ILVD 04

Chapter 4

“Uh… Father. No, Duke…”

Leticia stammered awkwardly.

When she first went to see him after waking up, she had called him Father.
But now that she had regained her senses—and remembered she was not his real daughter—she no longer knew what to call him.

Because she wasn’t, in truth, his child.

“Why use such an awkward title all of a sudden?”

Raoul walked with his usual steady gait toward the table where Leticia was seated.
He set a tray down and took the chair across from her.

“Is it all right if I still call you Father?”

“I believe I just said it was unnecessary to make a fuss over titles.”

Leticia gazed at Raoul, puzzled by his ambiguous answer.

Was that permission? Or merely a comment on her being self-conscious?

Even before she had returned to this time, all their conversations had been like this.
Whatever she asked, whatever she said—his replies were always vague, neither yes nor no.

“Please answer me clearly this time.”

“Clearly?”

Raoul tilted his head slowly and met her eyes.

The dull crimson hue of his gaze gave away nothing—it was not the kind of look a warm, ordinary person would have. There was something almost inhuman about it.

“Th-That’s what I mean…”

Even though his stare made it hard for the eight-year-old to breathe, Leticia did not avert her eyes.
She gathered her courage and spoke.

“If you don’t answer clearly, I’ll never know whether Father—uh, Duke—likes me or not.”

Father Duke, of all things.

Raoul turned his gaze away, expression unreadable, and lifted the lid of the tray. Leticia’s eyes followed it instinctively.

Inside were two puddings, golden and gleaming with sweetness.

“Wow… pudding!”

Raoul recalled the scene from earlier as he watched her face light up with childish delight.

‘Your Grace! The young lady finished all her salad!’

When Hagen had barged into his study to report the news, Raoul had first been too dumbfounded to answer.

The child who could barely stomach vegetables had eaten every bit?
He’d been thinking about her since last night, unable to ignore that small fact—and before long, he found himself leaving the study and heading for her room.

‘Oh my, Your Grace, what brings you to the young lady’s room—ah, please wait! Even if you are the Duke, you can’t—this was meant for her—!’

He had taken the tray from Asha himself and entered the room.

The girl who had been so naturally calling him Father or Papa just yesterday now sat there, unsure what to call him at all—yet unflinching when she demanded a clear answer from him.

He remembered, too, those times when she had wanted to tell him something—

‘Father, um…’
‘What is it?’
‘I-It’s nothing!’

She had never finished her sentences.

And now, in a single night, this child had changed so much.

“I…”

Raoul’s gaze fell to her small fists resting tightly on her knees before he spoke.

“I like the way you call me Father.”

“Really?”

“It’s a title only you can use. And it’s shorter and simpler than ‘Duke’ or ‘Father Duke.’”

Raoul couldn’t even remember the last time he had explained himself this thoroughly.

Leticia blinked wide-eyed. She hadn’t expected such a clear answer—and before long, her eyes curved into happy crescents.

“A title only I can use…”

The thought filled her with quiet joy.

“Eat up.”

“Yes, Father!”

Leticia chirped, lifting the small dessert spoon and scooping a bite of pudding.

Her tiny hand held the spoon firmly, and Raoul’s head tilted slightly as he watched the golden custard wobble in her grasp.

Though he received daily reports from Hagen about what and how much she ate, seeing it himself was different.

Could a child survive on portions that small?
Was that normal, or did Leticia simply eat less than most?

As he pondered this, a spoon suddenly appeared in front of him.

“…?”

“Y-you seemed like you wanted some, Father.”

She had mistaken his gaze for longing.

“That’s not—”

“It’s really good! The chef made it himself! I usually get only one, but today I got two, so… I’ll give you one bite, just this once!”

She blurted the words in a rush, breathless, afraid he might refuse.

“Breathe, at least.”

“Fwaaah…”

She inhaled deeply, cheeks puffing out as Raoul alternated his gaze between her flushed face and the spoonful of pudding she offered.

He leaned forward slightly. The spoon entered his mouth, then came out again.

Leticia, too embarrassed to meet his eyes, buried her face in her pudding.

“…It’s good, isn’t it?”

Her timid voice reached him as he chewed.

Raoul let out a small laugh.

He wasn’t fond of sweet things. The pudding was cloying to him—painfully sweet, even in such a small portion.

Yet—

“Hmm… yes. It’s good.”

A clear answer, just as she had asked for earlier.

Leticia tried to hide her smile, but her lips betrayed her, curving upward as she bent lower over her dessert.

She took another spoonful, filling her mouth with the soft, sweet taste.

It was, without question, the taste of happiness.

“A young lady! His Grace brought another delicious dessert today!”

Asha entered the room, holding up a dainty pink box tied with a ribbon.

“What kind of dessert this time?”

It had already been a month since Leticia had returned to being eight years old.

Ever since the day she had shared that “taste of happiness” pudding with Raoul, he had begun bringing back desserts whenever he went out.

At first, she couldn’t fathom why.
Was it because he wanted another bite? Or because the pudding had been that good?

But after a month of unending dessert deliveries—pudding, cookies, macarons, cakes—she had stopped questioning it. Now she looked forward to it, wondering which kind he’d bring next.

Eighteen-year-old mind or not, her eight-year-old body—and her lifelong sweet tooth—always won the battle of reason.

“It’s the Rainbow Crepe Cake! A new menu from a café that just opened in the capital!”

Asha plated the dessert neatly and placed it before Leticia.

Each paper-thin crepe layer had its own color, true to the name “rainbow.”

Leticia’s eyes sparkled.

“Asha, won’t you have some with me?”

The maid smiled softly and shook her head.

“I appreciate it, but… that wouldn’t be proper, my lady.”

Her young mistress asked the same thing every time.

But to sit and eat at the same table as her master—that was a boundary Asha could not cross.

“Another failure, huh.”

“My apologies.”

Their exchange had become routine—so much so that both knew what would come next.

“Then… this is too much for me alone. Would you take some later?”

“Gladly.”

That was Leticia’s little compromise—since she couldn’t eat with Asha, she’d simply share the leftovers.

After watching Asha gather the extra slices, Leticia turned back to her plate and sliced into the crepe cake.

The fork slid cleanly through the delicate layers of cream and crepe.

She placed a bite in her mouth, and her cheeks rounded as she chewed.

The sweet flavor filled her completely, painting a faint blush across her face.

Asha watched her quietly, warmth flickering in her eyes.

“What is it? Do I have cream on my face?”

Leticia asked with a mouth still full, worried she’d made a mess.

But Asha shook her head.

“No, my lady. I just thought… you might have been even happier if His Grace had delivered it himself.”

Her words made Leticia glance toward the pink ribboned box.

At once, she pictured Raoul—stoic and imposing—holding that same cutesy box in his hands.

Her expression froze.

“Asha… I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“…Yes, I suppose not.”

Whatever image each of them had conjured, it was clearly the same one—and equally absurd.

They exchanged looks, and both burst into laughter.