Chapter 17
I checked the academy’s list again—both the second-ranked entrant and the “Top 10 Talents to Watch.”
Altair Oswally wasn’t on either.
I felt dizzy. Gripping the bulletin board, I shut my eyes tightly. I had repeated regressions before, but this had never happened. There were always slight differences, but the major events and storylines remained consistent.
Altair Oswally had always been the top scorer. The genius of the century, the hope of the magical world, the next Tower Master—everyone everywhere talked about Altair during this time.
So what the hell is going on? Compared to the previous loop, it might seem like a minor difference, but if I compare this 10th loop with the 1st and 2nd…
“Tessarion, too…”
Even the male lead of this world is acting completely outside the main narrative’s flow.
“Ugh.”
I gasped and covered my mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
He was suddenly standing right beside me.
My neck went cold, blood froze. My heart thundered and my breath grew short. My vision blurred.
“It’s nothing… Your Grace, I just need a moment…”
Something was off.
Very off.
“Roy?”
“I have a lot on my mind, so…”
Chirp chirp!
Omo, who had been fluttering above, pecked my head insistently.
[Coordinates of the bench behind the Claremont Castle back gate bulletin board: (982, -209.114208, 12728)]
That strange phrase from the letter—no sender or recipient—floated through my muddled thoughts.
I didn’t have time or magic stones to build a teleport device. But I could send a short note to that unknown sender.
I dashed to the library front desk, sliced the corner of a letter envelope, and scribbled one sentence.
“Omo, please.”
Chirp!
Brave Omo snatched the note and zipped out of the library.
“Here already?”
A man seated on a green bench behind the back gate of Claremont Castle looked up warmly at the small round-eyed bird. Following tracking magic, the messenger bird landed on his finger. The man unfolded the brown paper the bird carried.
[Who are you?]
He smiled, stroking the bird’s head. Omo’s memories began flowing gently into the man’s mind.
Roy writing the letter, pouting when disappointed, giggling while hiding a raunchy book, passionately reading novels aloud, becoming confused…
The man’s lips curved into a crescent smile.
“You did well, Omo.”
He took out a pouch of seeds. Omo chirped happily and began eating on his palm.
Chirp chirp—then more Omo-like birds gathered, surrounding the man in an instant.
The meal was short but cheerful.
“Sorry, this is all I have,” he chuckled.
With shoulder-length reddish-brown hair, round glasses, and gently curved eyes, the man looked even more kind under the warm sunlight.
He pulled out another piece of brown paper.
[Nice to meet you. I’m Altair Oswally.]
After writing this brief reply, he cut the edge cleanly, folded it, and carefully tied it to Omo’s leg.
“Give it to Roy when he’s alone. Be careful of Tessarion.”
Chirp!
Omo puffed up his little chest as if to say, “Leave it to me!”
From the first etiquette lesson, Madame Mores was merciless. Posture, walking, greetings—three hours straight of corrections and nagging. My body and spirit were left in tatters.
Tessarion sat silently at the hall’s head seat, observing my torment.
He used to interfere at everything, warning things were too risky, too dangerous. But now, as I was practically bullied by Madame Mores, he watched with blank expression and no emotion.
And because I barely ate lunch, he had dinner without me. My stomach growled and I swallowed my saliva, but Tessarion didn’t glance at me once during the endless meal courses.
“Jerk…”
I rubbed my sunken belly and traced the floor’s decorative pattern.
In the spacious bedroom, Tessarion lay in a warm bathtub, loosening up. He looked at me, still standing like a decorative statue, and said:
“Aren’t you going to wash up too?”
I fiddled with “101 Positions for Excellent Offspring Production”, which I had secretly hidden all lesson long.
There was no way I could strip in front of Tessarion.
“I’ll bathe after Your Grace is done.”
“The water will get cold.”
“I don’t mind cold water.”
“You’ll catch a cold.”
“…”
“Do you miss nursing me now that my hands are healed?”
He clicked his tongue with an annoyed expression.
Catching a cold wasn’t the problem. Reheating bathwater was far more of a chore than refilling the tub.
There’s a massive cauldron near the kitchen to boil water. Then you carry it all the way to Tessarion’s room, scoop out the cooled water without spilling, and carefully mix in the hot water to balance the temperature. Do that a few times.
Try it yourself.
It’s such a hassle, you end up bathing in cold water.
Sure, a fire spell could heat the water instantly, but that kind of one-time magic is absurdly expensive. It’s cheaper to just call a servant.
Or I could insist on using the knight and servant bathhouse—and drag Tessarion along.
But that bathhouse…
Ugh…
Way back in the 1st loop, after training, the knights would jump into the communal bath without even rinsing off.
I still vividly remember the scum floating on the water, men gargling with it, washing matted hair and scrubbing their groins with it. Traumatizing.
How could I possibly ask the Duke to bathe in such filth?
“I’ve bathed in icy water mid-winter without catching a cold.”
“Pity.”
Tessarion leaned against the tub’s edge and let out a satisfied hum.
In the rising steam, his relaxed face, the curve of his arm over the rim, his wet gray hair being pushed back—every motion was too seductive.
I almost shouted, “F**ing hell, you lunatic!”* and broke into reader-mode. Why was he showing off this sex appeal to me, the sub-male lead?!
I glued my eyes to the floor and pressed my lips tight.
Water sloshed gently. Low, throaty sighs echoed like warm ripples into my ears.
Now.
I slipped “101 Positions…” into a stack of papers.
“Roy.”
“Y-yes?! Yes, Duke!”
I jumped, grabbing a robe. Tessarion, leaning on the tub’s edge, beckoned me over.
“Already done bathing?”
I hurried over with the robe and towel.
But just as I took a few steps—
He suddenly stood up.
I whipped around in panic.
Splish, splosh. His footsteps out of the water chilled me to the bone. No amount of mental discipline could block out the oppressive aura drawing near.
I held up the robe like a curtain.
“Is there anything you need? H-Huh?! Your Grace!”
Tessarion brushed aside the robe I held up like it was nothing. Face-to-face with his completely unguarded form, I recoiled like a terrified turtle.
