Lark Over Dandelion
Janice felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland.
The old lady led her to a small garden, where the much-boasted apple pie and a quaintly decorated tea table awaited.
She seated Janice at the tea table and personally poured a stream of white milk into a cup.
“I’d offer you tea, but you’re still a baby, so let’s settle for milk, little baby lark.”
Where should she even begin correcting that?
Still, the most bothersome part was being called “baby lark.”
It was bearable the first time, but hearing it repeatedly made her skin crawl.
Thanks to the Baker couple—her current life’s adoptive parents—she had somewhat adapted to being called “sweetie” or “darling.” But a baby lark?
If this were just someone she’d never see again, she wouldn’t have bothered. But Janice had a strange feeling they’d be seeing each other quite often.
“My name is Janice, though?”
“Hmm, then how about baby firefly?”
“…Please just stick with lark.”
Better a lark than a firefly, any day!
Afraid that further resistance might lead to something even worse than a firefly, Janice made a silent compromise within herself.
The old lady beamed. “Alright. Our baby lark. You reminded me of a baby lark the moment I first saw you. It must be fate.”
Janice found that odd. When had she even seen me before?
But after seven years with the Baker couple, she had learned how to deal with people like the old lady.
“Thank you.”
Just say thank you, and smile sweetly. That was all.
The old woman smiled even more happily than Janice. So graceful. So pretty.
Just like the Baker couple.
Meanwhile, unlike the fluttering pollen-filled air around the ladies, the mood between Geran and the old general was considerably grim.
Scolding masked as a beating was underway.
“Even if you’ve lost your memory, can’t you see? Just look at her! How can you say she’s your father’s child? You rascal! You ungrateful brat!”
He wanted to defend himself, but the one word—father’s child—that had slipped from his mouth was now dragging him down.
Waking up to suddenly find himself with a seven-year-old daughter was infuriating enough, but having called her “my father’s child” himself, Geran couldn’t properly protest. Instead, he had to endure a barrage of rapid-fire nagging.
The general’s tirade only ended when Geran seemed utterly disoriented—not even knowing where he was, let alone his own name.
“Come back after you’ve repented and pulled yourself together! You’ll owe my granddaughter a proper apology!”
The old general stormed off, swearing to break his legs if he didn’t apologize. Fernando nudged the half-dead Geran.
“Hey! You still alive?”
“…Shut up.”
The insults soon gave way to serious talk.
“I had a kid at eighteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s the mother?”
“Chloe.”
“Chloe? Who’s she? What’s our connection? How did we meet?”
Geran threw out a slew of questions, and Fernando answered.
“She was in our class…”
“Wait a second! The academy we attended was an all-boys school, wasn’t it? Am I remembering wrong? And besides, I don’t recall anyone named Chloe!”
“She was a transfer student. We found out later—she was a girl, cross-dressing.”
“So I fell in love at first sight with a cross-dressing girl? And had a kid without even getting married? Must’ve had a great relationship with her, huh?”
Geran scoffed.
“Not at all. You two were mortal enemies.”
“What?”
“You were inseparable—but not in a good way. More like sworn enemies.”
There was no greater enemy than Chloe. When she revealed she was a woman, that she was pregnant, and that the child was Geran’s… Fernando had almost doubted his ears.
“But if they were enemies, how’d they even have a kid?”
“I’ve always wondered that too. But look at Janice’s face. Does she look like she’s not his kid?”
Except for her fiery red hair, her face was a carbon copy of Geran’s. Even he couldn’t deny it.
A paternity test would only be a formality—her face alone was undeniable proof. Geran, who had been in denial, was slowly entering the stage of acceptance.
Once he managed to piece his shattered brain cells together, he told Fernando that now that he knew who Janice was, they should figure out how to solve the situation.
“…Isn’t there someone else she can stay with?”
“They’re dead.”
“I mean somewhere else.”
Geran couldn’t deny that Janice’s presence was overwhelming. But more than that, he knew better than anyone that he was utterly unqualified to be someone’s father.
He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so money wasn’t an issue. But children didn’t grow up on money alone. Having grown up under loving parents, Geran knew this better than most.
“I can provide financial support… as long as it’s someone with a loving partner who can raise her well.”
He proposed what he thought was the wisest option. Fernando responded with a bitter smile.
“Sorry, but that’s not possible. Her adoptive parents were murdered.”
Geran looked at him with confusion, as if asking what their murder had to do with someone else raising Janice. Fernando clarified.
“The people who killed them… are watching her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I spotted suspicious figures.”
“Did you catch them? Wait, are you sure they’re after the girl?”
“I’ve already confirmed it from multiple sources. As for the culprits… unfortunately, we lost them.”
Ever since Janice came into his care, Fernando had noticed strange people. He agonized for days about whether to inform Geran.
Then rumors began to spread—that Geran was adopting a child.
For Janice’s safety, and for her rightful claim, Fernando had no choice but to approach him.
Geran’s expression darkened at Fernando’s story. Rumors about adopting were whatever. But surveillance? Threats? To Fernando?
Though he looked like a penniless wandering scholar, Fernando was actually the youngest son of Marquess Verdo—whose title carried command of the Northwestern Army. There’s no way a father like that would leave his youngest son unprotected.
And yet, spies had slipped through?
“Where the hell did someone that skilled come from…? I didn’t get any reports!”
Geran was the head of House Roman, protector of the Empire, and one of the highest-ranking officials in the Imperial Police Department.
He might’ve just rubber-stamped documents, but even so, if someone that skilled entered the Empire, he should have been informed.
But there’d been no reports. His face hardened.
“If I hadn’t been the target, I’d never have known. Without the men my father sent, I’d still be in the dark.”
The police protect the entire Empire. Marquess Verdo’s men protect Fernando only. Of course there’d be a difference, Fernando said with a shrug.
“…So they’re after the girl?”
“Probably.”
Geran furrowed his brow. Janice’s safety was one concern—but how such a powerful individual had entered the Empire undetected? That haunted him even more.
His professional responsibility and fatherly duty collided, tying his thoughts into knots.
He massaged his temples in frustration.
He couldn’t formally announce Janice’s registration into the ducal family.
But until the ones threatening Fernando were identified, Geran and Fernando agreed to shelter Janice temporarily at the ducal estate. So they headed for the garden.
There, they found the old couple and Janice enjoying a scene so warm and cheerful it looked like something out of a fairy tale.
“Baby lark, Grandpa here isn’t just good at baking bread. I can make sausages too.”
“Sausages?”
“That’s right! There’s nothing this grandpa can’t cook!”
Though unofficial, he was one of the top three culinary masters in the Empire.
Janice giggled softly. Geran scowled as he watched.
Some of us are about to lose our minds here… and she’s having a great time.
Though not Janice’s fault that Fernando dumped all this stress and responsibility on him, seeing her laughing with his parents made his mood worse. An unplaceable irritation filled his mind.
“Nice atmosphere you’ve got here.”
Geran’s sarcasm was met with a dismissive wave.
“Don’t ruin the moment, son. Go away.”
The old general waved him off like a fly. The old lady chimed in kindly.
“He’s sweet, isn’t he? Little pup—ah! Ahem! Listen to your father and run along now.”
Like shooing away a neighbor’s mutt, they drove their son off. Janice giggled.
Pup? What was she going to say after that?
Curiosity nestled itself into Janice’s mind.
“Why stop mid-sentence, you little owl. Dandelion weed is dandelion weed, clear as day.”
Whether it was intentional or not, the old general kindly answered her curiosity.
“Pfft!”
Janice burst out laughing when she realized that “dandelion weed” referred to Geran.
“Father!”
His face turning red in an instant, Geran shouted. But—
“Why are you calling me, you unfilial brat!”
His rage turned to the wrong person. It was Fernando who brought Janice, and Fernando who sided with the old lady and crushed him.
This is your fault!
All his pent-up frustration turned toward one man. Consumed by vengeance, Geran spat through gritted teeth.
“Fernando, you’re just a brown-eared bulbul, you jerk!”
“At least bulbuls are alive. Can’t say the same for dandelion weed.”
“You’re still crap, either way!”
The two grown-up dungbirds argued bitterly.
It was total chaos.
The adult dung duo fought their non-war for a good while. The old lady gently commented:
“Boys grow up fighting, dear. Don’t mind them. Hungry? Have some apple pie.”
She served Janice another slice, and Janice picked up her fork once more.
The pie was so delicious that she didn’t care whether they were fighting or singing next to her.
And just then—someone plopped down right next to her.
