Chapter 15
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Even Rolling on the Dirt Floor, the Boy Smiled (3)
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“Why don’t you take her out at least once?”
It was a chilly early winter morning.
As usual, Blanc had stopped by Bartolomeo’s study to pay his respects.
“...What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve been focused on training with Edwin lately, but surely you could take her out and play with her just once.”
‘That little kid...’
The young girl, who had felt not just disappointment but outright sorrow toward Blanc—who never once moved according to her wishes—had finally come to Bartolomeo’s study the night before, unable to hold back her tears any longer.
She had entered with tears already brimming in her eyes, ready to fall at any moment, and buried her face in her grandfather’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably.
“She’s just a ten-year-old child. As her older brother, you have a duty to look after her. You’re a Tolome, after all.”
Whenever his other children or grandchildren visited his study, they came in with smiling faces, but always harboring ulterior motives beneath.
But his youngest granddaughter, the ten-year-old Tolome, had simply come to him sniffling, wanting nothing more than to play with her cousin.
Even Bartolomeo, with his cold noble blood, couldn’t help but feel moved by her pure innocence.
“She’s been begging for months, and you haven’t played with her even once, she said?”
“Count, that’s...”
“Even Edwin mentioned it. He’s worried you’re too obsessed with training.”
Lately, Bartolomeo and Edwin’s main concern had been Blanc.
At first, they had been delighted to watch him grow, but now they worried he was neglecting his own life in his single-minded pursuit of training.
Bartolomeo, who had been concerned that the boy—who had lost his parents—might destroy himself in his thirst for revenge, saw this as a chance to give Blanc a much-needed break.
“Take this.”
The pouch jingled as he opened it, revealing gold coins inside.
“Count...”
“Come to think of it, the others always take pocket money from the family for this and that, but you’ve never asked once, she said.”
“I didn’t need it.”
Blanc was accustomed to a life of poverty.
Having lived ten years as a slave and twenty as a bottom-rung mercenary, he was more than satisfied with the basics provided by the Tolome family.
“Of course you need it. A noble must know how to spend money. Half the coins in that pouch are yours. Use the other half to get Izrelin some new clothes. Buy her something tasty, too.”
It was five gold.
One gold was enough for an ordinary family of four to live on for a year with plenty left over, but to Bartolomeo Tolome, it was merely pocket money for his grandchildren.
Having never held so much money in his past or present life, Blanc was stunned nearly to the point of falling over, but he kept his composure and replied evenly.
“Then, if you insist...”
“I’d like you to spend about three days with her. She’s waited months, after all. Don’t worry about training—I’ve already spoken to Edwin.”
‘Three days?’
His excitement at the sight of the gleaming gold coins sank like a stone at those words.
The early winter sun wasn’t harsh, but Izrelin insisted on using a parasol anyway.
“First, we’ll go to that café where you can see Sir Wilhelm’s statue. For lunch, the new steak place, then parfaits for dessert, and after that, shopping...”
‘She’s thrilled.’
Though she tried to act calm, anyone could see Izrelin was bouncing like a puppy in the snow.
And it wasn’t hard to see why. The boy escorting her—Blanc—looked incredibly dashing.
His hair was slicked back neatly with oil, and the black leather coat he wore complemented his dark hair perfectly.
Though only fourteen, he had inherited the sturdy build of the Cardmus family, already topping 170 cm. He hovered in that ambiguous space between boy and young man, exuding a subtle allure.
They said a woman’s fashion was completed by the man beside her.
In that sense, Izrelin was parading around with the finest accessory today.
‘This is so uncomfortable.’
But Blanc found the outfit utterly stifling.
Emilia and Izrelin’s maids had descended on him at dawn, dressing him up and leaving no time for a proper meal.
He had wanted to shoo them away and wear his usual comfortable clothes, but with the maids kneeling and pleading, he had no choice but to comply.
‘Why kneel for me when I’m not even her master?’
Blanc couldn’t fathom it, but Izrelin’s maids knew full well how much she had been looking forward to this day.
They wanted nothing more than to make it special for her.
Izrelin had no siblings. Her mother had died in childbirth the moment she was born.
Her father—Bartolomeo’s fourth son, Weard Tolome—managed the family’s direct trading company and was rarely at the estate.
And the cousins at the estate were all at least ten years older than her, leaving her few playmates.
Though Patriarch Bartolomeo doted on her, he was too lofty a figure. It was only natural she’d be drawn to her new peer-aged cousin, Blanc.
The maids, who had followed her for months, deeply empathized with her feelings.
So kneeling to dress Blanc nicely was nothing to them.
‘It was kinda scary, though.’
As Blanc recalled the dawn ordeal, he stood in line at the café. Izrelin, beside him, held her head high for no reason.
People waiting there stared at the pair: a cute little girl and a boy with an intriguing aura.
It was enough to draw the bored crowd’s attention.
Izrelin felt a surge of pride and lifted her chin haughtily, as if to say look at me, but unaware it only made her cuter.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t slouch like some commoner. Stand straight like a noble. We have to set an example, right?”
“What’re you talking about.”
Blanc had no idea about a ten-year-old girl’s delicate sensitivities.
Izrelin was smart.
She quickly gave up on seeing Wilhelm I’s statue.
“It’s spinning around. No way we’ll get through all day.”
‘Damn it.’
For Blanc, being dragged around escorting her was far worse than zoning out in one spot.
But Izrelin reveled in it—buying food, clothes, trinkets, browsing things she had no intention of purchasing.
Blanc couldn’t grasp what a ten-year-old needed to buy so much of, but he followed without complaint.
‘If not for the Count’s words...’
Blanc was a patient man.
He had endured ten years as a slave, biding his time for escape. Minor torments were water off his back.
But catering to Izrelin’s whims was no easy task.
Whenever she wanted something, she’d ask his opinion: Did it suit him? Which looked better?
“How’s this earring? Too flashy with the gold? Doesn’t seem formal enough?”
“Kids don’t wear earrings.”
“What about this hat? Don’t you like the white ribbon?”
“Winter doesn’t need sunblock.”
“Then this one...”
“Wouldn’t it be better to ask the maids trailing you? I’m clueless about women’s clothes.”
“You can learn now.”
Blanc grumbled constantly, but Izrelin didn’t care—she was enjoying the shopping trip with him.
By evening, she had dragged him everywhere.
Blanc was so exhausted he thought Edwin’s training sounded better.
“Last stop: the new steak-only restaurant! Their special sauce is supposed to be amazing!”
‘Nobles sure eat fancy. A whole place just for steak?’
Though noble himself, Blanc’s mercenary days were etched into his bones.
They sent the attendants away and sat alone, slicing into their steaks, when...
“From the guests at that table.”
The manager offered a blue glass of what looked like expensive liquor.
‘What’s this?’
Caught off guard by the unfamiliar situation, Blanc hesitated. Izrelin’s eyes sparkled as she answered for him.
“Oh dear. Sorry, but I already have plans. Please convey my refusal...”
She shrugged her little shoulders knowingly, but...
“...I’m sorry, but it’s not for the lady. It’s for the gentleman here.”
Realizing it was for Blanc, Izrelin huffed and glared at the sending table.
A voluptuous redheaded beauty sat there.
‘Hmm...’
As Blanc wondered who she was and why she’d send him a drink, Izrelin fixated on one spot.
The woman’s ample bosom, across the table.
Her outfit was seductive, with a charming beauty mark and vibrant red hair.
Even to the young girl, she was alluring—and infuriating.
“Blanc. Do you know that woman?”
“When are you gonna call me big brother?”
“Forget her! Who is she?”
“No idea.”
“Then why’d she send you a drink?”
“Beats me.”
He figured she just wanted to flirt, but with Izrelin visibly there? Suspicious.
‘Something’s off.’
Blanc’s rule: Don’t touch anything suspicious. Avoid risky places.
Always be wary.
That’s how he’d survived his past life.
Suspicious situation. Suspicious woman.
Scanning for threats, focusing on her...
He couldn’t stop it.
“Hmph! What’s this crap!”
Izrelin, unable to contain her anger, downed the clear blue drink in one gulp.
“Izrelin!”
‘...!’
The moment the liquid hit her throat, Blanc saw it clearly.
The redhead’s face twisted not in surprise or embarrassment—but horror.
‘Poison!’
The instant he realized, Blanc’s first move was...
“Guhk!”
...a hard punch to the frail ten-year-old’s solar plexus.