YGYD 17

Chapter – 17

Having finished the briefing, Aiden walked straight out of the auditorium. Reporters hurled persistent questions after him, but he boarded the waiting carriage without uttering a single word.

Outside the window, the sun was setting. The red glow that poured into the carriage tinted his elegant face. Leaning into the warmth, Aiden slowly closed his eyes.

Was he doing the right thing?

Once he escaped the crowd and finally found himself alone, the events that had dragged him to this point drifted back into his mind one by one.

Frank Porter, the new Police Commissioner who had somehow roped Aiden into this matter, was the eldest son of House Porter, a family long acquainted with the Dukes of Hill.

They weren’t close—but rejecting the man’s repeated visits would have been ambiguous. The relationship between Aiden and Frank was exactly that sort of uncomfortable in-between.

“His Highness the Crown Prince keeps pressing me to hurry and catch that thief… but how am I supposed to when I have no leads?”

Begging for Aiden’s help, Frank had visited House Hill numerous times. His direct request was simple: lend him the wisdom necessary to apprehend the infamous phantom thief, “Rolling Pin.”

Frank Porter had lived his entire life as a soldier. Why he suddenly became responsible for the capital’s public safety, Aiden had no idea—but he could at least guess that the work was unfamiliar to Frank. And that was as far as Aiden cared.

Investigating his brother’s case, and learning the duties of a family head.

These two tasks alone made Aiden far too busy. He had no room to spare helping Frank’s investigation.

“You’re looking into Bradley’s movements, aren’t you? I’ll assist with that.”

That was before Frank Porter made a secret offer just as Aiden was about to reject him for the fourth time.

“…How exactly do you intend to help?”

“I’m still the Police Commissioner, after all. I can discreetly slip you the case logs you need. Well? What do you think?”

Aiden closed his mouth. Until that moment, he had never once stopped to seriously consider Frank’s request. He needed time to judge whether he even had the ability to help, and whether the information Frank offered would be meaningful.

Frank Porter’s methods, forged on the battlefield, were simple, immediate, and efficiency-oriented. He had never been tested on grasping the full context of cases or solving them—and no one expected such skills from him, either.

Aiden Hill, on the other hand, was Frank’s opposite in almost every way. He examined situations with a wide perspective, valued logical deduction, and reasoned carefully. Judging from that alone, Aiden felt much more suited to analyzing a case than Frank.

And he had solved several similar incidents during his years studying in the Gloucester region.

“Your reputation is quite something. Caught the campus thief three times, helped a wrongly accused student… With skills like that, this case should be nothing for you.”

It seemed Frank knew about those incidents as well.

So that’s why, Aiden had thought, quietly exhaling to himself before finally giving his decision.

“I’ll do it. As long as you give me my brother’s case log first.”

“Really? Truly? Thank you, Aiden! Actually, I was planning to show you those files whether you helped me or not!”

Frank said something that didn’t sound the least bit believable, all while making a face of sincere delight.

Aiden reluctantly grasped the scarred hand that was thrust toward him.

Frank then spent a long while drunkenly rambling about the long friendship between their houses and memories of Bradley. After drinking himself under the table and stumbling out of the mansion, he published an article in the newspaper the very next day—without discussing it with Aiden at all.

“…Meanwhile, concerned by the growing fear among nobles regarding the phantom thief ‘Rolling Pin,’ the police have decided to take special measures. To expedite the arrest, they have ‘hired an extraordinary assistant.’ Sources reveal that this assistant is none other than Duke Aiden Hill, shocking the public…”

People who didn’t know about the information exchange between the two families began gossiping wildly about Aiden Hill’s actions.

He didn’t care what they said—except for the political interpretations, which he had belatedly come to worry about.

A “special assistant” helping Frank Porter, who was considered an ally of the Crown Prince. It made House Hill look as if they were aligning themselves with the prince the moment their former head died.

It was a consequence Aiden had failed to foresee. When he saw the article that day, he had no idea how much he regretted his hasty decision. Bradley would never have acted so rashly, he told himself bitterly.

The scandal with Brielle Taylor that erupted the very next day was nothing to him compared to the absurd rumor of him being the Crown Prince’s right-hand man.

“…She was far more remarkable than I expected, though.”

Recalling Brielle Taylor’s personal history he had seen in the newspaper, Aiden slowly opened his eyes.

The carriage had already entered the estate. As the vehicle slowed, the brief flicker of curiosity in his hazel eyes faded, replaced once more with his usual indifferent gaze.

Brielle stepped into her room, furnished only with a bed, a large wooden wardrobe, and a mirror. Her usually composed face carried an unusually serious expression.

Even as she washed in the small attached bathroom and changed her clothes, the crease between her brows did not ease.

From earlier, she had been replaying Aiden Hill’s briefing in her mind.

“How did he figure all of that out? Even Molly, who saw me up close, said she could barely recognize me.”

She dropped onto the bed, roughly towel-drying her damp hair, and began reciting the so-called “facts” Aiden had revealed about Rolling Pin.

“He really does use a rolling pin as a weapon—but he also uses sleep gas and sedatives.”

That was correct. But she had used only trace amounts, so even the victims themselves had never realized it. The police hadn’t noticed either.

“After analyzing the witness testimonies—the voice, height, physical traits—the thief is not a boy, but a woman skilled in disguise.”

How on earth had he seen through that? He claimed to have analyzed witness statements, but Rolling Pin had always appeared in a different guise. Even to the same person, she had shown a different face each time.

Moreover, to conceal her gender, she always took on the appearance of a man. A boy, a middle-aged man, a merchant, a guard—every time, a different male persona. That was the Rolling Pin Brielle had revealed to the world.

Her hands slowed. She dropped the towel, rose from the bed, and walked toward the mirror.

Staring back at her was a young woman with damp platinum hair, slightly darkened by water, and blue eyes. She gazed at the reflection blankly before murmuring:

“Did I leave some flaw in the disguise? …Sigh, where in the world did Master disappear to?”

Brielle had once had a mentor—a man who taught her the art of disguise on the streets. She met him during the days she constantly escaped the attic of House Taylor.

He had never shown her his true appearance.

He appeared before her in a different face every time. When Brielle realized all those different people were actually the same man, he was so impressed that he declared he would teach her his techniques.

“You’ll find these skills useful someday. You’ve got the brains and the hands for it—ten lessons should be more than enough to teach you everything.”

He had taken it upon himself to become her teacher, but for some reason, he vanished after the sixth lesson. Even after that, Brielle returned to their meeting place every week. But there was never any sign of him.

He must’ve had personal circumstances… I just hope nothing happened to him.

Though they called each other teacher and student, they knew almost nothing about one another. That was what Brielle regretted now. Not because of the unfinished lessons—that was the least of her concerns. What sat heavily in her heart was worry for him.

He had been a good person. They first met when the two of them helped save a young girl from being dragged away by a criminal in an alleyway.

Praying for her teacher’s safety, Brielle walked toward the wardrobe.

The massive wardrobe took up an entire wall, secured with a large lock. She pulled a silver chain from beneath her clothes—hanging from it was a fairly large key.

She inserted it into the lock. With a clatter, it snapped open.

Rows of wigs, cosmetics, and costumes in every color greeted her.

At the very back rested a steel chest. Though large and heavy-looking, Brielle lifted it with one hand as if it were nothing. She set it down on the floor and opened the lid.

“I can’t just sit still like this.”

She lifted a cherished outfit from the chest and smiled faintly. It was the beggar’s costume—her master’s gift commemorating her very first lesson.