet the voice chimed in seamlessly once more. Grimacing, she peered into her bag. Yaong lay sprawled, shaking its head wide-eyed.
"Nope!"
With a sliver of dread, Catherine turned—and couldn't help but scowl. The stern had been deserted save for a few couples chatting far off. But now, a strange man stood right beside her.
This had to be him. The owner of the voice that had replied as if they were companions.
"What?"
As she spoke, his gaze—until then fixed on the churning waves astern—swung toward her. His glossy black hair caught the fading dawn light, tinged reddish. And those hazy rose-red eyes, blinking a couple times. Not a color you saw every day.
"Huh? Weren't you talking to me?"
Wealthy men must all parlay their fortunes into good looks, she mused, recalling the exceptional handsomeness of the adult men she'd encountered lately. The duke, Percival, even the passengers on this ultra-luxury liner—one and all, they oozed young lordling vibes.
"Only you and me here. Oh, wait—talking to yourself?"
A beat late, Catherine mustered her best response.
"It's a hobby."
It was funny even saying it; she wondered how ridiculous it sounded to him. But the man furrowed his brow as if privy to some astonishing secret.
"Talking to yourself is your hobby? Wow, first woman I've met with that one. You look foreign... Where from? South Continent? Kelly Desert? Southri Kingdom?"
Her tanned skin led to the predictable mix-up with southern races. Seizing the misunderstanding, Catherine opted for a southern tongue to shake him off—picking the most foreign-sounding phrase from the dozen or so she remembered.
"Quillamasura."
It meant "thanks for the meal."
As expected, bewilderment and confusion washed over his face. She was about to flash a smile and send him on his way when—
"Eaten well, huh? What'd I treat you to? Hmm... No way you're from that merchant caravan I hosted. Weird—I never forget a face..."
Of all people, a polyglot. No choice now but the nuclear option: bail.
"First time meeting. Gotta go, busy."
She gripped her tote strap tight and stepped away.
"Hey, miss. So, are you Imperial or not?"
His casual tone grated further. Catherine decided to fire one parting shot before leaving.
"Why the casual talk? Do you know me? Mind your manners with strangers."
"Uncle...?"
The man staggered as if struck, his tall frame struggling to right itself.
"Alright, fair. That's worth an apology. Sorry—your casual reply made me think foreign custom."
He slicked back his windswept bangs with a flourish.
"But weren't you the one acting suspicious? Nah, putting that aside... What? Uncle? Hey, miss. Where do I look like an uncle?"
"What should I call you then?"
"Anything but uncle!"
No matter his statue-like ethereal beauty, age was age. She waved it off vaguely, unwilling to drag the chat out.
"My bad. Sorry for calling you uncle offhand, young man. Anyway, I'm off."
Crowded ship, and people nitpick over nothing.
"Hey."
Even so, she'd been the one acting oddly enough to confuse, so she started to back off meekly.
"Miss! Don't ignore me—give a guy a response. Makes the talker look pathetic."
Ignoring calls was standard; marching off, basic protocol. But the next words halted her mid-stride.
"Ever imagined you might have some secret about your birth you don't know?"
Instantly, the gargoyle—huddled quietly till now—twitched.
Don't react? Or looks fun?
She turned slightly, meeting his eyes. He leaned against the stern rail, the picture of leisure.
"If you're scamming, make it believable. That's ancient."
"Ancient? You really think so?"
She knew she was an idiot for keeping the conversation going. Yet her frozen legs wouldn't obey.
From a safe distance, he was the epitome of an idle rich family's second son. Half his buttons undone, shirt flapping undignified, sleeves casually rolled like he was in his own backyard. Tousled black locks dancing wildly in the sea breeze. And that utterly relaxed poise, as if the world knelt at his feet.
"People like us? Hard to believe, I know, but we can kinda sense each other. Heart all aflutter... Call it camaraderie?"
"Not even a tail's worth."
He clutched his left chest at the merciless retort. Even stage actors weren't that hammy.
"Oof, that stings."
Good enough—she wasn't playing along anymore. He'd ignored her plea for formality anyway, barreling on with his spiel. Attitude, aura: either spoiled brat or high nobility she'd never dare look up at.
"Wait, story's just starting—where you going? Hey!"
"Busy."
"I'm seriously glad to meet you. Hang on. That suspicious? Take my card at least?"
"No need."
Fearing another grab at her collar, she hurried from the stern to the passenger deck. Her chest felt strangely tight. Irritation, sure—and raw nerves.
Ignoring glances, she yanked open her bag and hugged Yaong's warm, fuzzy body.
"Did good."
As if blindly calling it good fixed her unease. Whatever. Catherine trudged straight to her cabin.
Just one hour till the deck party. And it had never felt so endless. [