The Aberk District, located north of the Fez River—known as the “lifeline of Roden”—was a wealthy area that served as the center of the capital’s social scene, filled with townhouses where nobles stayed during the social season.
Aberk Avenue, which ran through the heart of this district, was the largest commercial street in Roden, lined with cultural institutions and luxury shops. Hugh Skaard’s office was located at the very top of the tallest building on that dazzling street—the Skaard Hotel.
“Good afternoon, Count. Thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice.”
Stepping through the door opened by David, Maylily bowed as politely as possible.
The Count of Everscourt sat at a desk placed diagonally near the sunlit window. The space around him was filled with furnishings and decorations that were not ostentatious but exuded refined luxury.
For a brief moment, Maylily’s gaze was drawn to the unfamiliar cityscape visible beyond the window behind him—but she quickly lowered her eyes, feeling his gaze settle on her.
“You’re late.”
“Pardon?”
At the Count’s cryptic first remark, Maylily lifted her head abruptly. The moment their eyes met, the corner of his lips tilted slightly upward.
“Shouldn’t you have come to see me before I made a move?”
“Ah… I’m sorry.”
The Count nodded as if accepting the apology owed to him, then stood. Taller than most men, the light pouring from behind him cast a large shadow across the room. Perhaps because of that, even the small act of him moving to sit in the armchair across the desk felt imposing.
“Sit.”
Crossing his long legs leisurely, the Count gestured to the seat opposite him. Maylily moved quietly, her steps barely making a sound. At that moment, a staff member entered, set refreshments on the table between them, and withdrew.
A brief silence passed before the Count spoke again.
“You said you wanted to ask for my forgiveness.”
“Yes… if you would allow me the chance.”
“Then go ahead.”
The man gave the command as naturally as breathing, folding his arms as he leaned back.
His long eyes, set deep beneath straight brows, curved slightly downward into a gentle line—but the blue-gray eyes within them remained emotionless.
Under that gaze—filled with the arrogance and composure unique to those in power—her heart pounded harder and harder. Taking a slow, steady breath, Maylily began reciting the words she had repeated countless times on her way here.
“If I was rude during our last conversation, it was only because I was unfamiliar with proper etiquette, not out of disrespect. So please forgive me. I was caught off guard at the time and couldn’t express myself properly, but I am sincerely grateful to have received such generous favor from someone as honorable as you, Count—”
“I have a meeting shortly, so let’s skip the preamble and get to the point.”
The Count, who had been idly fiddling with his pocket watch as if only half-listening, snapped it shut and cut her off.
“So, have you changed your mind about accepting my sponsorship?”
“What? Ah…”
The topic she had intended to address after expressing gratitude and apology suddenly surfaced. Startled, Maylily blinked rapidly before continuing in a faintly trembling voice.
“I’m sorry, but my desire to succeed through my own efforts hasn’t changed.”
At her stubborn reply, the Count let out a quiet chuckle and opened a cigar case on the table. Judging from last time, that wasn’t a good sign. As her anxiety grew, he exhaled a slow stream of smoke and spoke lazily.
“Do you know that Christina Singers had a sponsor?”
Christina Singers—the prima donna of the century. Hearing the name of the famed singer who had risen to prominence half a century ago, Maylily nodded slowly, somewhat confused.
“…Yes.”
“Her sponsor was Jeremy Felbert Clarke, a count who passed away two years ago—former Speaker of the Senate and a major landowner in eastern Riverton. Both he and Singers were figures who constantly drew attention, and gossip about their relationship never ceased. And yet, every time Singers stepped onto the stage, she erased his presence entirely with her overwhelming talent. Once known as ‘the Count’s mistress,’ she later became Riverton’s greatest prima donna—and in time, Clarke came to be known as ‘Singers’ man.’”
The Count paused, as if giving her time to think, and drew on his cigar. Through the slowly drifting haze of smoke, his dull blue-gray eyes fixed on her.
“That’s what success as a singer is. It doesn’t matter who helped you or what you gave in return. As long as you prove your talent on stage, the glory of success will belong entirely to you. Just look—after a performance, it’s always the singer’s name the audience calls, never the sponsor’s.”
Maylily thought that the world’s view of opera singers wasn’t so different from his. His words were logical—practical advice.
But at the same time, from the perspective of a singer who might have to give something she didn’t want to give, it was difficult to accept. Their lives didn’t exist only on stage.
“If we’re speaking purely in terms of results, you may be right, Count. But what I want to protect isn’t the glory of success—it’s the principles of the process. It’s the belief that guides me to stay on the right path.”
“Honestly, I don’t understand.”
“What… do you mean?”
“Why you’re so desperate to refuse an opportunity that would free you from worrying about your livelihood and allow you to focus solely on music.”
“….”
That’s not true. You already know the answer.
His feigned ignorance felt like a deliberate provocation meant to unsettle her. As Maylily stubbornly kept her lips sealed, the Count’s lips curved slightly.
“Are you afraid I’ll tell you to spread your legs?”
The question sounded all the more vulgar because of his smooth, melodic voice. It was also utterly out of place for a man who looked and behaved like a refined gentleman.
Startled, Maylily clutched the front of her coat tightly with both hands.
“What? N-no, that’s not—”
Her heart thumped wildly beneath her hands. Her face flushed bright red, her lips trembling, as the man watched her intently before letting out a short laugh and placing the cigar in the ashtray.
“So I’m right.”
“….”
Unable to deny it, Maylily lowered her eyes silently. In the suffocating silence, the Count once again examined her slowly and persistently, just as he had during their first meeting.
Under that gaze, which felt as though it stripped her bare, Maylily tightened her grip on her coat. His blue-gray eyes lingered briefly on the small, red tip of her tongue as she nervously licked her dry lips.
“I’ll admit—you’re a striking beauty. But I’m not so desperate that I need to lure women with sponsorship. And I’m not that drawn to you either.”
Strangely, she felt both relief and humiliation at the same time. Furrowing her brow slightly, Maylily spoke carefully.
“Then… does it really have to be me? There are many singers in the Roden Opera Company with greater talent and more stage experience. Compared to them, I’m just a newcomer who hasn’t even debuted.”
“What caught my interest isn’t your position—it’s your potential. Anything I touch must become the best. And I saw that possibility in you.”
“But… as far as I know, you’ve never properly heard me sing.”
“The first time I saw you wasn’t that day.”
It wasn’t a direct answer, but Maylily chose not to press further. Whatever truth he held, it wouldn’t change her decision—and there was no reason to drag out this futile conversation.
“I’m grateful that you think so highly of my potential, but… I don’t think I can accept. I’m sorry.”
She felt pathetic, thanking the very man who had crushed the spring she had eagerly awaited all winter. Tears threatened to rise, but she quickly took out an envelope from her bag.
“And this—I’d like to return it. It’s far too much to accept as a tip. I appreciate your generosity, though.”
The Count stared silently at the envelope on the table and brought the cigar back to his lips.
“If there’s nothing else to say, I’ll take my leave.”
Rising as if fleeing, Maylily straightened her clothes and bowed—
But before she could finish, a soft yet chilling voice caught her like a hook around her throat.
“If you walk out like this, there won’t be a stage left for you to stand on.”
