Chapter 98: A Tender Man
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 98: A Tender Man
“Actually, my sister’s ty—”
Raphael, who had been speaking, caught sight of something ahead and clamped his mouth shut.
Annette was walking toward them from a distance.
“Why are you two together?”
While Loik was debating whether to mention that her brother had been caught peeking at the training ground, Raphael casually sidled up to her.
“The Grand Duke was showing me around the training ground.”
“Oh, really?”
Annette took his hand, looking pleased.
“I was worried Raphael would be bored, so thank you.”
Loik offered a smile as Annette gave him a playful crinkle of her nose.
“He is quite cute, just like you.”
This crafty brat is definitely the Marquis’s son, Loik thought.
Eventually, he handed Raphael over to Annette and began making his way back to the training ground.
— “The Grand Duke isn’t the type of man my sister likes.”
The more Loik chewed on Raphael’s words, the more his chest felt heavy, as if a stone had settled on his heart.
He had already been feeling unsettled for the past few days, and hearing that of all things didn't help. Suddenly, his footsteps felt incredibly heavy.
What was the point of training or anything else?
If he wasn't even Annette’s type...
He let out a heavy sigh.
“Please do not worry too much.”
Norton, who was usually silent while on escort duty, suddenly spoke up.
“...Regarding what Lord Raphael said.”
“Who said I was worried about that?” Loik snapped before Norton could even finish.
“Yesterday—that is, I heard this from my sister,” Norton continued, hesitating. “If you aren't concerned, then there's no need for me to—”
“Speak.”
“It seems Cecilia asked Her Highness the Consort what style of man she prefers.”
Loik stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Norton.
And?
His eyes were filled with a tense anticipation. Norton hesitated for a moment before answering.
“Her Highness said she likes tender men.”
Loik was struck dumb.
A tender man?
If one were to use a million adjectives to describe a man like Loik Blenheim, "tender" would likely not be among them.
Isn't that basically confirming it’s not me?
The color drained from his face instantly.
“However...”
Norton trailed off and suddenly bowed his head slightly.
“My apologies. Now that I think about it, this might be a disloyal remark, so it is difficult to say...!”
A thick vein pulsed in Loik’s neck.
“...It’s fine, just say it.”
Norton bit his lip, looking as though he regretted bringing it up.
“When she asked if the Grand Duke wasn't perhaps a bit far from her ideal... and I assure you, my sister meant no offense by this...”
“Norton.”
“Her Highness said that, in her eyes, the Captain is the most tender man in the world...”
“...What?”
At the unexpected words, Loik’s face instantly flushed as red as a tomato.
“Cecilia asked her several times, and she said that the Captain’s tender and kind nature is what she likes most.”
The corners of Loik’s mouth twitched.
It was an utterly flustering thing to hear, yet for some reason, his lips felt like they were trying to ascend to the heavens.
“T-Tell me more. In detail.”
“...I believe I have told you the details.”
Loik grabbed Norton by both shoulders.
“From the very beginning. Don't miss a single syllable. Be specific.”
Seeing his lord’s eyes sparkling with an overwhelming intensity, Norton’s pupils shook violently.
*
Meisel stood in front of the bookstore’s display window for a long time.
Behind the glass, a booklet titled Cecil’s Recipe was on display. Below it was a large promotional sign:
[Monthly Publication of Cecil’s Recipe! Includes unreleased recipes not found in the Northern News.]
While Meisel glared at the booklet, the bookstore owner walked over to the display and slid in a new sign: First Edition Sold Out! Pre-orders Available!
‘Damn it!’
She was in a foul mood. She had just come from Cafe Delitar, where she had been practically threatened by the Merchant Association President.
— “You couldn't even take the Northern News away from them!”
— “In any case, wasn't our contract only up until I withdrew my investment? I am already facing significant losses myself, so I have my own grievances. Regardless, I have done my part, so now it is the Lady’s turn to keep her promise.”
The Merchant Association President, who was reportedly in a bind because the new shopping district was doing so well, had lost all his previous composure.
‘I should have made stealing the Northern News a condition.’
But to be honest, Meisel herself had been desperate to ruin the delegation’s visit and humiliate Annette. She just didn't want to get her own hands dirty.
Well, she was going to make Marzella do it this time anyway, so did it matter?
‘I’ll have to show her what happens when she keeps avoiding my calls.’
She was thinking about writing a letter as soon as she returned when her maid spoke up.
“My lady, if you don't want the Marchioness to find out, we should head back soon...!”
“Shut up! Stop nagging me!”
Meisel snapped at the worried maid, then quickly lowered her voice as she became conscious of her surroundings.
“I’m going now.”
When she replied in a slightly softened tone, the maid’s pale face regained some color.
‘Am I getting too sensitive?’
Lately, she found herself getting irritated more easily than before. Sometimes, a heat would boil up inside her, making it difficult to suppress her rising anger. In those moments, touching the magic stone necklace she had bought by the lake seemed to make her feel a bit better.
Meisel was fiddling with the necklace hidden beneath her clothes when a voice called out.
“My lady, we meet again.”
Meisel looked up at the familiar voice.
The shaman she had seen by the lake was standing before her, his hood pulled low. Beneath the shadow of his brow, those same yellow eyes blinked.
“W-Who are you?”
Feeling a chill, Meisel took a step back.
“Are you following me?”
“You truly are arrogant beyond measure.”
The tips of Meisel’s ears turned red.
“Which is why I like you,” the shaman chuckled softly. “But I apologize; it just so happens my shop is nearby.”
“A shop?”
“More importantly, my lady.”
The yellow eyes drifted toward Meisel’s chest, where the necklace was hidden.
“Has what you wished for come true?”
“Not at all. This thing is a complete fraud.”
Meisel glared at him, recalling the humiliation of being chased away by Annette at the lake.
“That shouldn't be the case.” The shaman tilted his head. “Think back on what you wished for.”
Meisel thought about it carefully.
That day, she had certainly prayed fervently to meet the Grand Duke. Come to think of it, that wish had indeed come true. Just as she was about to give up and leave after searching for so long, she had run into him by chance.
‘But Annette showed up and ruined everything.’
“Surely you weren't so naive as to think a necklace would solve all your problems?”
Meisel, who had been thinking something similar, pressed her lips into a thin line.
“You must forge the path yourself. The necklace merely gives you the strength to step forward.”
The shaman peered into Meisel’s eyes for a moment before speaking.
“There is an obstacle in your path, so it seems clearing that away should come first.”
Meisel’s eyes widened.
“How did you know?”
“Did I not tell you? My god sees through everything.”
“Then... what should I do?” Meisel asked, lowering her voice.
The shaman tilted his head to the side.
“I do sell various things in my shop...”
“Like what? Charms?”
Seeing her curious face, the shaman’s eyes crinkled. He leaned in and whispered into her ear.
“Poisons that cause extreme agony... There are quite a few items for those with desperate desires like yours, my lady.”
Meisel flinched and pulled away at the mention of poison.
“I-I’m not interested in that.”
Though no one was eavesdropping, they were standing on a fairly busy street. Furthermore, while the maid standing behind her was tight-lipped, she wasn't someone Meisel could fully trust.
“Of course not.”
Noticing Meisel glancing at the maid, the shaman pointed toward the back of an alley with a suggestive look.
“For your information, my shop is at the very end of the second alleyway over there.”
He tapped near his eye.
“I suspect you won't have much trouble finding it.”
Having finished his piece, the shaman vanished into the crowd as if the conversation had never happened.
“My lady, let’s go now,” the maid said, looking around anxiously.
If anyone saw a lady of a Count’s house speaking with a strange man, it was obvious that the maid would be the one to suffer the consequences later.
“My lady, that shaman seems like a scary person. You mustn't go looking for his shop later, alright? Promise me.”
“Are you crazy? Why would I go there?”
Meisel snapped back coldly and turned away.
However, late that evening, a messenger from the Count’s estate, their face almost entirely hidden by a hood, sought out the shop at the very end of the alley.
Inside the dilapidated shop, where a sign carved with yellow eyes hung, the space was filled with objects imbued with all manner of curses and sorcery.
When the messenger held out a small note and a pouch of coins, the shop owner handed over a small vial.
In less than a few minutes, the messenger vanished back out of the alley.
The shaman’s yellow eyes flashed with a satisfied golden glint.