Justyn stared at a corner of his office. Beside the desk, on the cushion that Ries often claimed as his own little nest. Normally, it would’ve been slightly dented in the shape of his round body, but today it was unusually crisp and untouched. A clear sign its owner had been away for a while.
And yet, it wasn’t as if he were staying at his post as aide either. Turning his gaze to the empty desk, devoid of warmth, Justyn recalled Ries’s last words to him.
“Justyn! I’m heading out for a walk!”
He had looked quite flustered when he said it. The way he dashed off, only to come running back in a panic for his doll—adorable, yes, but… Justyn found himself bothered by the excitement on Ries’s face, by the subtle bounce in his voice.
Maybe it was because every recent walk had included him. There was something strangely unsettling about how Ries had run out the door without even once asking if he wanted to come along.
Beneath the mask, crimson eyes silently sank.
“Um… Your Grace?”
A nervous voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A beat later, his gaze returned to the present.
“Is there… something wrong with the report I submitted?”
“No.”
“Th-then… are you feeling unwell in any way…?”
“That’s not it either. I’m fine.”
The large-framed man hesitantly asked two questions. Only after receiving firm denials to both did a faint look of relief cross his face.
Jorte Northdik—an exceptional talent who’d become Knight Commander at a young age. Justyn had heard his name often, but this was his first time meeting him in private.
He quietly studied the man standing across from him. Tense and a little cowed, but not fearful.
From what Ketir had told him, Jorte was both well-liked and competent. And the fact that he’d reached his current position without borrowing the acting patriarch’s power made him all the more impressive.
The impromptu audience today had been Justyn’s way of acknowledging that merit.
There was only one thing he truly wanted to ask.
“I have a question about Sir Yukalt.”
“Melissa… you mean? I’ll answer to the best of my knowledge.”
“She seems to be going through some trouble lately. Do you know anything about it?”
…
It was about Melissa Yukalt.
Perhaps the question came too abruptly—there was a brief flicker of confusion on the Knight Commander’s face. But he quickly composed himself.
This was a question posed directly by His Grace the Duke. He trusted there had to be a reason. Perhaps it was tied to something far beyond what he could imagine.
Unaware that the question had stemmed from the worries of a single cat, he braced his expression and began to speak. He’d had concerns himself, so the reply came swiftly.
“As Your Grace suspected, yes. There’s been increasing tension with her family. She seems especially at odds with the eldest son, who’s preparing to succeed the house.”
“The eldest son?”
“Yes. I couldn’t inquire too deeply since it’s a family matter, but… well, the man has a poor reputation.”
He added a few more pieces of information after that, but most of it was baseless rumor. Justyn listened with one ear and let it go out the other, repeating one word in his head.
A family issue, huh.
Unless she came to him for help directly, it would be tricky to get involved. Matters of succession were especially delicate. Still, the cat who would hear this answer wasn’t likely to be reassured by it.
I suppose just looking into it wouldn’t hurt.
He had more to keep an eye on now. The Yukalt County… and the Marilon March.
Just thinking of that man’s face soured his mood. Justyn took a slow breath.
“Good. Thank you for your answer. If anything unusual arises, report it to me directly. You’re dismissed for today.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll keep a close watch!”
Dismissing the Knight Commander came next. The man, still stiff with discipline, answered crisply and exited the office in no time.
Left alone, Justyn quietly twirled the quill in his hand.
…
Jumbled, unconnected thoughts swirled through his mind. But the one that agitated him most…
The first that came to mind was the Marilon March.
Assuming that Chesif Marilon, the Marquess, had figured out Ries’s true identity, he’d been gathering intelligence—but so far, nothing had surfaced. Strangely quiet.
Given that the Crown Prince’s side had made no notable contact, it seemed they too had gained little.
And aside from that…
“Haa…”
He slowly exhaled, set the quill down, and rubbed his face through the mask as though trying to wash away weariness. Without thinking, he murmured aloud.
“I said I wouldn’t take your freedom away…”
He remembered the day they strolled through the newly restored garden together. Back then, he’d said— “I want you to be more free.”
Those words were meant sincerely for Ries, but they were also a warning to himself.
Don’t cross the line. Don’t be greedy. Are you planning to hurt him with your own hands?
The things he’d repeated again and again had become an iron wall—and a shackle that bound him.
So… he had to leave it be.
He couldn’t intrude, beg for affection meant only for him, or forcibly keep Ries by his side. There was no reason to let selfish desires sway the one who had brought such joy into his life.
His uneven breathing slowly calmed. He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them. Picked up the pen he’d set down. Bracing himself, he looked once again at the paperwork.
Ever since discovering Ries would eventually become human, these were feelings he’d wrestled with time and again.
If nothing unexpected happened, he could handle it.
***
Through his regular meetings with Hillein, Ries had come to realize something.
So that’s what it was.
Being stalked by a ghost wasn’t a light matter. If he’d told Justyn, the man would’ve gone to any length to resolve it.
But Ries hadn’t said a word. Perhaps this too had been a part of that ‘intuition’ that occasionally helped him.
A gut feeling that if those two met before either was ready, things would spiral out of control.
He curled up quietly and imagined a future he’d never reach.
The two meeting by chance—mother and son. Hillein would insist she had no right to see Justyn and flee… and her son would surely misunderstand.
Or maybe, he thought bitterly, he’d say he expected as much.
His expression would be unreadable as always. He might even embrace her with a smile, claiming the wounds from his blood family had long since healed.
But old wounds, no matter how dull, could still reopen. Let go, withdraw forcibly, and fail to tend them—and rot was inevitable. The same was true for Justyn.
Ries didn’t want to see that happen.
And besides, if this were all just paranoid speculation…
His eyes quietly shifted back to Hillein.
―Wow! So Justyn made the doll housing our ancestor’s spirit, huh? It’s just like me! I used to get praised a lot for being good with my hands when I was little!
Bright smile. Playful tone. A mouth chattering away with casual stories.
If someone only saw her like this, they’d think she was a carefree, cheerful woman. But Ries, who’d spoken with her a few times, knew the truth.
This woman… was stubborn as hell.
“Um, how about reconsidering? I’ll talk to Justyn. Maybe we could set a date and just have a conversation…”
―No. I don’t have the right. And I don’t want to put you in a tough spot.
First rejection.
“I’m sure Justyn wants to meet his parents.”
―Thanks for saying that. But I couldn’t even stop Edler—I couldn’t do anything. How could someone like me shamelessly act like a parent in front of him?
Second rejection.
“I promise! Justyn’s kind, smart, and great at his job. He always knows who’s lying or doing something wrong the moment he sees them. He’ll realize right away that you didn’t do anything—”
―Th-that… aaah. I’m sorry. I really… I just can’t. I’m so sorry…
A third rejection—disguised as an appeal for his master’s sake. She’d almost wavered that time, which was why it felt like such a waste.
“Next time, maybe with Justyn—”
―O-oh! Let’s end today’s talk here! I actually promised another ghost a walk through the garden…!
Eventually, Hillein had reached the point where she tried to shut down the conversation the moment Justyn’s name came up.
And now.
When she tried to cut things short again the moment his name slipped out, Ries hurriedly transformed into his cat form, fuming silently.
Crushing defeat swelled his tiny body. He’d been too confident—too sure he could persuade her easily.
Tap tap tap, his tail slapped the ground irritably until a hand playfully brushed over it, prompting a deep sigh.
“Meowwwooong. Mrrrow. Myaa.”
―Heehee. Here? Or do you like it more here?
“Ki-yah!”
―Oops, not the butt—sorry! I’ll be careful next time.
So much for that “prior engagement” excuse. Now she was totally focused on petting him.
It was a little annoying how she was ruffling his fur all out of order, but he could tolerate it.
Still… the faint hollowness remained.
At least she’s weak to cute things.
No wonder—she was Justyn’s birth mother.
He ignored Sefiut’s sympathetic gaze and tried to collect his thoughts again.
What rose to the surface first was, of course, Hillein’s past.
More specifically, the events following Edler’s abrupt death in that carriage accident.
Don’t tell me… Edler never even saw Hillein.
Blinded by hatred, the Wraith that Edler became had failed to see the wife he’d longed for so deeply.
If he’d still been human, Ries doubted he could’ve held back a bitter laugh. It was so damn ironic, so absurd, it was almost laughable.
