I'll Forgive You. Instead...
“Brother. It’s been a long time.”
“What a coincidence, running into each other in a place like this.”
Eyes narrowed to little more than slits. Corners that always seemed to curve in a perpetual smile. Brown curly hair and delicate, almost feminine features on a handsome young man.
Edward Radner’s half-brother.
Yohan Radner.
This was the first time I had actually met him face to face, yet I already knew a great deal about the man.
I knew that face had spent countless steamy nights with countless women. I knew that even after swapping partners day after day he remained an insatiable lecher who could never be satisfied. And I knew… that he harbored a vicious inferiority complex toward Edward Radner, the son William Radner actually loved.
“Truly a coincidence. To cross paths in the capital—on a street frequented by ladies, no less.”
“Indeed.”
Yohan rarely let the true face behind that smiling mask show. It was a manner of speaking he had perfected simply to survive as a bastard in the world of nobility. His words were like a snake—a cunning serpent coiled inside every sentence. You could never take anything Yohan said at face value. That “coincidence” was almost certainly a complete lie.
And the reason he had sought me out under the pretense of chance was probably…
“Husband…?”
Ania Brontë.
She was the real target. That much was certain.
“My lady, go on ahead. I’ll join you the moment this conversation ends.”
“How considerate of you, Brother.”
Yohan smiled sweetly.
“You never used to be this sort of man.”
“Have you always known me so well, Yohan? I was under the impression you never paid me any attention.”
“How could I not? You’re my one and only older brother.”
He tilted his head as he spoke.
“I’ll be right there.”
I turned to Ania with those words. She nodded and began walking slowly toward another shop. The moment her figure disappeared from view, I looked back at Yohan’s face.
“……Yohan. I already know the ‘coincidence’ is a lie. There’s no reason for you to be in the capital.”
Yohan Radner.
On the surface he looked like any ordinary bastard son of a count’s house, yet he carried a hidden secret. No one in the empire knew it—except me.
“Why go out of your way to find me?”
“Ahaha… Brother. You’ve grown remarkably sharp these past few months. Almost as if… you’ve become an entirely different person.”
That secret was none other than Yohan’s true profession.
The reason a powerless bastard of a count’s house wielded considerable power within it. The reason he could raise his voice even as a bastard.
Drugs…
Yohan Radner was the man known as the drug lord of the back alleys. His meticulous nature had kept him from ever being exposed. Of course, there were people who wondered where his vast fortune came from. William Radner himself had occasionally questioned how his son obtained such money, but every time Yohan simply claimed it was “business,” and the count never caught on.
“Just tell me the reason.”
“A reason, is it… Well, it’s nothing particularly grand.”
The corner of Yohan’s mouth curled upward.
“I simply grew curious about how my brother was living. Wondered whether marriage to the empire’s greatest beauty had made you happy.”
“I said the real reason.”
“Oh…”
When I growled at him, Yohan raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Brother. Have you truly become someone else? You’ve grown so sharp while I wasn’t looking. The old you would have just laughed and said you were happy.”
His instincts were disgustingly sharp. That was how he had survived the brutal back alleys—a world where only strength and schemes mattered, where titles like count or marquis meant nothing.
“Shall I tell you the real reason, then?”
“Is Ania the target?”
“Well, that is part of it.”
Yohan drew a pipe from his coat and packed it with tobacco.
“You seem to have grown quite sharp… yet you won’t say it yourself. Is that because you refuse to face reality? Or because hearing it from my lips would make it too humiliating?”
He struck a match with a sharp flick and slowly lit the pipe. Smoke billowed upward in thick clouds.
“The count’s title.”
“Bingo.”
Yohan tossed the match aside and smiled.
“In the line of succession… as a bastard I am naturally behind you. But you have married the daughter of a ducal house, have you not?”
“And what of it?”
“Are you asking because you truly don’t know? Let’s not dance around it, Brother. It’s tiresome.”
Yohan’s slit-like eyes opened a fraction wider.
“You’ve been discarded, haven’t you? Sold off to House Brontë to save the family.”
I already knew.
What it meant for a man of a count’s house to marry a woman of a ducal house. In the original novel, Edward had been sold off like goods to become the live-in son-in-law of the Brontë family. Of course, he had wanted it to some degree himself.
“So go to Father yourself and tell him. Say you’ll renounce the count’s title and hand it over to Yohan.”
How had it gone in the original…?
I didn’t know whether Yohan had ultimately seized the title, but one thing was certain.
Edward never handed the succession to Yohan.
It wasn’t out of petty pride or lust for power. In the near future, Edward would uncover Yohan’s secret—where all that wealth came from, what that unspoken “business” truly was. Faithful, righteous Edward Radner therefore refused to pass the title to him.
And had Yohan simply sat idle?
No. In the end he decided to assassinate the brother who would not yield the succession.
In the story he didn’t die…
Edward’s swordsmanship and magic ranked among the empire’s finest. He crushed every assassin Yohan sent.
And that was where the problem began.
I was not Edward.
This body was Edward’s, but the mind inside it was not. I could roughly imitate the swordsmanship etched into his muscles, but magic? Without magical knowledge I could not use it at all.
So… should I hand over the title here?
“I’m sorry, Yohan. I can’t do that.”
“Hmm…”
The correct answer was not to hand it over.
To Yohan, Edward would always be a thorn in his side. Even if he obtained the title, he would never leave me alone. Edward’s sword and magic remained a threat, and even as a sold-off son-in-law, any connection to a ducal house would become a serious danger later. So even if I surrendered the title, Yohan would eventually try to kill me. When, I couldn’t say.
“Isn’t the business you’re running already enough, Yohan?”
“Business and a title are separate matters, Brother.”
“Then I’m afraid I can yield even less. You’re exceptional at business, but you lack the dignity to hold a title.”
At last a crack appeared in Yohan’s mask. His brow furrowed; the smile vanished from his face.
“You’re making a mistake, Brother.”
“We’ll see.”
Yohan flashed a grin and turned away.
“Let’s go.”
Assassins who had been hidden throughout the buildings slipped out like shadows and followed at his heels.
By the time we finished shopping and headed home, the sky was already painted with sunset. Ania’s face glowed warmly beneath the orange light.
“I’m sorry.”
And she was sulking.
“It’s fine.”
“It wasn’t that shopping with you was unenjoyable… the conversation simply didn’t go well…”
“You already said that earlier. It’s fine. I’m not so lacking in understanding as all that.”
The reason, of course, was Yohan.
Running into him so suddenly and speaking with him had left me fretting with worry. I had to avoid falling for Ania Brontë, keep her in good humor, and prepare for the attack Yohan would one day launch. No matter how hard I tried to keep a bright expression, the anxiety showed through. Ania had declared, “It seems you don’t enjoy being with me,” tossed aside the clothes she had been about to buy, and climbed into the carriage.
Only then did I realize my mistake—but it was already too late. A sulking woman will not be soothed by any words.
“When we return, let’s dine together, my lady.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“We’re husband and wife. Shouldn’t we at least share a meal?”
“I don’t feel like eating.”
“A husband and wife ought to eat together—you said so yourself last time…”
“Who said such a thing? I never said that.”
Ania turned even the side of her face away, hiding it toward the carriage window. I could no longer tell what expression she wore.
“You’re especially beautiful today.”
“Hmph.”
“I rather love sunsets, my lady. Yet there is something more beautiful than the sunset itself.”
“Hmph…”
“You would look even lovelier if you smiled.”
“….Hmph.”
So I tried praise.
I had read somewhere that women are weak to compliments. Of course I had rarely had occasion to test the theory, so I had no idea whether it actually worked.
Ania still gave no reply, still resting her chin on her hand as she gazed out the window.
Apparently it wasn’t working.
I give up.
Time would sort it out… I thought, resting my arm on the carriage window—when suddenly she spoke.
“Then…”
Ania, who had been pressing her lips shut and snorting through her nose, finally opened her mouth.
“I’ll forgive you.”
“Truly?”
“Instead…”
She was looking at me now. Her index finger lightly tapped her own cheek. Those faintly flushed cheeks looked like tart little raspberries.
“Kiss me. Then I’ll forgive you.”