A Coincidence - 2
"...Forget it. Just forget what I said."
Yuria's words came back to me. It had to be the most absurd thing I had heard in my life. That she wasn't without interest in me.
If killing me and tormenting me counted as interest, then I wanted no part of such interest. What had she meant by it? And that expression she had shown, if only for a moment — the one that seemed ready to crumble at any second — what was that supposed to mean?
I turned it over without breaking stride, but no real answer came. There was no need to dwell on it anyway. They were clearly words tossed out to paper over the situation. Though I truly hadn't imagined I would live to hear an excuse as wretched as it wasn't that I had no interest...
Seeing Yuria's composure crumble was not a common sight. If anything, I might have seen it once — in the loop where I killed her. That was something I had carried out on a passing thought of what it might be like to kill everyone and remain alone; yet even in a ducal estate where no one was left, there was no one to acknowledge me as Family Head. I had done a few similar things besides, but in most situations Yuria chose to grow colder rather than break.
So what in the world had that expression just now been? Had she truly reacted that way to a single remark — that I had no interest in her?
"...Tsk."
Whatever the case, I had no need to care. She and I could never again be what we once were — I knew that better than anyone. Even if she harbored intentions different from what I imagined, it changed nothing: I had no reason to look upon her kindly.
Knock, knock—
Sweeping such thoughts clean away, I knocked on the door of his study. Reporting my meeting with Adele to my father was a matter of some importance. Perhaps there were a few gains to be wrung from it — more luck might follow than I expected.
"It's Robert, Your Grace."
"Enter."
With my father's leave, I opened the door, stepped inside, and bowed my head. I studied his expression, but he only stared at me piercingly; no distinct emotion could be read. Only the faint tremble of his brows told me he had been turning this rumor over at some length.
He would not misunderstand the way Yuria had. But it was true that I had come back stained with blood, and he would be curious as to why. An unnecessary commotion would be a problem for him, after all.
My guess proved right: the moment I was fully inside the study, my father asked about yesterday.
"Where did you go yesterday?"
"...If you're asking where I went — I returned to the ducal estate."
"Why?"
"Because I judged there was nothing for me to do there."
Partner — my father knew full well that title was nothing but a pretext. A kind of show, meant to display the house's internal solidity, beginning with how well the Young Matriarch's brother was cooperating. He was silent for a moment, then asked again in a frigid tone.
"When I asked where you went, I was asking where that blood on you came from."
"Rather than stained — I was the one who was cut."
At the word cut, my father's eyes narrowed — weighing, no doubt, whether I lied. But he had lived barely sixty years. By the count of years, I had lived several times longer than he had; did he really think staring like that would read my true intent? Of course, it being the truth, I had no need to put on an act. I drew out the handkerchief tucked in my breast and spoke.
"I met Lady Egret."
"...Adele?"
"Yes. I stepped out into the garden for a moment and happened upon her by chance. We exchanged a conversation or two."
That the talk had ended with my neck cut was a little awkward to admit — but my father could hardly be ignorant of her temperament. A free-spirited woman who lived exactly as she pleased... pressing a blade to someone to confirm something would be nothing to her.
"Somewhere in that talk, she gave my neck a light cut — and told me to come to the North."
His gaze changed in an instant. My father, murmuring something in a voice gone low and deep, looked for all the world like a beast that had scented luscious prey. He hungered for it, and within it he sought out profit. For my father, the family always came first — he would be searching now for what he could extract from the words I had brought back. And I knew better than anyone the answer he wanted most.
"Then you must be thinking of going yourself."
"I am not."
A probing tone. I shook my head firmly and gave a dry little laugh. I likely had no business in the North. So long as I had decided it was best not to be entangled with her, then even if I lent her aid someday, there would be no need to set foot there.
"It would be better not to go to the North. That way, there's a chance she grows a little more impatient for it."
"...Why do you think she'd grow impatient? Adele Egret is the Grand Duke of the North. You think she'd go that far over a small cut on your neck?"
"Yes. Adele Egret is exactly that kind of person, isn't she?"
Adele was a woman who suited the land called the North perfectly. She does not forget a promise. But neither does she forget a grudge. It was the way of the people commonly called barbarians — and Adele, who respected them, had inherited even that trait. Holding back every invasion of the North had, before anyone noticed, become her pride, and so those who disparaged Adele had vanished as well. A woman who had climbed to the seat of Grand Duke with a single sword. And no one knew better than I that time would not change that nature.
"She most likely won't forget cutting my neck. She was the one who told me to come, so she'll keep holding onto it."
"...Yes. I suppose so."
The faintest smile brushed across my father's lips. It matched what he had been thinking, no doubt. How to make use of it was now the main question — but he seemed unwilling to consult me that far, and spoke of something else instead.
"Your thinking isn't entirely empty. Have you resolved to change, even a little?"
"In a way, yes."
"You should have long ago. You can't live like a disgrace forever. Good thinking."
Watching my father smile in satisfaction stirred a strange feeling. He did not know what I meant by saying I had changed. With what heart I had sought to change — and how, even so, that heart had been abandoned and left to die — he did not know. Hearing the praise I had once ached for left me unmoved, and a tangled bitterness rose unbidden.
The thought struck me: ...I really have changed quite a lot. I had strained myself to breaking to hear words like those — yet praise for something this trivial stirred nothing in me now. The me of before no longer existed. Perhaps he never would return.
And so I simply kept my silence, watching my father remain pleased.
"You are a proud son of House Taylor. Whatever the situation, you must hold the family's profit in mind."
"...I will keep it in mind."
All the while imagining what face he would make, if he ever learned I felt no pride at all in the name Taylor.
The wind was blowing. A sultry summer wind, fitting for the season — and even that felt good. What had passed between Adele and me had freed my movements; now I could roam outside as I pleased.
The last ball had bound me under the pretext of partnership, so coming out like this, bringing no one... it had been longer than I realized. Come to think of it, in my previous life I had been locked in the cellar before I died, hadn't I? Walking these streets again was a novelty in itself, and my stifled chest felt remarkably light.
The feel of hair whipping in the wind, the feel of sunlight touching and wrapping my skin — there was nothing among them I didn't like.
A bit early this time, wasn't it?
Normally my freedom would come long after this point; in this loop, one coincidence after another had stacked up, and things had gone unusually well. Simply walking the street freshened my mood.
There were always people who wondered what waited beyond death, weren't there? I had felt that feeling dozens of times over — so after each death, all manner of emotion would surge up. Was I perhaps already dead? There had even been times I couldn't believe what I saw was real, and lost my mind.
So outings like this helped steady my mind. The flowing wind, the warm light, the sensation of ground beneath my feet — they let me feel, at last, that I was alive.
I am alive. And so, this time, I will see it through. That conviction had carried me until now — though this time, it came with a rather chilling wish: for my own eternal death.
And so my reason for coming out was quite different as well. What I sought now was information. I already knew everything — but it existed only inside my head, didn't it? I needed to gather physical evidence. A proper information broker would enter the picture later, but... there was no harm in seeking one early.
As I made toward the broker's, a small child came pattering up beside me, slammed into me, and toppled straight over. It seemed the child hadn't been watching where they ran; curled up with arms over their head, they groaned.
"Owww..."
I debated for a moment whether to help the child up, then crouched to check on them. One hand, braced against the ground, had been scraped raw — red skin showed. Left as it was, it would probably bleed.
"Watch where you're going next time. Run into the wrong person, and who knows what might happen to you."
"S-sorry. Are you all right?"
"Nothing to be all right about. You're the one who ran into me and fell."
I drew out a fresh handkerchief and tied it around the hand — and at the crest on the cloth, the child's eyes went round as saucers. The child stammered in confusion for a moment, grasping the situation, then abruptly bowed their head and began to blanch.
"I-I really didn't know you were from House Taylor! Please, just this once, let it go—"
"Shh. No words are needed. Just go on your way and it's over. You understand me, yes?"
I covered the lips of the child, who kept bowing, with my hand, and they blinked slowly, as if they understood. I hated this. The way people's attitudes flipped in an instant, for no reason but that I was the son of a famous noble. The debauchery I had wallowed in during my first life had sprung from exactly this feeling. Though I had died ununderstood, that feeling had not changed to this day.
I took the child's hand and pulled them up; after a moment of fidgeting, the child turned and ran. There were many nobles of sour temperament in this district. Had the child collided with someone other than me, some would have seized on it as pretext to torment them.
I watched the child vanish into a back alley, then turned to walk on. No — I had just turned to go when...
"...That's—"
A woman stood there, glancing about. Beside her stood someone attending her closely, and the whole picture looked exactly like someone searching for a person. White-blond hair. The moment I saw it, a name flashed through my mind, and I murmured it before I knew it.
"Adrian."
Dressed in plain clothes instead of her saintess garb, she looked every bit a commoner. Her clothes were smudged with dust here and there — you'd believe she had been wiping something down until just now. But why would she be dressed like that?
With that question, my feet strode forward. I couldn't say why, but the thought that I had to meet her blossomed in my mind.