~Chapter 28~

“Hello, my lady Count. Sitting there, you really look like a Count.”

Charlotte—who practically ran the courtesans of Harmelda—greeted her with grace.

“I really am a Count.”

“It’s my first time seeing a lady Count.”

“A Count is a Count. No need to stick ‘lady’ in front.”

Lovelace threw her a playful glance and asked Judith for tea.

“This is the list you asked for yesterday.”

Charlotte dove right in, too impatient to wait for tea. The list named youths she had sponsored with her earnings—those who had gotten top marks at the Academy.

After bonding over how crude the Bell Boys’n men were, the two of them had talked for hours.

“Are there no talents who don’t do that kind of thing?”

“What kind of thing?”

“Bowing to superiors, thinking heavy drinking is a skill, keeping women like trophies, and gambling away hard-earned money.”

“You like honor-students, then?”

“I like diligence.”

“I know kids like that. But… their status and families are nothing special.”

“What does status matter?”

Lovelace, raised in a world without a caste system, had no bias about rank or blood. Charlotte, who had lived her whole life inside it, was startled.

“Status truly doesn’t matter to you? Then I know a few diligent model students.”

So when Lovelace asked for introductions, Charlotte came without refusing.

Those “talents” from Bell Boys’n clearly had Nerk’s hand on them. Unless there were serious red flags, Lovelace planned to hire Charlotte’s picks instead.

“Why are they all men, though?” Lovelace asked.

“…Would women be all right too?”

“You thought I’d care about gender?”

“It’s just—the Count’s administrative officers have always been men.”

“The head of house has changed. Other things should change too. Unless there aren’t capable women, I don’t want to be bound by gender.”

Charlotte’s eyes, wide with surprise, curved with delight.

“May I borrow a pen?”

Lovelace brought one herself. Charlotte bent over the list and added a few names.

“Becky is a genius at calculation. Nora never forgets what she sees—she’s memorized the whole legal code.”

She bragged like a mother until Judith arrived with tea. Lovelace studied the list, thinking.

“Can I meet them?”

“At gambling… I might have talent, Larvihan.”

When Larvihan arrived that night, Lovelace tugged him to the sofa and boasted about yesterday like a heroic tale.

Larvihan smirked. Talent, huh.

“Never play cards in public.”

“You said you were watching me yesterday—then left? I won again and again.”

“Still—don’t play.”

Lovelace narrowed her eyes. At her suspicion, he lifted both hands.

“It was a rigged game.”

“You didn’t—”

“I used a little magic.”

“Hah… and I didn’t even notice.”

Deflated, she sighed. She’d thought she was good thanks to a childhood of card games with Grandma—but no. Worse, she’d joined to punish the cheaters, only to have her side be the one to rig it. Her conscience pricked.

“Maybe I should’ve let myself lose.”

Her own card skills were nothing special, but thanks to those wins, she met Charlotte and got good candidates—so it turned out well. And the cheaters’ wallets got lighter.

“Not every round. Twice. Only when you were about to lose big.”

That eased her guilt.

“Thank you.”

She hadn’t expected him to mind details like that.

“Good. By the way, I’m thinking of teaching Paolo starting tomorrow.”

“You? Yourself?”

“Mm.”

“But you said you’re busy.”

“I am. But my future duchess says she won’t marry until her brother’s fit to inherit. What can I do? The Empire’s genius will teach him personally.”

Larvihan, teaching? Hard to picture. Knowing and teaching were different things.

After thinking, Lovelace said, “How about teaching me first, before Paolo?”

“Gladly. What should I teach? Finish the lesson we didn’t complete the night we drank alone?”

He loosened his cravat and stepped closer. Lovelace flailed hands and head.

“No, not that! Magic!”

“What? Magic?”

“Yes, magic. You said I can use your power. If I can and don’t, that’s a waste. Oh! I’m not trying to gulp down your power and pretend I don’t know—just, until I give it back, it’s better if someone uses it.”

She explained carefully, watching his face in case he was offended. He was actually pleased—she’d asked for lessons, and to use his power.

“That’s fine too. Anything with you is fine.”

“Anything with you is fine.”

Her ears flushed at the offhand line.

“Then, let’s begin.”

Larvihan dragged a table to the center and set things on it.

Lovelace stared hard at the water glass on top.

“If you look closely at the water, you’ll see particles. Feel them moving—then you can control them.”

“See what? It’s just water.”

“Look closer.”

She stared until her eyes watered. Still just water. Time passed. No progress.

“Sorry, Larvihan.”

Her shoulders drooped. He patted them.

“No one’s good at the start. But how did you use magic last time? Think what’s different now, Rey.”

What was different…

“It’s too peaceful now?”

Her magic had appeared when she was shocked or flustered.

“I see. My mana must be resonating with your emotions. Strange—mana isn’t supposed to do that.”

He circled her like a researcher inspecting a specimen, then gave up when no answer came.

“So I can’t use magic freely?”

“That’s not it. If I can’t solve this, I’m no good as a teacher. Come here, Rey.”

He opened his arms. She hesitated, wary. He murmured, “It’s a lesson.” Then he drew her back against him, arms around her waist.

Her back met his broad chest; her heartbeat jumped. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Same eye level helps you see the same.”

They didn’t need to be this close for that, did they?

“Deep breath. Close your eyes. Do you feel the wind?”

All she felt was his breath, hot enough to sting her ears.

“Think no one else exists. In this room, only you and that glass.”

She tried to blot the room from her mind. But the brush of imagination snagged on the man holding her. Erasing his handsome face felt like a crime.

“Open your eyes—but don’t look. Don’t see—feel, Rey.”

She wiped her thoughts and opened her eyes slowly. The water glass seemed to fly toward her. In her sight, tiny clear particles glimmered.

“I can see it!”

He shushed her gently, steadying her with a hand at her waist. Her heart pounded at the closeness.

“Now—your hand, like this.”

His voice stayed calm as he guided her hand upward. The water rose with it.

A small miracle. She forgot to breathe, watching water move at her touch.

“Breathe, Rey.”

She exhaled—and lost focus. The water splashed down.

“What a pity.”

It was only a glass of water spilled, yet she felt as if a favorite doll had broken.

“Got the feel now?”

Honestly, no. But if she said so, this pressed-together “lesson” might continue, so she nodded.

“I’ll teach you a simple incantation next time. Don’t forget before then—you don’t like review.”

He picked up the coat draped over the chair.

“You’re leaving?”

“Mm. To the next room.”

“…What?”

“I told you—I’m teaching Paolo from tomorrow. Even with portals, commuting every time is a pain. I’ll stay over when I’m late.”

He’d commuted fine until now—why suddenly…?

“Oh—and Rey, about what you said before: married women losing their title and name. I fixed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if you marry me, you’ll still be Count Harmelda.”

“Even if you marry me, you’ll still be Count Harmelda.”

“Ah…”

So it could be changed that easily? What had this country been doing all this time?

“Aren’t you happy?” he asked, seeing her blank look.

“I’m happy.”

It came out empty. He shook his head and left her room.

One reason she’d delayed marriage was gone. Fear pricked her.

If she became his bride and ended up giving him all the attribute power—what then?

She knew how cruel Larvihan could be to the useless.

If I become useless… will I end up like them too?

—Shall I kill them?

Somewhere, she could almost hear Larvihan’s voice.