Chapter 51
Chapter 51
Translation: godsn
A madman.
Leila was reminded of that undeniable fact she had managed to forget for a while.
Right. This was exactly that madman—Duke Herhardt.
"You should answer me."
The Duke smiled again as he tugged at Leila's hair, her chest heaving violently. Though his grip wasn't as rough as the ferocity with which he had chased her down, Leila had no room to notice such subtleties. The humiliation of having her hair seized and the sheer terror were the only emotions ruling her now.
"Leila."
Matthias's voice grew even quieter as he called her name.
Leila instinctively tried to step back, but the tree behind her left no room to retreat. Unlike her own ragged breathing, the Duke's had already steadied, as though he hadn't just sprinted after her at breakneck speed. Each labored breath made her more acutely aware of the large, solid body pressing against her, only deepening her discomfort.
"Just... why—"
Pushing futilely against his shoulders with trembling lips, Leila strained to speak.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
When her arms alone proved useless, she twisted her body with all her might. Matthias, looking down at her as if she were being ridiculous, leaned his weight forward, pinning her completely. As Leila froze in terror at their bodies pressed flush together, his expression grew even more satisfied.
"Not a question. An answer."
Matthias met Leila's glare head-on, almost enjoying it.
"Answer me, Leila."
His fingers slowly stroked the strands of her hair he had tangled in his grip. The soft rustling sensation soothed some of the irritation that had festered over the past week. Perhaps that was why Leila's stubborn silence, lips pressed tightly together, didn't bother him as much as it should have.
"Do you think ignoring replies and refusing to answer is ladylike?"
"......"
"Leila."
"......"
"Leila Lewellin."
The hand gripping her hair gradually tightened. Sensing the ominous shift, Leila's lips parted in a burst of frustration.
"I don't understand what you're talking about, Your Grace."
"The letter didn't arrive?"
"I know nothing about that."
"Leila, you'd do well to think carefully before you speak."
Matthias's smile deepened as he watched her pupils waver nervously.
"What do you think I'll do to a useless carrier pigeon that can't even deliver a single letter properly?"
"Y-you promised!"
Leila flinched, then shouted.
"You promised me—you swore you wouldn't shoot Phoebe!"
"Did I?"
"Your Grace!"
"Funny, now I feel like pretending I don't understand what you're talking about either."
Matthias grew even more mischievous at her clumsy lie—her eyes, incapable of hiding anything, gave her away instantly. But her indignant glare lasted only a moment before her trembling lashes lowered.
"...I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"You already know everything."
"Ignoring the letter, running away, lying—shall I list them one by one?"
With each accusation, Leila's shoulders flinched. She looked rather pretty when docile, but he disliked not being able to see her eyes.
"Enough apologies."
Matthias lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. Though his touch was careful, as if handling something fragile, Leila still startled. Not that he cared. The satisfaction of finally meeting her eyes far outweighed any lingering displeasure.
"Since you didn't seem to care about losing it, I suppose that pen wasn't precious to you?"
"Of course it was! But—"
As Leila trailed off and tried to turn her head, Matthias cupped her small chin firmly, forcing her gaze back.
"But?"
He wouldn't tolerate broken conversation or averted eyes. With her hair and face firmly in his grasp, Leila let out a resigned sigh.
"I truly don't understand you, Your Grace."
Her emerald eyes, now calm, held Matthias in their gaze. Eyes as beautiful as an eternal summer.
"Why do you keep stealing my things?"
The way Leila spoke, as if scolding a thief, made Matthias's eyebrows subtly rise. In all of Carlsbar—no, in the entire empire—there was likely no one but Leila Lewellin who would dare treat Duke Herhardt like a petty thief. It was so absurd that he couldn't help but laugh.
"Are you... really a crow?"
Leila, who had been intently studying Matthias's dark hair and blue eyes, suddenly shot back sharply.
"A crow?"
Matthias frowned at the incomprehensible remark. As if deciding to throw caution to the wind, Leila didn't stop and continued chattering away.
"You were the one who stole my things—so, the one who did wrong is you, Your Grace. I don't understand why I have to beg for them back every time. That's just unfair."
Her voice, tinged with anger, was higher than usual. Perhaps because of that, the clarity of her tone rang even more beautifully, and Matthias willingly lent his ear to it.
"So that's why?"
Matthias, watching Leila huff in frustration, gently curled the corner of his lips. For a moment, Leila felt like an utter fool, her words abruptly stuck in her throat.
She had mustered every ounce of courage to argue back, yet the Duke only met her with amusement.
What in the world...?
"Leila."
Matthias called her name just as she parted her lips. The reckless defiance drained away, replaced by an indescribable, strange feeling. Unable to find a retort, Leila hesitated before hurriedly lowering her gaze.
"Leila."
This time, slower, the Duke whispered her name as if humming a song.
When she turned her head, one of her ears brushed against his chest. The faint sound of his heartbeat reached her. The thought that her own pulse might also be laid bare to him made this moment unbearably suffocating.
With hands stiff and pale, Leila pushed against the Duke's shoulder again, blocking her path. She knew it was futile, but she had to try, even if it was a meaningless effort.
When Matthias took a step back, as if conceding, Leila exhaled sharply, releasing the breath she'd been holding. She was timid yet bold, gentle yet sharp-tongued. A woman impossible to understand in every way—but entertaining to watch, no matter what.
"Give me back my pen."
The words Leila blurted out after catching her breath made Matthias laugh outright. She never failed to meet his expectations.
"Gone."
His reply was infuriatingly casual.
"I threw it away."
"What did you say?"
"You didn't seem to need it, since you never came looking."
"But why would you—"
"Leila, shouldn't you at least let me know?"
Matthias shrugged as if the answer were obvious.
"I'm a gentleman, after all."
Still holding her hair, he slowly ran his fingers through it.
"The finest gentleman in Carlsbar, as certified by Professor Lewellin."
When he finally loosened his grip, Leila's hair slipped free. She glared at the Duke as she stepped back—only to stumble almost immediately with a sharp yelp.
"Ack!"
Just as the last strands were about to escape, Matthias suddenly tightened his hold.
"Right?"
Even as Leila winced from the stinging pain, nearly in tears, his expression remained amused.
This man is insane.
Repeating the thought in her head, Leila struggled to free herself from his grasp. Matthias shook the handful of hair he still held, grinning triumphantly.
How is this man the head of House Herhardt?!
Just as she began to worry about Arvis's future, Leila's body tilted backward—the Duke had abruptly let go of her hair.
She barely registered the sound of his laughter—hahaha—before the rapidly tilting scenery suddenly froze.
Before she knew it, Matthias's face filled her vision. Only after feeling his arm wrapped around her waist did Leila realize she was now looking up at him, cradled in the Duke's embrace.
"Should I cry or something?"
Cornered like a rat, Leila scrunched up her face in frustration—only for the Duke to release her with utter nonchalance. That indifferent, shameless expression of his made her shudder all over again.
The moment she broke free, Leila dashed toward the stream. Matthias remained standing where he was, merely checking the watch on his wrist.
"I take it back. Your Grace is no gentleman. Absolutely not."
Leila shouted, her voice thick with indignation.
"My, how harsh your evaluation has suddenly become."
As he laughed aloud again, Leila's cheeks burned even hotter.
"I mean it."
"Ah. Do you now?"
"Yes! If Your Grace is a gentleman, then I must be a queen!"
Now she even hated herself for groveling and flattering the Duke earlier.
With a derisive chuckle—as if to say, "Is that all?"—the Duke adjusted the lapel of his disheveled coat. Then, bowing to Leila with the utmost elegance and courtesy, as though paying homage to a queen, he delivered an insult so refined it turned her mind blank with humiliation.
Leila stared at the Duke's retreating back in a daze as he walked away without a care. Like a predator, he had pursued her, tormented her mercilessly, and now, after humiliating her in such a beautifully cruel manner, he simply left.
By the time she reached the annex, the carriage was already waiting.
Matthias boarded without hesitation. The irritation and displeasure he had felt upon leaving the annex earlier had vanished without a trace.
The carriage carrying the Duke began moving along the road by the river. After briefly gazing at the Schulter River, Matthias soon shifted his attention to the documents and letters his attendant had prepared beside his seat. The faint trace of amusement in his eyes soon faded, replaced by their usual cold glint.
The moment his emotions vanished, Matthias's lips curled slightly again as he pulled a pen from his jacket pocket.
Leila Lewellin.
The name, engraved in gold, glinted in the afternoon sunlight.
Running his fingertips slowly over the pen's smooth, polished surface, Matthias let out a short, sharp laugh before uncapping it.
The scratch of the nib filled the carriage, mingling with the sunlight streaming inside.
"This one's for Professor Lewellin."
The deliveryman handed over the school's mail, then held out one last small parcel.
"For me?"
Leila took it, puzzled. It was strange enough that a package had been sent to the school instead of her home, but the sender's name and address were also unfamiliar.
"Was this misdelivered?"
"Huh? Uh... no."
Leila shook her head with a smile. Though sent by someone unknown from an unfamiliar place, the recipient was unmistakably Leila Lewellin—her.
"Thank you."
After exchanging pleasantries with the deliveryman, Leila hurried back inside the school building. As the youngest teacher, it was her job to distribute the mail. Starting from the principal's office to the neighboring classrooms. By the time she finished, break time was nearly over.
Returning to her classroom, Leila sat at her desk and unwrapped the parcel. Inside was a long, narrow box. No note, just the box alone.
She checked the sender's address and name again. Definitely an unfamiliar city, an unfamiliar name.
"Ah."
Tilting her head, Leila opened the box—and a soft gasp escaped her lips.
Inside lay a black pen with gold accents. The moment she saw it, she understood everything. Who had sent it, and for what reason. The memory of that weekend's chaos flashed vividly in her mind, and she sighed without realizing it. It looked impossibly expensive, far beyond anything Leila could ever afford.
Carefully, she picked up the pen. On the cap, just like the pen the Duke had discarded, her name was engraved.
The bell signaling the start of class rang, and children playing in the halls and schoolyard came rushing into the classroom.
Leila placed the new pen—which she had been turning over in her hands—back into the box and tucked it deep into her desk drawer. If she could, she would have left the memory of that day there too. But that was nothing more than a futile wish.
"Alright, kids, let's begin class!"
With a bright smile, Leila stood at the front of the classroom.