Chapter 30
How to Overcome Depression (3)
Iago looked dejected, his huge frame hunched as he apologized.
“Ah! Um… sorry, Ilena.”
His purple eyes softened again.
Resting her chin on her hand, Ilena narrowed her eyes and asked seriously,
“Just now, it felt like you became a completely different person. Does that happen often?”
“Well… sometimes, when I get angry, or when I’m in battle… or when I see the blood of someone important to me, it feels like I become someone else.”
‘The blood of someone important…’
Ilena thought of the thin line of blood that had trickled down her ankle.
He lost control over something that small?
“Since when has that been happening?”
At her puzzled question, Iago’s expression darkened as if recalling something unpleasant.
“I think… since ten years ago. Since the war.”
At seventeen, when he went to the battlefield, the first thing he did to keep from going insane was to abandon himself.
He cast away the person he had been until then and thought and acted only as the Black King.
He had lived as the second prince, far removed from the throne, but turning into a cold-blooded Black King overnight wasn’t difficult.
After all, what had sent him to war was the death of his father and elder brother.
He had gone to defend his country, but it would be a lie to say he hadn’t wanted revenge on the enemies who had taken his family.
His achievements in battle were so great that the northern invaders hadn’t dared to attack again for the next ten years.
In battle, he was entirely the Black King.
Only after returning to the camp and washing the blood from his hands would his mind return—only then would the tears come.
Those were lonely days when he could only be himself if he was alone in his quarters.
But… I’ve never felt such an urge until now.
Watching Ilena stare blankly at the dough, Iago recalled what had happened in the garden.
Yes. Just now, he truly hadn’t felt like himself.
It was as if his reason had been stripped away, leaving only instinct.
His blood had boiled, and he’d wanted everything about this trembling woman in front of him.
To hide her in the deepest part of the palace so that only he could see her…
“Iago?”
“Huh? Oh?”
The lemon-yellow eyes staring straight at him snapped him back to his senses.
“Are you alright?” Ilena asked, concerned.
“Uh? Yeah. Yeah.”
What was I thinking?
Iago’s face flushed bright red.
What is this feeling?
He felt confused by an emotion he had never experienced before.
Baking, stuffed plush toys, warm sunshine, puppies and kittens rolling on the floor—
those had always been the things he liked.
That was why he’d never connected negative emotions like possessiveness, jealousy, or obsession with love.
When I lose control, do I really become violent and possessive like that…?
Disappointed in himself, Iago mumbled miserably,
“Sorry, Ilena…”
“I’ve never acted like that before, even when I lost control, but just now I…”
“You what?”
At her question, Iago turned red and stammered, finally managing to say,
“I-I think it was because… I was touching you.”
“Hm.”
Ilena considered this while looking at his massive frame squirming in embarrassment.
A creature so pure and innocent couldn’t have done that on purpose.
So… when he’s in battle or when he’s in close contact with someone…
Tilting her head, Ilena said,
“Maybe when you get overstimulated, you lose reason and act on instinct alone?”
“M-Maybe…?”
That little bit of contact? she thought, but didn’t voice it.
She tried to recall her faint, half-forgotten dating experiences.
Iago clearly had no romantic experience at all.
He was young and full of energy—if this was his first time experiencing intimacy, maybe it made sense.
Having reasoned it out, Ilena nodded to herself.
But there was still a problem.
“If this happens every time we pretend to flirt, it’s going to be troublesome…”
Maybe she’d have to change the plan. She didn’t want Otter bothering her…
As she considered this seriously, Iago quickly said,
“Oh! Then, Ilena—”
“Mm?”
“What if we practice beforehand? You know, practice makes perfect.”
“…Huh?”
Practice?
Surprised by the suggestion, Ilena’s eyes widened.
“It’s just because I’m not used to it. If we practice a little physical contact when we’re alone, I can act better without losing control. Right?”
He explained earnestly.
Even if he lost control or saw blood, he wanted to treat her gently. He was certain that with just a bit of practice, he’d be perfect.
Of course, what his instincts were really screaming for was to be closer to her, but because he feared losing control so much, he didn’t realize it.
“Uh… well, I guess that makes sense…”
Something feels… off.
But Iago’s eyes shone with such innocence that she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.
By now, the finished dough was already in the oven—surprisingly quick and neat work.
“You think so too, right, Ilena? Then, for starters… how about we hold hands whenever we’re alone?”
With a bright smile, Iago took her hand.
Then he rubbed his cheek against her palm like a happy cat.
“Oh? Uh… okay.”
Ilena awkwardly agreed, fidgeting with her other hand.
Something’s weird… no, don’t think weird thoughts. The pervert is in my head.
She remembered Regolus, who had misunderstood her dinner invitation, and how embarrassed he had been.
Look at him—so pure, so bright. He has no idea what he’s doing.
“Ilena’s hand… it’s soft.”
Iago chuckled, pressing a light kiss to her small palm.
From the oven came the delicious smell of baking bread.
“Then let’s keep holding hands while we eat, Ilena. I’ll spread the jam for you.”
He said it naturally, acting entirely on instinct but believing he was being perfectly logical for the sake of “practice.”
“…Alright.”
He’s innocent… right?
She had the feeling something important was being skipped over, but the smell of the bread was too distracting to dwell on it.
Too tired to bother thinking more, she let it go.
After all, she didn’t have the emotional energy left to interpret romance anymore.
In this complicated transmigrated world, just live comfortably!
So the two sat across the table, eating warm bread from the oven slathered with raspberry jam.
The freshly baked bread was divine—better than the baguette she’d had in Paris or any high-end pastry shop’s treats.
If baking is like this, maybe it can bring a little happiness.
Ilena thought as she diligently cut small pieces to pop into her mouth.
Today’s “Operation Happiness!” was a huge success.
And even though it was awkward to eat like that, she kept one hand clasped with Iago’s.
There was no one around to see, yet they already looked like a perfectly matched couple—or even newlyweds—but neither of them realized it.
That evening, Ilena lay in bed unusually early.
For some reason, she felt tired today.
Was I really this worn out from just acting and baking?
She thought back on the day.
Gone was his usual cute, rabbit-like demeanor—the way he’d looked today had been unfamiliar.
A beauty so decadent it could melt even a stone Buddha… probably.
At least, to others.
Ilena touched her chest. It remained frozen, neither racing nor fluttering.
She felt no excitement. Even trying to guess his intentions behind his actions felt exhausting.
What if I end up like this forever—unable to cry or love?
Like her parents, who were always cold, even to their own child.
Like the people from her past life, who always kept others at arm’s length.
Will I have another nightmare tonight?
She shifted uncomfortably in bed—when suddenly—
“I’ll come see you tomorrow around three.”
The words Iago had said after they’d shared the warm bread came back to her, curling a faint smile on her lips.
He had looked her in the eye and said they should meet again tomorrow to do something happy together.
Remembering his earnest purple gaze and the warmth of his embrace—even if it had been brief—made blood rush to her once-cold hands and feet.
Three o’clock tomorrow… I wonder what we’ll do… ah.
She finally understood what Iago had meant when he’d said that while you couldn’t be happy all the time, you could create at least one happy thing every day.
“With just that to look forward to, you can get through the rest of the day.”
Murmuring this to herself, Ilena looked at the round moon outside the window, then quietly closed her eyes.
The peaceful, restful sleep she thought would never come finally found her.
“What goddess… what savior…”
Under the pale moonlight.
Sitting alone on the balcony of his mansion, Illo muttered.
In his hand was a white bottle filled with strong liquor.
Glaring resentfully at the white moon, he gulped the drink—only to cough harshly.
Once, he had never touched alcohol. Until ten years ago.
Until his only son—born when he was fifty—had returned from the battlefield as a cold corpse.
The grief rose in him as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Illo took another swig of liquor.
Without drinking, he couldn’t endure the nights.
The resentment, the pain, the rage—they all kept welling up.
“A goddess? That northerner? I, Illo, will never believe it…”
His yellow eyes, steeped in drink, gleamed dangerously under the moonlight.
“If she were truly a goddess, why would she have just watched this disaster for ten years? Why hasn’t a single drop of rain fallen on this desert?”
