Same Sky, Different Night
Ever-Snow Garden.
A vast garden laid out within the northern Grand Duke’s castle, so named because the snow never melted in any season.
It was the pride and living emblem of the Grand Ducal castle. Naturally, outsiders were strictly forbidden; only blood kin of House Winterfell and those who had received the family’s official “invitation” as honored guests were permitted to set foot inside. To the Winterfell Grand Ducal family the place was sacred—trespass could cost a man his head. Heavy security was a given.
Clomp. Clomp.
I was heading there now. As the guest of a certain woman who had waited at the annex only to leave a note and depart, I walked at an easy pace. I hadn’t even brought an escort knight. There was simply no need.
Swift and decisive. That was my attitude toward the heroine’s challenge.
Still… why on earth is the heroine acting like this?
In the original she had clearly declared that anyone who offered a sincere repentance would be granted freedom. So I had done exactly that. Self-reflection: that a wretched villain had dared to dream of becoming part of the Grand Ducal house. Therefore I would set every dream aside and quietly leave. I had meant every word. Elden’s character had been a scumbag, after all.
And I seem to remember a line about her never obsessing over revenge either.
Well. I understood that the spectator’s withdrawal had already twisted the original plot, but stealing this cozy night of mine was something I refused to tolerate. Even a Grand Duke’s daughter had no right to disturb the evening of an official withdrawer who had broken none of the betrothal tournament’s rules—and the young master of a count family that, though in decline, was still upper nobility.
Showing my face at the tournament after withdrawing was merely the bare minimum of propriety. Staying on at the Grand Ducal castle was nothing more than a strategic retreat for the sake of my culinary travels. If she meant to interfere with that, then I no longer had any reason to keep up appearances either.
For now, though, I was simply walking so that I might discharge the least possible duty toward her challenge. A woman whose heartfelt confession of love had been ignored had gone so far as to send a decisive invitation to the Ever-Snow Garden—the place called the Forbidden Domain. Rather than fan the flames of her wrath by ignoring her again and again, I intended to give a measured response as one human being to another.
And so—
“You have arrived.”
I reached the entrance to the Ever-Snow Garden. A high, tightly woven wooden fence stood as if to declare that this was no place to be lightly approached. The interior was completely invisible. The silence around it was so absolute that a man could die here and no one would notice; a faintly eerie atmosphere hung in the air.
Gelwood, standing at the gate in place of the usual guards, bowed his head in greeting. It was odd to see him there instead of the sentries, but for me it was rather convenient. I walked up to him with a smile.
“I understand Her Grace the Grand Duchess has invited me to the Ever-Snow Garden.”
“Yes. She is waiting.”
“But what business could she possibly have with a mere withdrawer that she would summon him into this forbidden sanctuary?”
At my carefully innocent question Gelwood gave a low hum and shook his head. Even he seemed somewhat exasperated by the betrothal tournament’s heroine and her eccentricities. Only yesterday he had been cheering me on with a gentle smile. The visible anxiety was probably to blame. Obsession that strayed too far from the point always ruined everything. One note he could overlook; anything beyond that risked pouring cold water on the sacred festival that was the betrothal tournament. Especially today, in the second evaluation match, she had done something that should never have been done to the victor, Kyle. Casting the emblem of the great House Winterfell onto the ground and shattering it was a crime that would have earned anyone else immediate imprisonment.
“Hmm… I do not know either. I was merely ordered to guide Young Master.”
“Is that so.”
“Then shall we proceed.”
Gelwood stepped through the garden entrance. I remained where I was, hands clasped behind my back, staring blankly ahead. A moment later he looked back with a puzzled expression.
“…Are you not coming?”
Instead of answering I offered him only a faint smile.
The reddish evening glow had faded; an early night of hazy darkness was settling in. In the Ever-Snow Garden, which was preparing its soft solitude for the long night ahead, Lumiang stood wearing a white fox mask.
“Haa……”
She released a deep sigh. Even so the fury boiling inside her did not subside; it only spread farther, like a forest fire catching the wind. Unable to endure it any longer, she had stormed straight into Elden’s annex.
“Y-Your Grace, please restrain yourself…!”
She had shaken off Gelwood’s restraint and barged in. It was enough to drive her mad with irritation. She had forced down nausea and made a confession, yet Elden, chewing fruit with perfect composure as he came down the mountain path, had clearly signaled rejection.
Dare… reject the Grand Duchess’s confession?
She had believed it an irresistible temptation. An undeniable solution. That was why she had been so certain of success. Instead only unvomitable disgust had piled higher and higher. Rage flooded her. Everything was falling to pieces because of one single Elden, and the unsolved problem that only grew more tangled seemed to have no answer at all. It was nauseating. The self who had guaranteed victory now looked utterly inadequate, utterly pathetic—enough that her whole body trembled with shame, enough that her guts twisted with humiliation. For a woman who had never once failed to solve a problem on her own, repeated failure delivered a despair she could scarcely bear. Her mind felt worn raw; her body seemed to be breaking. How desperate must she be if she, who had never known how to surrender, now wanted to give up?
Rational thought was becoming difficult. Emotion kept pulling her off course; impulsive actions followed as though her patience had finally run dry. And at last—
“Your Grace… I know it is overstepping, but your conduct just now was inappropriate.”
She had been forced to hear those harsh words from her aide, Sir Gelwood. She had broken her promise to award the victor generous scores and instead hurled the emblem Kyle had brought onto the ground—that thoughtless act was being rebuked. Even with ten mouths she would have had nothing to say. It had been improper. Yet she could not swear she would act any better if the same situation arose again. The moment she saw Elden it felt as though her blood reversed direction. The surge was irresistible; if she returned to that moment she would rather settle the regret of not having rushed forward and slapped his face.
Irritating. Disgusting. I’m pissed—!
Thud!
Standing alone on the wooden bridge, Lumiang stamped her foot hard. Snow piled on the railing slid down with a soft rush.
Or… is the premise itself wrong?
A hypothesis with no visible answer. Was the absolute premise—that Elden’s change was pure falsehood—itself mistaken, and that was why no countermeasure would appear? Could it be that the change was genuine, and that was why?
No—!
Impossible! She could not allow that now!
Thud!
She stamped again, nerves fraying. She absolutely refused to entertain the possibility that the premise was false. It would mean every attempt she had made so far had been wasted, and every plan still ahead would collapse. Please, she hoped, let the premise not be wrong.
Or—
Does he already know my true identity?
Through some unknown channel he had learned she was Erincia Velok, predicted that the revenge play would unfold, and withdrawn. It was one of the stronger hypotheses, yet his manner had remained consistently, almost absurdly, carefree. Elden, who showed not the slightest sense of crisis and seemed instead to be enjoying his stay at the Grand Ducal castle, even looked innocent—so the hypothesis was not particularly high in probability.
“Haa……”
Worrying alone would never produce an answer. She would have to corner him and force the truth out of him. If necessary, even by removing the mask.
The chill in the air turned the long sigh she released into a plume of white smoke that drifted away. At that moment—
Clomp. Clomp.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She wiped the tangled expression from her face, straightened her posture, and turned.
“Your Grace.”
“….”
What she heard was already strange. Not two sets of footsteps—only one. And it was a sound she had heard countless times; she knew its owner at once.
“…What is this? Why have you come alone?”
“Ah—well.”
On the stepping stones of the Ever-Snow Garden, the only person who had arrived was Gelwood. He approached and carefully held out a single note.
“Young Master Elden handed this over at the entrance and left. I attempted to persuade him, but he only replied that this was his best effort.”
“This… is his best?”
“I am sorry to say so, but that is what he claimed.”
Lumiang took the note. What on earth could be written on this scrap of paper that he would call it his best?
Rustle.
She tore the note open almost savagely and began to read.
First of all, I apologize for answering by note like this. I would be grateful if you would kindly understand that this is the best I can do.
I was told you waited at the annex. I ought to have paid my respects at once, but word reached me late because I was training.
Through Sir Gelwood I received Your Grace’s feelings clearly. I am truly grateful for the excessive support you have shown a lowly person such as myself.
However, I am a withdrawer who, through self-reflection, has humbly set aside the dreamlike opportunity of betrothal with Your Grace. Only now am I beginning to dream of change. Though the wish is far too late, I hope to ride that fair wind, wander the kingdom, and be reborn as a new man.
Therefore I wish to return, with all due respect, the precious feelings Your Grace conveyed, carried carefully in this letter. I am grateful that you thought well of me, yet it seems I cannot accept Your Grace’s love.
I wished to deliver these words in person, but as you know I am a withdrawer, and I have no desire to cause unnecessary harm to the other candidates. Thus I convey them through Sir Gelwood. Please forgive me.
So I ask that you kindly withdraw your feelings for me.
I am afraid. Should it become known throughout the land that an “insider” existed within the sacred betrothal tournament, a deep scar would be left upon a long and honored tradition. That is something even His Grace the Grand Duke would never desire.
Then, I pray you pass a peaceful night.
— From the withdrawer, Elden Raphelion
……Is he apologizing?
Of course. He was leisurely training of all things…!
…Grateful? And then he goes and loses the second evaluation match?
I know…! I know! So why the hell did you set it aside!
D-Don’t make me laugh! You think I don’t know you’re hiding your true intentions?!
What…? So… you’re officially rejecting my confession right now…?
W-Wait…! The confession was only a means to force you back into the tournament…! It wasn’t sincere! Why would I ever like a man like you…!
No…! Since when have you ever cared about harming others? You used to enjoy it!!
D-Don’t get the wrong idea! There were never any such feelings to begin with—!
What…? Suddenly?
I-Insider?! He seems to be under some grand delusion after receiving one single confession note! There’s no way a creature like you could ever be an insider!! What a wild dream! You’re nothing!
Tremble. Tremble. Tremble!
The hand that held the letter began to shake violently. Once again. Once more. That snake bastard Elden had slipped smoothly through the net. The snake who always seemed catchable yet never was—and therefore was all the more infuriating—had flicked his tail and fled. And still she could only stand and watch, which was enough to drive her mad. The politely written letter contained nothing that could be refuted. Every line was correct; there was not a single handle to seize or a single mistake of wording to pounce upon.
Only—
It’s unfair! Unfair!
It was unfair that he seemed to take her confession as genuine. It was unfair that he, who had no idea she had nearly vomited over the original note, might now swagger about as “the bold man who rejected the Grand Duchess’s confession.”
Pat-pat!
“Y-Your Grace?!”
Lumiang came down from the stepping stones, hiked up her skirts, and began to run. There was just one thing she wanted to correct—one single falsehood.
But…
“Elden—!”
The garden entrance held nothing but empty darkness. Not even a shadow of Elden remained.
“Haa! Haa!”
It was stifling. Unfair. The helpless feeling that she was still being dragged around by him—then as now—delivered a humiliation that would never wash away. From the very beginning the initiative had been hers. The reality that the initiative had somehow been stolen and she was left chasing his tail was almost too bitter to bear.
Just where… just where had it gone wrong? Why was the victim the one clinging and begging to the perpetrator?
She did not know.
In the end the only thing left to her was—
Rip!
Riiiiip!
—to tear the letter into shreds. Into pieces that could never be put back together. As though she were tearing apart the man who raked through her heart, Lumiang kept ripping until the letter was nothing but powder.
“Y… Your Grace…?”
Rip!
Riiip!
At the same moment, Elden, strolling leisurely back toward the annex, tilted his head and looked up at the sky.
Whoosh—!
A shooting star chose that exact instant to streak across the heavens, drawing a long silver tail.
“Oh—! A shooting star—!!”
Elden shouted with pure delight, then immediately pressed his palms together and began to make a wish.