Episode 7
***
Herdian finished his meal, glancing at her just enough not to get caught.
Having filled his stomach, he didn’t try to leave right away as he had before. He knew that in his current state, he wouldn’t make it more than a few steps before collapsing again.
He couldn’t speak, and his body was miserably weak. Even if he managed to return, he’d soon be killed in that condition.
‘Pathetic, really.’
His whole body ached so badly that it was hard to suppress a groan. He furrowed his brows, trying to endure the pain as best he could.
At that moment, Ranié approached after clearing the dishes.
“Would you please hold out your right arm?”
He obediently extended his right arm. She unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages and placed freshly ground herbs on the wound, then carefully wrapped it with a new, clean bandage. These herbs had been freshly picked by Ranié herself, trudging through the rain to the back mountain.
While she worked, he couldn’t help but watch her closely. Feeling the weight of his gaze, she assumed he had something to say and handed him a quill and a piece of paper.
“You have something you want to say, don’t you? Use this.”
Herdian didn’t actually have anything particular to say. He’d only been watching her out of curiosity. But since she had brought him the paper, he felt he should at least write something, so he took the quill.
[Are you a physician?]
“No, I’m a farmer.”
The first question was already wrong.
[A farmer?]
“Yes, I work at an apple orchard.”
He looked at her again with obvious suspicion. What, had this man been deceived all his life? Why couldn’t he just believe what people said?
“Then can I ask you something? It’s only fair to take turns, right?”
Herdian nodded. He assumed she would ask one of two things: “Why did you come to this village?” or “How did you get injured?”
He was already forming vague answers in his head when an entirely unexpected question came out of her mouth.
“Are you, by any chance, a con artist?”
Con artist. It was the first time in his life anyone had called him that.
‘A good-looking man is always a con artist.’
That was one of the lessons Ranié had been taught by Hilde since childhood. And as the innocent little girl she once was, she had believed almost everything her grandmother said.
‘Grandma, how do you know that?’
‘Because I experienced it myself.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. It was your grandfather who…’
That was the first time Ranié had ever heard about the grandfather she hadn’t even known existed. The story was long—it began when the sun was high and only ended when it dipped below the horizon.
She later understood that her grandfather had been a man of remarkable looks who had often broken her grandmother’s heart.
Of course, as an adult she now knew that her grandmother’s old “lesson” wasn’t universally true. Still, after piecing things together, she was half-convinced that the man before her was indeed a con artist.
“I swear I won’t report you or anything. I was just curious because you were so badly hurt.”
“……”
“You got attacked because you scammed someone, didn’t you?”
In times like these, what other reason could there be for such a serious injury?
At her question, Herdian quickly wrote a line.
[I am not a con artist.]
“……Really?”
[Truly not.]
“Then what are you, exactly?”
The quill, which had been moving briskly, froze in midair.
“So you are a con artist.”
[I am not.]
People who denied being con artists were usually the real ones, weren’t they? Maybe he really was.
Though Herdian kept denying it with conviction, Ranié still narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
The same back-and-forth continued several times until Herdian sighed, giving up on trying to change her mind.
[Do you regret it? Saving someone you think is a con artist?]
“Even if you were, I wouldn’t regret it. I was just curious, that’s all. I told you, I’m not planning to report you.”
In the novel Céline Grewell, before the male lead’s appearance, the only outsider who had ever come to the village of Leclerc was Céline. So of course she was curious about this half-dead stranger who had secretly taken refuge here.
And it was absolutely not because he was handsome. Ranié repeated her grandmother’s teaching in her head.
[Why did you save me?]
“Does someone need a reason to save another person?”
[You don’t know what kind of person I am.]
“So you admit you’re a con artist?”
[Even if I’m not, there are plenty of people in the world who should be treated with caution.]
“……Ha.”
Ranié was dumbfounded. Was this really a man scolding his rescuer for not being wary enough? Not even a word of thanks.
After staring at him for a while, she lightly pressed the spot she’d just bandaged. Even with the gentlest touch, his face twisted in pain.
“Someone who winces that easily? I think I can handle you just fine.”
Herdian opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something. But Ranié, already somewhat offended, decided it was time to end the conversation and stood up.
“It’s late, so get some rest. I’ll come back in the morning.”
Truthfully, she said it because she was tired herself. She turned back and yawned widely, then suddenly remembered something and looked at him again.
“My name’s Ranié Fillet. What’s yours?”
Now that she thought about it, they didn’t even know each other’s names. Introducing herself, Ranié gave him an expectant look, waiting. The quill hesitated slightly in Herdian’s hand.
[Her]
Her. A surprisingly cute name for someone with such a prickly personality.
“Then, Mr. Her—please, just rest quietly today, okay?”
Ranié gave him a firm reminder before leaving the shed. Worried about leaving him alone, she kept glancing back at the door until the wave of drowsiness finally overtook her, and she hurried home.
The rain continued for days after that. With work impossible in such weather, Ranié unexpectedly found herself on a long break. But though it was technically a holiday, she kept herself quite busy.
Even on a day off, she woke early, sneaked food past Hilde’s watchful eyes, and headed for the shed.
“Are you awake, Mr. Her?”
When she knocked on the door, there was a faint tapping sound from inside—the signal he always gave her.
After checking the surroundings, she slipped in and handed him the food she’d secretly packed. It was a sandwich stuffed with bacon, cheese, and cabbage between slices of buttered bread.
“Today it’s bread. I think you’re ready for a proper meal now.”
Having lived in the shed for a week, eating only bland soup with a pinch of salt, Herdian’s eyes widened in surprise. He’d fully expected another tasteless bowl of soup today.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?”
From the moment Ranié walked in, his gaze hadn’t left the sandwich. When she laughed, he quickly turned his head, embarrassed.
Just a few days ago, he hadn’t even wanted to drink water, let alone eat food—as if the very act of swallowing something disgusted him. That kind of reaction often came from someone who had suffered deep shock.
But as the saying went, effort never betrays you. After several days of Ranié’s patient persistence, his appetite had started to return. Two days ago, he’d finished half a bowl of soup. Yesterday, a full bowl. And today, he was clearly interested in real food. It was a wonderful sign.
“Why are you embarrassed? Having an appetite is a good thing.”
[That never happened.]
“Sure, sure. If you say so.”
With a grin, Ranié handed him the sandwich.
“Go on, eat.”
He took a bite. Watching him eat, she finally began her own breakfast.
After the meal, Ranié immediately checked his wounds. They were healing remarkably well—not only because of the herbs, but also because of his unusually fast recovery rate.
“I did my best, but you’ll probably have a scar.”
Herdian didn’t care in the slightest about scars. But Ranié did. Her face grew somber as she replaced the bandages.
She had noticed only recently how many scars he already had. At first, his injuries had been too severe for her to notice anything else.
Those scars made anyone who saw them feel a pang of pity. They were the kind that looked like they had been made by blades.
‘How could someone with such a handsome face treat his body so recklessly?’
The wounds made her heart ache, even though they weren’t hers. Ranié forced her expression into composure and finished her work.
Feeling lighter, Herdian picked up the paper and quill beside him and wrote a question.
[Aren’t you busy?]
“……Is that your polite way of telling me to leave?”
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