TBMGW 8

Ian grabbed my hand and strode forward without the slightest hesitation.

His aura was so fierce that, all the way to the front hall, not a single person dared to block him.

Every servant scattered in a rush, bowing their heads and trembling as if terrified of even meeting his gaze.

With my hand caught in his, all I could see from behind was his back—I had no way of knowing what his face looked like.

But judging from how the others shrank away in fear, he must’ve been wearing the kind of expression that looked ready to kill someone.

“Is it really okay to leave Lady Rosa like that?”

As we crossed through the garden, I asked. Ian stopped abruptly.

Still keeping his face hidden from me, Ian Brighton muttered in a low tone.

“Why. Does it bother you?”

Wouldn’t it bother anyone?

‘…Then again, this is him. A person who couldn’t care less about anyone else.’

I could only sigh.

“This outing was supposed to be for your sake, young master, to clear your head. But if you go back home like this, Lady Rosa will certainly be furious, and then the whole point will be wasted.”

Ian still gave no reply. Instead, he resumed walking, long strides, and snapped back harshly.

“So what. Let her rage. She does it every time she sees me anyway.”

“I’m worried that even if you come back in a good mood, you’ll just end up upset again.”

Suddenly, Ian stopped once more. A gust of wind swept around him, scattering leaves and petals into the air.

The sound of grass and branches brushing against one another filled the garden, while Ian’s golden hair fluttered beautifully in the breeze.

Bathed in this dreamlike scene, he finally turned his head to look at me. His crimson eyes were detached—no, utterly devoid of feeling.

And strangely, that was what struck me most. He should’ve looked more distraught, having just stormed away after screaming at his sister in anger.

His face ought to have been twisted, or at least disheveled, but instead—

“Then don’t worry.”

Ian Brighton’s voice was far too calm.

I responded with a small, gentle smile.

“Do you feel better now? You seem much calmer than before.”

“Stop chattering. It’s giving me a headache.”

“All right, I’ll only say what’s necessary.”

“You’re really irritating.”

“Oh my, am I?”

I’d heard “you’re irritating” countless times before—from James, especially.

But when Ian said it, it was oddly mild. There was no gesture of raising a hand, no threat of violence. Just words. Which, coming from him, almost sounded… cute.

“I don’t like how you act like you know everything, like you’re above everyone else.”

“But you must like me at least a little more than the others, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have kept me around.”

“This is exactly what’s irritating. This, right here.”

At last, I understood.

Why young Ian Brighton was still considered “not yet awakened as a demon.”

This person… acts rather human.

In other words, he has a bit of a cute side.

“Shall we go out the back gate? I heard there’s a market fair today. They’ll have all sorts of delicious food.”

“Not interested…”

Yet despite saying so, he quietly changed direction toward the back gate.

“Raspberries, ten coppers a basket!”

“Clearance sale, clearance sale! You’ll never see prices like this again!”

“You there, handsome young man! Care to take a look at some fine jewelry?”

“Opportunities like this don’t come every day—have a look!”

The marketplace was loud and lively.

Such a stark contrast to the terrifying rumors surrounding the Duke’s residence, it was impossible not to feel a little excited.

The market back in the Grington County had been… well, like its lord: full of greedy merchants eager to cheat people.

But here, a newspaper boy darted about cheerfully, and the fruit seller, with baskets piled high with plump produce, flashed me a bright smile when our eyes met.

“Filthy and noisy.”

Of course, Ian’s impression was quite different from mine.

“Do you have a favorite snack? Should we check out the bakery?”

“No. Is this really the best you could come up with?”

“Well… but compared to going back to Lady Rosa’s fury, isn’t this atmosphere much nicer?”

“…”

Maybe he couldn’t deny that point. At last, Ian turned his head aside and muttered.

“Fine. Just take me to this bakery.”

Ha! In the end, he listens anyway.

I grinned to myself as I walked ahead—then suddenly froze.

Wait. Aren’t I treating Ian Brighton too casually?

‘Snap out of it. Who do you think you are?’

I’m nothing. Just Extra No. 1. The bastard son of a Count. Abandoned even by my family, with no role to play.

Just because I’ve won a bit of favor from the final boss doesn’t mean I’ve become anyone special.

I’d gotten far too relaxed after a single week of peace.

I must remember that night. Ten o’clock.

If I so much as step the wrong way…

‘I… I might get killed.’

I need to keep a tight grip on myself. He’s the final boss.

Sure, he’s young now, not yet fully awakened, so relatively subdued. But when grown, he’ll be the kind of man who can slaughter with just a flick of his hand.

“What are you dawdling for?”

Ian, now walking ahead of me, turned back with a curious frown.

There was only one answer I could give.

I smiled brightly.

“I was just thinking about what kind of bread to get.”

He gave a casual, dismissive murmur.

“Guess that man never even gave his servants a proper meal, huh? For you to be so obsessed with food.”

“The Duke’s household meals are excellent. Other places don’t feed their servants half as well.”

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t have looked less interested. How rude!

“But it’s true. The Duke’s household has a separate dining hall just for servants. The stew isn’t leftovers gone cold, but made fresh, warm and delicious. And they put in five whole pieces of meat! Do you know how happy that makes me…”

“You talk too much.”

At that moment, Ian stopped in front of the bakery, gazing silently through the shop window.

People passing by stole glances at him repeatedly, but he gave them not the slightest notice.

That, at least, was fortunate. If he picked a fight with someone here and nearly killed them, things would get messy fast.

“So other places don’t even serve stew with five pieces of meat.”

Oh? He did listen to me after all.

“That’s right. Shall we go in? This place bakes fresh bread around this time every day.”

“Then what do they eat instead?”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t expected him to follow the topic this far.

Wasn’t this the kind of thing he’d normally brush aside, like he did with the gossipers whispering about him? Yet here he was, actually asking.

“The masters’ leftovers, mostly.”

Ian’s crimson eyes lowered.

Bathed in sunlight, they shone like a brilliant flame—so different from when I first saw them in the darkness of his room.

And in that dazzling glow, he smirked.

“Was it tasty?”

I, caught off guard by the beauty of his face, answered honestly.

“No. Not at all.”

Ian lifted his chin. His gaze narrowed, as though measuring something.

He studied me quietly, then suddenly pushed open the bakery door and yanked me in by the arm.

I stumbled after him, swept along.

“Pick.”

Of all the things to hear in a place filled with the sweet, warm smell of bread.

“Pick… what?”

I wasn’t the only one left dumbstruck.

The baker, instantly recognizing the boy of noble bearing who entered with the chime of the doorbell, dropped everything in his hands in shock.

“Th-the… the Duke’s… the Duke’s household…”

Naturally, Ian ignored him entirely.

Instead, he looked right at me, smiling mischievously.

“Pick whatever you want to eat.”

Instead of joy or gratitude, the first thing that rose in me was suspicion.

“All of a sudden…?”

“A first—I’ve never seen you look flustered. I rather like it.”

“Well, thank you, but… may I ask what prompted you to show me such generosity?”

“If you said you wanted every loaf in this place, and I indulged you…”

Ian glanced around briefly, wrinkling his brow as if at the absurdity.

“…wouldn’t that make me the best master you’ve ever had?”

I stared at him, all the more puzzled.

“…Do you need to be?”

“As I always say—you talk too much.”

His expression finally slipped back into indifference.

The Ian Brighton I knew.

“Stop overthinking and just pick your bread.”