ILVD 08

Chapter 8

“How lovely! You’re nothing like the Duke of Kafka, my lady!”

The seamstress’s gaze—once unreadable—now softened into one of clear fondness.
Leticia felt a breath of relief escape her lips, both inwardly and outwardly.

Her guess had been right.
This was a test.

‘Who makes the Duke of Kafka’s clothes?’

‘There seems to be a personal designer, my lady. You don’t know?’

Leticia didn’t know if that was still true in this time,
but she remembered that in the future, Madame Ragna’s dresses had caught the attention of countless nobles.

Had she opened a boutique in a fashionable district, she could’ve amassed enormous fame and wealth.
Yet she hadn’t.

Leticia had interpreted that restraint as proof of the woman’s nature.

“A rather demanding soul.”

She believed Ragna was someone who followed desire, not status or money—
someone who created dresses not for fame, but for passion.

And since she had long made the Duke’s clothing,
Leticia thought that if she could reveal herself as Kafka,
she might pass this so-called test.

So, thinking of Raoul—of how he might have answered—she replied differently than usual.

“Lady Kafka.”

It wasn’t young lady, but Lady Kafka.

The rare, dignified title made her straighten her posture without realizing.

Then Ragna’s lips curled faintly.

“Would you grant me the honor of designing your dress, my lady?”

Leticia wondered, with a spark of excitement, what kind of dress Ragna would create for her.

She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be counting on you.”

That moment became the beginning of something—
the day when Madame Ragna ceased to be the Duke of Kafka’s personal designer
and became the official couturière of House Kafka.

“Hmm, so it’s a gathering for nobles your age?”

“That’s right.”

After listening to Leticia’s explanation of the party, Ragna folded her arms, lost in thought.

“Elegant, but not too mature… refined, yet with a hint of youthful spirit…”

Her muttering grew quieter as she seemed to sort her ideas.
Then, as if a decision had been made, she nodded and pointed toward a sofa.

“Please wait there for a moment. I’ll bring the fabrics.”

With that, Ragna disappeared through a small door hidden behind a mannequin.

Raoul and Leticia sat side by side on the indicated sofa.

A still, comfortable silence settled between them.

Now that she thought about it,
her father hadn’t said a single word since they arrived.

Leticia stole a glance at Raoul from the corner of her eye.
His gaze was fixed ahead, expression calm as ever.

She puffed her cheeks slightly.

She had passed Ragna’s test—surely that was worth some praise?

As she pondered this, still sneaking glances his way—

Raoul turned, catching her in the act.

Leticia flinched and averted her eyes so quickly that only her white crown of hair filled his view.

Silence again.

Raoul realized, from that fleeting red glimmer in her eyes,
that what she wanted was simple.

“She wants to be praised.”

“Um… when will Ragna come back?”

Leticia broke the quiet, words tumbling out just to fill the air.

Raoul blinked slowly, then lifted his hand—hesitated—
his fingers hovering above that soft white hair.

He wondered if he had the right to touch it.

It was like untouched snow,
like a blank canvas that had yet to be stained by the world.

Though he had held her before—carried her, taken her hand—
this felt different.

Maybe because deep down,
he still believed his hands, stained with the blood of countless men,
had no right to touch something so pure.

“Papa?”

Her small voice pulled him back.

Then—tap.

His hand rested lightly atop her head.

Leticia’s eyes widened.

He’s patting me?

Those crimson eyes brimmed with astonished joy.

Raoul felt the faint texture of her hair beneath his fingers as he spoke quietly:

“…You did well.”

“I did?”

Tap, tap.

Two gentle pats before he withdrew his hand.

“Yes, you did very well.”

And just like that—she smiled.

It was the kind of smile that erased all shadows,
bright, childlike, full of pride at being praised.

Seeing it, Raoul found himself smiling too.

There’s no need for any other dressmaker, then.

‘My lord, the young lady has accepted His Majesty’s invitation—as Lady Kafka.’

Hagen’s report wasn’t what Raoul had expected.

The emperor’s invitation—handwritten, no less—was the first they had ever received.

He thought Leticia would be thrilled.
Yet she had answered, “As Lady Kafka.”

‘She didn’t seem eager to attend, my lord.’

‘Really? I thought she’d be excited.’

If she’d wanted to go, he would have let her.
He knew what kind of stares, what kind of whispers she would face—
but he wanted her to see the world outside their walls at least once.

After all, Kafka was not the only future open to her.

Until now, Leticia had never appeared in public.
She knew nothing of how the world viewed their house—
nothing of the fear, the suspicion, the quiet disdain.

At least, that’s what Raoul had thought—
until Hagen’s report made him reconsider.

“As Lady Kafka,” she said…

Since her eighth birthday, Leticia had changed.

“I’m sorry… Papa, I’m so sorry.”

That day, for some reason, she had apologized with tears in her eyes.

After that, she no longer feared him.

Once, she had flinched whenever he drew near.
Even as she said she wasn’t scared, her eyes always told a different story.

He couldn’t blame her.

He wasn’t her real father.
Even if he had been, it might have been the same.

A man whose hands had taken countless lives…
How could a child not sense it?

“You’ve changed, Duke. But the child carries your blood. She’ll need the same medicine, won’t she?”

After she came to House Kafka,
he had withdrawn from imperial affairs as much as possible—
despite the emperor’s disapproval.

He still killed when commanded,
but he stayed away from her.

He thought it best.
Better to keep his distance than to frighten her.

If one day she learned the truth of his life and wished to leave,
then at least she would be free to do so.

Yes, that was what he believed—
until recently.

Now, for the first time,
he felt he could teach her, tell her what he knew.

Because knowing something and facing something
were two very different things.

‘My lord, can we really entrust the young lady’s dress to Madame Ragna?’

A convenient chance to test it came sooner than expected.

“Leticia.”

“Yes?”

Raoul looked down at the girl whose face still shone from his awkward praise.

“If you wish to decline the emperor’s invitation, you may.”

Her eyes blinked rapidly.

Why would he say that?

Then she realized—he was worried for her.

“Introducing Ragna wasn’t just about her skill,” he continued.
“I wanted to see how much you understood about House Kafka.”

That small step she had taken today—he didn’t know it yet,
but it had already brought them closer.

“From what I see, Leety… you already understand well enough what it means to be a Kafka.”

Leticia smiled.
No, she wasn’t ready to ask everything yet.
And no, he wasn’t ready to tell her everything.

But she did know this—he cared.

“Then I have to go, Papa. I have to accept His Majesty’s invitation.”

“Even if it means you might be hurt?”

“You’ll be there, won’t you? So it’s fine!”

“…Because I’m there, it’s fine?”

Her innocent certainty left him momentarily dazed.

“Yes!”

He let out a quiet laugh.

Because of me… she’s fine.

“I’m leaving her in your care, Duke. Someday she may ask about me—but you don’t need to tell her the truth.”

“You’re leaving her to me? That’s not trust—it’s desperation.”

“No… It’s the best choice I could make.”

Under the pale moonlight, the woman had smiled beautifully.

“Because one day, you’ll love her too, Duke. You won’t be able not to.”

Back then, he’d scoffed.

“…What a strange woman.”

Now, as he looked at Leticia—
the child who once trembled at his touch yet now laughed so freely—
her words came back to haunt him.

“If you keep this up, you’ll make me greedy.”

“Hmm? What did you say, Papa?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head with a faint smile.

“Do as you wish.”

“Even if it’s against the imperial family?”

“Do you think I couldn’t take you and run if I had to?”

“…But what about Hagen? And Asha?”

“They’re capable enough to look after themselves.”

His tone was gentle but teasing—
and Leticia couldn’t help but laugh.

Raoul listened to her laughter,
that pure, ringing sound that reached his ears like sunlight.

Even if you learn the truth one day,
I want to keep this distance—the one we finally closed today.

He thought it quietly to himself,
while her laughter lingered like warmth on the cold air.