2. The Accumulation of Hatred
Spring in the South carried the gentle scent of the sea. Warmer than the capital, the breeze tickled Damion’s cheeks. It was a not-unpleasant feeling.
The venue for the party, the Ziden Viscount’s estate, sat in a location with a rather good view. The mansion’s exterior, illuminated by the sunset filtering through the clouds, wasn’t bad either.
So it would’ve been better if they’d just left it undecorated.
The overly lavish entrance, adorned with flowers of every color, instantly killed the mood.
Maybe I just won’t go in, he thought.
“Excuse me, are you Major Orphe?”
Damion turned around. Thick eyebrows, light brown hair, and about a handspan shorter than him. A young Count from the venerable southern house of Bercel, and a wealthy landowner.
“A pleasure to meet you, Count Bercel.”
Damion smiled slightly and extended his hand. Bercel’s face lit up.
“So you know me, Major.”
“I’ve long heard of the Bercel name and wanted to meet you. But I’m no longer a Major. I’ve retired.”
“Yes, I heard you’ve been living in the capital for the past few months. Then, should I call you Sir Damion?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
The two entered the banquet hall. It was already crowded. There were as many flowers as people. The host’s hellish sense of taste was obvious.
At least the fresh violin melody wasn’t bad. Damion decided to take comfort in that. Though conversation soon made it hard to enjoy the music.
“By the way, is your older brother coming? The young Duke, Cardian de Orphe?”
“No, he’s busy with work.”
“Oh! It’s admirable of you to come in his place. Such brotherly affection is rare.”
Damion offered a faint smile. He didn’t bother explaining that he was only in the South on a business trip and had simply stopped by.
“Oh, Damion. We meet again.”
A group of men approached. One was the representative of a hotel invested in by the Orphe elders. The man next to him was the son of the one who controlled the southern railway.
Damion raised a wine glass, signaling his willingness to converse. A server approached and filled their glasses with white wine.
They exchanged pleasantries, keeping polite distances and refined tones.
Damion wasn’t unaware that the dignified, relaxed attitudes were all for the women across the hall. The glances they cast were so blatant it was almost funny.
He noticed the woman when this farce was beginning to bore him.
Damion’s eyes narrowed.
A brown-haired servant quietly clearing plates in a corner of the hall.
It was an utterly ordinary sight, and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Was it because she kept scanning the room like she was looking for someone? Or because of the way her lips were pressed tightly, as if she were nervous?
Or maybe… because her appearance seemed oddly familiar?
“Investing right now feels risky. Don’t you think so, Damion?”
His gaze, fixed on the woman, naturally returned to the group. He took a sip of wine and smiled leisurely.
“Well. Wouldn’t now be the perfect time, with the bubble gone?”
“Hm, you may be right.”
The conversation flowed on.
When Damion looked back toward the spot, the woman was already gone.
And yet—
He never expected to see a woman with a gun to her head in a place like this.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t do this tonight.”
A quiet, secluded garden late at night. The woman’s startled eyes turned toward him.
Skin pale enough to be translucent. Those sea-colored eyes gleaming with wariness, they were familiar.
Was it really her?
Well, either way—
“I despise nightmares.”
For now, that was reason enough to stop her from dying.
* * *
A man who looked like an angel.
That’s what Ansi thought as she saw him under the moonlight.
His neatly swept platinum hair and well-groomed brows gave him an air of nobility. His smooth skin and red lips gave him a beautiful appearance, but the sharp lines of his face offset it, adding a decadent touch.
He had a faint smile, just like his voice. But beneath it, his deep eyes were chilling.
She found the face oddly familiar.
“Have you ever had apricot tart?”
“……”
A question thrown with no context. Ansi frowned and stared at him. He continued calmly.
“Try it before you die.”
“I’ve had it.”
“…Then.”
The man raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then pulled something from his pocket. His red lips curled into a satisfied smile.
He stepped closer. Ansi stood up and backed away, but his relaxed stride was faster.
He stopped in front of her and held something out.
A fountain pen.
Ansi accepted it reflexively. When their fingers brushed, she flinched.
“It’s worth quite a bit. Sell it tomorrow.”
“Why… are you giving me this?”
“Consider it payment for a day of life. Or compensation for helping you avoid a nightmare.”
He gave a short laugh. Only then did Ansi realize the misunderstanding.
He thought she was trying to kill herself. That the money from selling this would keep her alive.
It was an arrogant assumption—but it worked in her favor. Far better than being caught attempting murder.
Ansi clenched her fingers around the pen. Seeing that, the man turned away without hesitation. A soft musk blew from his direction with the spring breeze.
In its lingering scent, Ansi looked down.
Henette de Maron.
A name was engraved on the pen. The Maron marquess house. She’d heard of it before.
“He’s not even from House Orphe.”
Ansi let out a hollow laugh. She turned and walked in the opposite direction from the man.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Miss Rain, but no more credit after this.”
The pharmacist looked hesitant but firm. His voice was apologetic, but Ansi knew how much he had already helped her. She nodded.
“…Yes. I’m grateful for everything so far. I’ll pay for the medicine by next week.”
“Alright. You’re working night shifts again?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother must be waiting. Go home quickly.”
At the Ziden estate, both live-in and commuting staff worked. Ansi was the latter. When her shift ended, she went to her house not far from the estate, in Wort Street.
It was a tiny place—just one bedroom off a small living room, and she had to climb three flights of stairs. But she was grateful to have somewhere to rest her body.
But just as she reached for her key, she sensed something was wrong.
The door handle was broken.
A terrible premonition washed over her.
Ansi threw open the door.
“…!”
The house was a disaster. Furniture overturned, belongings strewn everywhere, food spilled across the floor.
“What the…?”
“You should come home earlier, Rain.”
The voice came from inside the room. A young man stepped out, looking mockingly regretful.
“No one was here when I arrived. Sneaking around at night like a stray cat is what got your house into this mess.”
“Garis.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just here to give you a warning since there’s still a balance left.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I already paid back the principal and the interest.”
“And we added a new interest clause before the full repayment. You have to follow it.”
“That was never in the agreement!”
“Don’t act like some moral little lady.”
Garis suddenly grabbed her hair and yanked it hard.
“Ah!”
Ansi screamed in pain. Garis whispered in her ear.
“Rain. If you wanted a real agreement, you should’ve gone to a bank. But we’re the only ones who lend to girls like you. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
Her bloodshot eyes glared at him. Garis laughed like it amused him. Clenching her teeth, Ansi groped at her skirt.
“Going to pull a gun?”
“……!”
“Do you know why I never took it away? Because I have one too. And by the time you disable the safety, I’ll already have blown a hole through your head.”
He shoved her to the ground. As she collapsed, he laughed above her.
“I’ll be back next month.”
Bang. The door slammed shut.
Silence fell. As if nothing had happened.
Thankfully, she had sent her mother to Madame Merhi’s house today. She’d originally done it to ensure her mother would escape if she killed Cardian… but she never expected something like this.
Ansi got up and began cleaning. She silently lifted chairs, picked up scattered clothes, and gathered broken glass.
“…Ah.”
A sharp pain stung her finger. Blood welled up. She collapsed to the floor.
The burning hatred and sorrow in her gut would not fade.
If only she hadn’t borrowed money from someone like that. If only she had enough to cover her mother’s medicine. If only their family fortune hadn’t been seized. If only it hadn’t been for Cardian de Orphe, that bastard.
If she’d known this much hatred would pile up, she should have killed him back then.
Instead of fleeing in terror, she should’ve slit his throat.
When she closed her eyes, her father’s blood-soaked dog tags and her brother’s scream during the explosion haunted her.
Time for Ansi had not moved since that year—
The year her father and brother died.
