ILVD 07

It was the hour when the sun reached its peak.

Normally, the plaza would be bustling with people after lunchtime—but near Leticia and Raoul, not a single soul stirred.
It was as if an invisible barrier had been cast, forbidding even an ant from passing.

“My lady, if you ever wish to go outside, go with His Grace. You’ll see—it will be the most peaceful stroll of your life.”

She’d heard those words before, though she hadn’t understood them—until now.

In her previous life, she had never once walked beside Raoul like this.
Now, watching him stride calmly ahead of her, she finally understood what people had meant.

“Look ahead when you walk. You’ll fall otherwise.”

Raoul’s deep voice warned her the moment he felt her gaze.

But Leticia didn’t look away.

The plaza of the Leroy Empire was vast. Carriages moved freely, for the roads were wide enough to accommodate them.
Which meant, of course, they could have easily come by carriage today.

And yet—Raoul Kafka had chosen to walk.

Leticia, who’d begun to wonder if he always did this when fetching desserts, tilted her head.

“Father, do you always walk like this when you go to buy desserts?”

“When there are crowds, I prefer the carriage. I rarely walk.”

“Then why are we walking today?—Ah!”

Her question cut off with a startled cry.
She had failed to notice the small stone underfoot.

In a blink, her tiny body lost balance—her small hand slipped from Raoul’s, and the world tilted.

I’m going to fall—!

Leticia squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for pain.

But the pain never came.
Instead, a strange, floating sensation made her crack her eyes open—only to meet the familiar, smoky red gaze of her father, now much closer than usual.

“I did warn you that you’d fall.”

Normally, their heights were leagues apart.
Now, her dangling feet brushed the air.

In the brief instant between her stumble and the ground rushing up, Raoul had caught her effortlessly—one large hand beneath each arm, holding her aloft like a kitten.

Embarrassment flooded her face.

There wasn’t a single person nearby to shield them from the onlookers who now whispered behind their hands.

Leticia’s cheeks flamed crimson.

“Are you hurt?”

Raoul’s voice was calm, almost serious, but Leticia was far too mortified to answer.

“F–Father! P-put me down!”

“No. We’ll continue like this.”

Continue like this?

Absolutely not.

“L-like this?!”

Leticia’s voice rose in panic.

“No way! At least—at least hold me properly!”

“Now?”

“Right now!”

Her flushed face and desperate tone carried across the silent plaza.

And then, the whispers began.

“Did you hear that?”
“Did she just raise her voice at the Duke of Kafka?”
“Even the Duke can’t win against his own child, it seems…”

Normally, Raoul would have found such gossip grating.
But he heard none of it.

Only one phrase echoed in his mind—

“Hold me properly.”

It was the first time.
The first time his daughter had ever asked to be held—since she’d been an infant.

Despite that, his movements were smooth and unhesitating.
He gathered her into his arms with a natural ease that surprised even himself.

Leticia buried her face against his chest, her cheeks still glowing red.
A faint smile touched Raoul’s lips as he began walking again, this time at a slower, steadier pace.

“It’s your first outing,” he murmured, “so I wanted you to see the plaza properly.”

The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of his answer to her earlier question.

Leticia blinked up at him.

He wanted her to see the world.

“If you don’t tell me clearly, Father—uh, Your Grace—I won’t know whether you like something or hate it.”

He remembered those words.

Raoul had found “clearly” a troublesome term.
How clear did he need to be? How much was enough for a child’s understanding?

For a man who had spent a lifetime masking his intentions, such precision was foreign.

“If we rode the carriage,” he said evenly, “you’d only see the world through a small window. I thought walking might be better—to let you take in the sights properly.”

It was as close to clear as he could manage.

“Would that be enough of an answer for you?”

A quiet pause.

“…Yes. It’s enough.”

Her soft voice muffled against his chest made him continue walking, their pace steady and calm as they passed through the plaza and into a narrow side street.

The alleyways were quiet, lined with shadow.

Leticia lifted her head, eyes wide as she looked around—

“Eek! Run!”

From between the cracks of the walls, several ragged children darted away.

Their limbs were thin, their clothes torn and far too big.

The sight tugged at an old memory.

‘Lady Leticia, I came from the Leroy Empire too.’
‘From where I grew up? Oh… well, it’s embarrassing, but I didn’t have a home. I lived in the alleys.’
‘Then I was captured by slavers and brought to the Holy Kingdom. But now that I can protect you, my lady—I couldn’t be prouder.’

Chavel.

The name surfaced in her mind—the knight who had extended a warm hand to her in another life.
Once a street orphan from Leroy, he’d risen to the rank of Holy Knight Commander through sheer strength and faith.

“Chavel… I wonder if he’s somewhere in Leroy right now…”

The creak of an old door interrupted her thoughts.

Raoul had stopped before a narrow, weathered shop. The sign above the door was so faded it was impossible to read.

For a “designer’s atelier,” it looked far too run-down—dark, even eerie.

Yet Raoul entered without hesitation, as though well-accustomed to the place.

He opened a second door inside, and at once—

“Oh my, if it isn’t the Duke of Kafka!”

A bright voice filled the room.

Leticia squinted against the sudden flood of light.

And then she saw them—

Rows upon rows of mannequins lined the walls, each dressed in exquisite garments.

The designs were instantly recognizable.

Dark tones—yet not dull. Elegant, refined, and adorned with high-grade jewels that caught the light like stars.

“Father’s clothes…”

Indeed, they were unmistakably the work of his personal designer.

“Sharp eyes, my lady! You’re correct. I am the exclusive designer for His Grace—Madame Ragna.”

Her voice sang rather than spoke.

Leticia turned toward it and blinked in surprise.

The woman who stood before her had fluorescent orange hair, braided into multiple strands, shaved at one side to reveal a smooth half-scalp.

“Leticia Kun Kafka,” she introduced herself politely, her tone bright yet steady.

Raoul set her down at last, and instead of bowing, Leticia offered her name directly.

“Ah! So you are the young Lady of House Kafka!”

Ragna bent so deeply that her bright hair nearly brushed the floor.

“You may call me either Madame or Ragna, whichever suits you better.”

Leticia nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

But Ragna did not straighten. Instead, still bent, she tilted her head up with a smile so sharp it nearly closed her eyes.

Her lashes were long—too long, almost theatrical—and cast soft shadows beneath her green eyes.

“So, the Duke brings such a beautiful young lady to my atelier… Does that mean what I think it means?”

Her gaze was fixed on Leticia, but the question was clearly meant for Raoul.

Leticia could instantly tell why this woman had become her father’s exclusive designer.

She was, in her own way, as difficult to read as he was.

Leticia’s eyes flicked toward Raoul, who now stood silently observing.

Yes—Madame Ragna reminded her of him.

Raoul had called her “a rather troublesome woman.”

And if Leticia was correct in her guess…

She took a calm breath and spoke first.

“I’m not sure what you think, Madame, but I don’t believe I need to know it.”

“Oh? Are you sure you’re not just pretending ignorance?”

Leticia’s lips curved faintly.

“Why should I trouble myself to learn what doesn’t concern me?”

Her response wasn’t an answer—it was a challenge.

Ragna’s grin widened. With a loud clap, she straightened her back and pressed her palms to her cheeks.

“My, my. How delightful.”

Then, lowering herself to meet Leticia’s eye level, she peered into the girl’s crimson eyes.

Her own, a pale green, gleamed with amusement.

Leticia swallowed hard.

For the first time, she realized—
Madame Ragna’s fashion sense wasn’t the only thing dangerously sharp about her.