ILVD 02

“Hah… Haaah…!”

Leticia’s breathing grew ragged in the short span of her sprint. She stopped in front of a large, imposing door not far from her own room—the same door she had visited many times in the past but had never once dared to open with her own hand.

It was the Duke of Kafka’s study.

She steadied her breath, rose on her tiptoes, and turned the handle.
Even under the strength of a small child, the massive door opened soundlessly and smoothly.

Inside, behind a long black desk piled high with documents, sat a man engrossed in his work. Leticia stepped into the room.

“Leticia. What brings you here?”

The man’s dull red eyes lifted to meet hers. Leticia’s lips trembled.

“A… A-ap…”

Her voice wavered, caught between hesitation and fear. She looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment. Raul tilted his head slightly, the dark hair tied neatly at his nape swaying faintly with the motion.

“I heard you announced to the servants that, to celebrate turning eight, you’ve decided to stop being a good child and become a proper Kafka child instead.”

His tone was gentle, even melodic, yet curiously devoid of emotion.

“If you want my advice, a bad child should be asleep at this hour.”

Raul watched her in silence. The girl was struggling not to cry, and her small shoulders trembled.

“Or…”
“Did you have a nightmare?”

“H-hic!”

Her hiccup escaped before she could stop it.

“It’s only a dream.”

Whether he took her reaction as confirmation or not, Raul’s calm voice followed soon after.

“Your nanny’s on her way, isn’t she? You should—”

“I… I have something… to say to you, Papa.”

Raul’s eyes closed and opened slowly, as though weighing her words.

“I-I’m sorry, Papa. I’m so sorry…”

Leticia’s stifled voice broke, and tears finally poured down her cheeks.

The Leroy Empire was the largest and most powerful of all nations upon the continent—
founded by the hero and first emperor Leroy himself.
Beneath the royal family, descendants of the Emperor’s bloodline, stood two great ducal houses:

House Kafka and House Wagner.

Of the two, House Kafka was the emblem of fear itself.
They were known as the Emperor’s hands and feet—or, more often, his shadow.

Had the Kafkas not done the emperor’s dirtiest work, many believed the empire could not have held its throne for long.
So the name Kafka was whispered with awe and dread.

The current duke, Raul Kuhn Kafka, was particularly infamous.
Children were said to stop crying if told, “The Duke of Kafka will come for you.”

“Did you hear? Another noble lord who sent a marriage proposal to the Duke has died.”
“At this rate, the Kafka line might end for good.”
“Such a pity—he’s so handsome, and yet without an heir.”

Despite his fearsome reputation, proposals continued to arrive.
Every suitor, however, met a grim end.

And then, one stormy night, when rain fell so heavily it blurred the torches outside the manor, the Duke returned home with something in his arms—a small bundle wrapped in bloodstained cloth.

Inside was a newborn infant who could not yet open her eyes.

“Leticia Kuhn Kafka,” he said simply.

He gave the child his name.

The direct bloodline of House Kafka was known for their dark hair, yet the baby’s hair was pure white.
Some questioned whether she was truly of his blood.
But her eyes—those vivid red eyes—were the Duke’s own.

Thus appeared the girl who would be called his daughter.
Amid suspicion and rumor, she grew steadily, and just yesterday, she turned eight.

“I-I’m sorry, Papa… I’m so sorry…”

Duke Raul recalled the sight of the little girl who had come to him barefoot in the middle of the night, sobbing so hard he had feared she might lose her breath.

Though he had raised her since infancy, she had always seemed frightened of him.
It was only natural, he thought—his presence alone was enough to terrify most adults.

She must be afraid of me.

So he had decided it was best to love her from afar, to watch over her rather than approach her.
Yet last night, she had acted differently.

“Hagen.”

He called his longtime steward—a kind-faced elder with streaks of gray in his brown hair. The old man bowed and entered the study.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Did something happen yesterday?”

Though Raul hadn’t said her name, Hagen immediately understood whom he referred to.

“The young lady enjoyed her birthday party with the servants and went to bed before nine, as usual. According to Nanny Asha, she seemed to have had a nightmare in her sleep.”

“Nightmares, at that age? What kind?”

Hagen blinked, surprised. The question was unlike his master.

“Hmm… She mentioned a monster from her storybook appearing in her dream.”

“She likes books, then?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Hagen answered carefully, watching Raul fall into thought.

He, of all people, knew the truth—that his master’s eyes never truly left the girl.

‘My lord, these dolls…?’
‘Specially made to match Leticia’s size. They say it’s best to practice holding children, since they’re fragile.’
‘Would it not be better to hold the young lady herself?’
‘Hagen, a child’s bones are delicate. If I break one by accident, who will answer for it?’

Each year, Raul would secretly practice holding a doll shaped like his daughter.

He also listened to daily reports about her life—what time she woke, how she ate, whether she coughed or fell.
Every day without fail.

But Leticia never knew.

‘She seems afraid of me. It’s best if I stay back; closeness might only harm her.’

Thus, the Duke forever stood one step behind.

Feared as the Emperor’s shadow, the man without tears, he was spoken of only as a monster who obeyed every imperial command without question—never as a father.

‘My lord, won’t you come to my birthday party this year?’

Hagen remembered the small, trembling voice that had asked him that yesterday.
Both father and daughter longed to bridge the distance, yet neither could.

“My lord.”

“Yes. It’s better to get rid of it.”

“Pardon?”

Hagen had been about to suggest his master visit the girl when the unexpected words froze him.

Raul leaned his cheek against his hand, smiling lazily—
but that gentle smile carried a faint, unmistakable chill.

“I said, it’s better to get rid of it.”

“Wh-whom do you mean, my lord?”

“Why, the books, of course. Burn every storybook that has monsters in it.”

“Ah—books! I see, the books.”

“Surely you didn’t think I meant you or the servants?”

Raul’s smile deepened slightly. Hagen gave a dry, nervous laugh.

“O-of course not, my lord. This old fool would never presume such a thing.”

“Good. Burn them all.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Dismissed, Hagen bowed and turned to leave.
A chill ran down his spine as he stepped through the doorway, as though the air itself behind him had grown sharp with hidden teeth.