Taming the Wild Twin
The shirt, pristine white that morning, was now a total wreck. The child—dressed in shorts, stockings, and loafers—bore an astonishing resemblance to Victor.
Aside from the fact that he was growling and thrashing about like a wounded fox.
“Damian?”
Ibel hadn't expected to encounter him in such a state before even exchanging greetings, but she resolved to handle it calmly.
He responds when I say his name, after all.
He wasn't completely devoid of reason. He simply clung fiercely to his instincts.
They'd said he could be endlessly docile when he was calm.
Ibel carefully observed the fierce glare the boy shot her way.
His eyes were clear, and there was no swelling in his body. But his chest rose and fell rapidly, which troubled her.
His breathing was labored, as if he were forcibly suppressing it.
“Damian.”
She called his name once more, softly.
The servants, already struggling to restrain him, jumped in alarm at Ibel's sudden appearance, their grips loosening in the process.
The boy seized the moment and sprang up like a bullet—
“!”
And sank his teeth deep into Ibel's hand.
“Aigoo!”
“Miss!!!”
The horrified servants scrambled to pry him off, but the more they pulled, the tighter his jaws clamped.
The grip was unbelievable for a child, sending waves of pain through her, but Ibel didn't flinch.
“Everyone, stop. Stand back.”
Even those few short words were hard to utter.
Instead of trying to yank her arm free, Ibel twitched an eyebrow and thrust her fist deeper into the boy's mouth.
“Urk…!”
As expected, the gag reflex kicked in, and he instinctively loosened his jaw. Seizing the opening, Ibel swiftly withdrew her hand and, with lightning speed, grabbed the back of his head, slamming it to the ground.
The boy growled in fury and struggled wildly, but Ibel pinned him down with her full weight, immovable.
“Who taught you to bully the weak and fear the strong? That's not honorable.”
“Grrrrr!”
“If you're upset about your mother's bedroom being disturbed, I've already ordered everything returned as it was. Once you calm down, would you like to go sort it yourself?”
For a split second, the boy's writhing stopped.
No one else noticed, but Ibel—pressed directly against him—felt it clearly, confirming her suspicion.
This kid understands every word.
He's not truly feral. He's just pretending to make a point.
She could hear his ragged breathing up close now—definitely abnormal. No rash, so not a fever.
She still didn't know what the Bayern family illness was.
By process of elimination, it's not a mental disorder.
Then what was it?
As she pondered deeply, she felt the boy finally go limp in resignation. She instructed the servants to carry him.
“Lay him in the room formerly used by the late duchess.”
A short while later.
“Did you hear about it?”
“You mean how the miss properly subdued the young master? Toby was blabbing about it everywhere—we already heard!”
“They say she saved Eloi too?”
“Heavens, the young masters finally met their match.”
“I asked Eloi how she did it, and she said the miss told her that when a fierce dog bites, you shove your fist deep into its mouth instead!”
“Incredible. How does she have such nerves? No wonder His Grace fell for her.”
“You bet.”
Word of Ibel's feat spread like wildfire through the entire mansion.
The servants and maids who witnessed it firsthand rushed about, breathless with excitement, gossiping nonstop.
In the process, the tale grew more embellished with each retelling, and by the time it reached the kitchens, Ibel had become a full-fledged hero.
“We don't even know what foods she likes yet! This is trouble. She must be hurt—let's serve some meat first.”
Head chef Bans rolled up his sleeves without hesitation.
The kitchen staff, huddled together listening raptly to the tale, bustled about churning high-grade butter or kneading dough.
“Wellington for today! Show what you can do.”
Under Bans's snorted command, everyone sprang into lively action.
For the first time in ages, a positive energy flowed through the whole mansion.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Ibel was once again with Victor.
He had heard everything and paused his work to seek her out.
“I could have handled this myself.”
“I know.”
Embarrassed, she offered the excuse, but Victor calmly replied as he wrapped the bandage.
Now even apologies felt insufficient.
Yesterday had been minor—no wounds—but today, clear bite marks marred her delicate skin.
Ibel acted unfazed, but it gnawed at him.
“It was my fault for calling out to Damian when he was worked up. Not because of some noble illness making it okay—objectively speaking.”
“You did it to save the servant. No need for self-recrimination.”
Yet you're the one doing it.
Staring at him steadily, Ibel drew a firm line.
“You weren't there, so no need for Your Grace to blame yourself either. You can't abandon work to shadow me every hour anyway, nor do I want that. This was an accident. The kind that can happen.”
“……”
“More importantly, as a doctor, I examined Damian. His breathing looked labored… Didn't you say he was healthy?”
What even was a doctor, to Victor?
He saw it as a profession that treated the injured, so he couldn't comprehend.
What made her so steadfast?
“Victor.”
As he faltered for words, Ibel met his eyes directly and spoke without hesitation.
“I know who I am. Daughter of the Klarren family, foster daughter of Eberstein, your contract wife. But before all that, I'm a doctor.”
“…Yes.”
“That's why it's fine. Getting a little hurt while assessing a patient's condition is no issue. But if you keep apologizing or worrying, I can't continue treatment. It disrespects me as a doctor. Did you hire me as a doctor, Victor? Or as a noble lady?”
Her gaze was intense.
Beautiful like goldenrod, yet tough as if it held the sun itself.
Filled with self-belief, upright ego, conviction, and strength, she drew him in vividly.
Victor gazed at her steadily before slowly apologizing.
“I was wrong, Ibel. You have ample experience and skill as a doctor.”
“Yes, I'm a doctor. And I don't like anyone interfering with my methods. Excessive worry isn't consideration.”
Her pointed tone drew a low chuckle from him.
She was playing the 'lady' now, but… yes, this was her true self.
The one who dove into surgeries untaught in university to save dying soldiers, who gripped a wailing patient's hand and screamed for them to hold on while she gave her all.
Blood-soaked, staring down at cooling corpses, gritting her teeth to move to the next…
He had never seen her stop.
Maybe that's why my eyes kept finding her.
Amid the filth and ruin, Ibel alone remained unchanged.
Back then, he hadn't known what drove her. Now, he did.
Duty.
Pride and confidence as a doctor. And unshakeable self-assurance.
In short… cool.
Only now did Victor fully grasp why he had sought her out specifically—why he wanted her by his side.
“I learn much from you.”
“What did I even do?”
Ibel shrugged nonchalantly before straightening up seriously. Victor released her hand and took his seat.
“Now seems the time to speak of the family illness.”