Chapter 33
Geez, why did she have to keep asking such cringy questions? The maid she trusted most had personally brewed fragrant black tea in her favorite cup. On that day, Lily had simply been so grateful for the gesture.
"Saintess, you've worked so hard again today."
She'd believed the affection in those words was genuine and drained the cup. Then came that sensation—the esophagus burning away, the heart melting in agony. The horrific pain as black blood poured from her mouth and nose, rolling on the floor in her pathetic final moments.
That trauma meant in her second life, she couldn't accept anyone's kindness at face value. A smile hid a knife; courtesy concealed poison. That was the truth of the world Lily had learned.
So she constantly suspected, analyzed, dissected every motive just to feel safe.
And yet, strangely, that's exactly why she came to trust Kasian.
His words—this man she had no memory of from her past life—held no lies, no matter how much she pondered, organized her thoughts, or grasped for flaws.
His rough speech and actions were utterly transparent, free of deceit or pretense. Sure, the lines he drew like "don't act so familiar" sometimes stung like wounds, but at least he had no intent to poison her.
That candid attitude—he'd hurt her feelings before lying—struck her paradoxically as the one truth she could cling to in the world.
This person... might be safe.
In a world where she had to choke her own breath just to survive, he'd become her sole lifeline.
So when she heard he'd recommended her to the Muller Viscountess, it felt like all the puzzle pieces clicking into place—a fateful shiver.
Embarrassingly so. She saw his invitation to his lab as a hand extended carefully for her cautious self.
But...
Lily bowed her head deeply.
What do I do? It's too embarrassing.
All her rambling justifications boiled down to a self-admitted proof: the delusions of a woman driven mad by loneliness.
In truth, Sir Kasian had no such intentions; she'd just spun nonsense on her own.
A wave of depression crashed over her. More than her reasoning being wrong, it was the isolation—"as expected, no one in the world understands me"—that made her feel utterly pathetic.
Maybe she was so desperately lonely and exhausted that she'd forcibly twisted Kasian into a positive light to fit her craving to believe in someone.
If she'd known it would taste this bitter.
That was when it happened.
"First off, let me correct a few things."
Kasian's matter-of-fact voice shattered the silence. Lily jolted and looked up.
He stood with arms crossed, scratching his head like it was a hassle.
"For starters, yeah, I know who's chasing you."
"...What?!"
Lily's eyes went wide. No way?
"I'm not saying who told me. Don't complain, and don't ask again."
"Ah..."
"Answer."
"Ah. Yes!"
She answered, still dazed. What was this...?
"And yeah, that's why I told you not to even dream of the lab, treat it like it doesn't exist. With that stalker's personality, once your location's marked and you've got some flimsy excuse like 'talking saintess stuff with the poverty aid,' they'd show up every damn day."
Kasian casually admitted his consideration. Her thoughts weren't all delusion. He'd truly been watching out for her, sensing the danger ahead and warning her.
Relief surged, mingled with an indescribable emotion swelling in her chest.
"But."
He raised a finger, cutting it short.
"Recommending you to the Muller Viscountess? That's a separate issue. Pure coincidence in timing."
"...Ah."
"So don't look at me like some savior. It makes me uncomfortable. I was just looking out for my own skin too."
He grumbled threateningly, but to Lily's ears, it didn't sound threatening at all. Strangely, that gruffness felt even kinder.
Even now, he firmly corrected what wasn't his doing. Even if being treated like a benefactor irked him, he coolly owned up to what was true.
To Lily, worn out by the nobility's web of lies, that was an unparalleled warmth.
Sure, he found her annoying. But he wouldn't push her away with a forced "it was all a lie" just to shake her off.
That comforted her immensely—proof that someone in this world was genuine toward her.
Gathering courage, Lily spoke.
"Um... then let me ask something basic."
Embarrassingly, she couldn't trust herself not to gaze at him with affection.
"What?"
"Why... did you recommend me?"
She couldn't meet his eyes, staring holes into her worn shoe tips instead. Her heart felt like it might burst.
"Geez, why do you keep asking such cringy questions?"
"Please. I want to know."
A sigh escaped Kasian. Moments later came his offhand reply.
"...Just figured it'd help you out."
"..."
"Professor Muller's loaded. For a poor grad student like you, that's the best patron there is. Geez, using 'grad student' for a saintess. What a shitty world."
"...?"
What did that mean?
"Anyway, you've gotta eat, right? And she likes people like you."
Even the answer sparked more questions.
"...People like me?"
"Kind and cautious. The type who doesn't dismiss dirt or herbs as 'not alive' and treats them gently."
Simple. Nothing grandiose, and that's why it warmed her.
Lily bit her lip hard. The process might've differed from her deductions, but the conclusion matched: Kasian del Parne genuinely worried for her, cared, looked out—without strings attached.
Just because "you gotta eat."
In her grayscale world, bleached by distrusting everyone, he was the one person she wanted to believe in like a fairy tale.
...It's hot.
Lily pressed a hand to her chest. Her mouth and throat burned.
Same spots as before, but worlds apart from that hellish tea-scorching agony.
No pain—just her head filling with feverish heat, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
At this novel warmth, Lily bowed her head deeper, flustered.
"Th-thank... you..."
"But you did have delusions. Cut it out from now on. I don't care if you do it to others. But keep it up with me, and I can't share space."
"...I won't."
No lie. If he'd said it about everyone, she might not have agreed.
But strangely.
With him, I think I can manage.
"Your face is beet red. Drink some water, cool off."
Kasian indifferently offered a glass. Lily took it.
She wasn't thirsty. But beside this gruff man, a vague, warm security enveloped her.
She didn't want to refuse his care.
Rumble, rumble.
In the carriage heading to the meeting spot, Elisia sat on the luxurious velvet seat, staring blankly at the passing scenery.
Her personal maid across from her clasped her hands excitedly.
"Lady! You're especially radiant today!"
"...Really?"
"Yes! Your skin's glowing—glowing! His Highness the Crown Prince will be utterly enchanted. It'll be a wonderful day!"
The maid's eyes sparkled.
What would past Elisia have thought? Probably sneered inwardly at the flattery, dismissing it as lip service for her duke family paycheck, nodding half-heartedly.
But now it looked different.
"..."
At least this maid's efforts held genuine affection beyond mere pandering. Picking her dress, fixing her makeup, truly wishing her happiness—that pure heart.
Elisia folded her fan and smiled at her.
"Thank you."
"...Pardon?"
"You've eased my nerves. With your prayers, it'll be a good day."
"Oh, my lady!"
The maid flushed with emotion, squirming happily.
Seeing that bright smile, Elisia realized something.
I've been so miserable... I was seeing the world all wrong.
Closing off her heart from sympathetic gazes out of pride. Justifying suspicion and distrust as noble criticality—self-delusion.
Ironically, the one who'd shattered that shell was a man mismatched with Rosenberg's flower.
Not close, always bickering when they met. Rude but honest.
The man who'd pierced her rotten heart and tossed out "just grab her by the hair and fight," an absurd solution.
Looking back, that uncontrollable laugh was the start.
From then, Elisia had brightened—little by little.
No, if even I notice, maybe not so little.
He'd reminded her how to smile, forgotten long ago.
How to care for herself, unnoticed amid oblivion.
How to show interest in people and the world, once taken for granted.
How to recognize kindness offered—something she'd lost the ability for.
...Sorry.
Elisia apologized inwardly to the maid. On the way to meet the Crown Prince, hyped like it was her own date, blessing her earnestly.
She probably thought Elisia was thrilled to see him.
I shouldn't.
She was happy, truly. But not because of the man she was going to meet.
Her mind knew, yet she couldn't stop the image of that man wiping sweaty, dirt-caked hands on his pants.
Screech.
The carriage halted. At the heart of the imperial capital, before a top-tier restaurant where reservations were like grasping stars.
Noise outside. Bang! Pop! Reporters swarming the front flashed their magitech cameras.
Of course. This meeting was a calculated political show.
To quash rumors, citing royal security, they'd booked the whole place and chosen the reporter-packed main entrance for the performance.
Proclaiming no issues between the imperial family and ducal house to the world.
Whew.
Elisia breathed deep, smoothing her bangs. Hector would be at the door.
Louis had never once escorted her personally.
We'll marry. That's unchanged. But there's no love between us.
His subtle, cruel way of signaling that to society.
Elisia steeled herself familiarly.
Click.
The door opened. Flash flood.
And at the entrance, a golden-haired man.
"...?"
Elisia's eyes widened. Not Hector.
In splendid imperial uniform, waiting for her: Crown Prince Louis.
"...Your Highness?"
"You've arrived, Lady."
Louis said flatly.
"Not Sir Hector today."
"He's busy. Shall we?"
Louis extended his hand. Pale, smooth, noble—no calluses.
The moment she'd always dreamed of. Nights yearning for him to reach first, acknowledge her as his lover.
That longed-for scene unfolding before her.
...Huh?
Yet as she took it and descended the steps, her heart didn't race.
Indifference settled in. Even a stranger's hand would've stirred more.
Actually, last week when Kasian poked the dirt and said "come here," that had made her pulse quicker.
"...Yes, thank you."
Elisia replied calmly.
Why does it feel so... nothing?
Too sudden, emotions broken? Or...
Has my heart already left?
Hiding her turmoil, she entered as the perfect future crown princess, poise impeccable.
Click, click. On the red carpet, the pair looked flawless.
But their fingertip temperatures differed vastly.
Louis furrowed his brow slightly.
...What?
Elisia's hand felt cold at his fingertips. Not body heat.
The lukewarm reaction.
Normally, she'd be overwhelmed, trembling, beet-red, whimpering "Your Highness...!"
That burdensome obsession—he'd found it tedious yet expected.
But now?
...Indifferent?
The woman beside him was flawlessly Rosenberg's flower. Elegant smile, perfect posture.
Yet her eyes lacked spark. The yearning from Victory Day was gone.
Her gaze met his. But her mind didn't seem to see him.
Looking at me, but not seeing me?
Louis gripped her hand tighter. No big reaction.
Occasional glances, but mild—not the fervor he craved.
Irritation boiled. A novel displeasure.
Something's... slipping away.
Loathing the sensation, Louis led Elisia inside.