TMSB Ch#04

“What do you mean it’s an incurable disease, Father?”

Psyche stared at Viscount Clement with her eyelids trembling slightly. It was yet another announcement she simply couldn’t comprehend.

She could understand him encouraging her to renounce her inheritance. In the Sigurd Empire, if an heir gave up their claim, they were exempt from both the family’s wealth and its debts.

In other words, Psyche wouldn’t have to shoulder the burdens of the Clement family’s debts.

Of course, if the debt was massive, giving up inheritance wasn’t so easily approved. One had to prove they were unable to repay it. If Psyche were to marry, renouncing the inheritance would be nearly impossible—she would have to include her spouse’s financial standing as well.

But if she didn’t marry and simply ran away, she would have to abandon both her noble title and family. Still, it would allow her to escape this suffocating life.

Viscount Clement and his wife would remain imprisoned in it, slowly suffocating until their last breath.

Psyche wished for neither outcome.

“Are you very unwell?”

Viscount Clement’s face contorted without reply. Both were too exhausted to keep pretending everything was fine.

Psyche stared at her father’s wrinkled, pained expression. The eyes that once looked at her with unshakable confidence were now heavy with resignation.

The kind, steadfast father who had shaped who she was—was no longer there.

“They say my heart is failing. It’s a rare heart disease, so rare that they’re struggling to find a treatment.”

“……”

“Fortunately, Dr. Pascal, who took interest in my illness, agreed to help under the condition he could study it. So don’t worry, Psyche.”

Viscount Clement spoke slowly and smiled faintly.

Yet the shadow of resignation in his eyes remained.

“Father… even the medication must cost a fortune. Do you even know why that man is showing you such kindness?”

Psyche stared intently at his worried face.

She recalled what her mother had hinted at earlier—hadn’t she mentioned the need for medicine?

Though her father wore a faint smile to hide his worries, the truth would inevitably surface. No one could hide everything forever. The more Psyche’s head burned, the colder her reason became.

“Father, could you swear what you just said to me… even to God?”

Psyche had never believed in God. If a god truly existed, the world could never be so cruel.

From her grandfather’s time, the family’s debts had piled up, and now her father had been consumed by the burden of trying to repay them.

And yet, she had never once heard her father blame his circumstances or resent her grandfather.

If a god did exist—how could He do this to her father?

“No… of course there is no God. So let me ask again. Could you really lie to me, Father?”

She spoke the blasphemous words she’d never dared to even imagine.

The Sigurd Empire was steeped in religious fervor—denying God was considered heresy.

But Psyche believed her father’s thoughts likely weren’t so different from her own.

One might lie to God—but not to each other.

At least, that’s what Psyche believed.

“If necessary… I believed I could.”

“……”

“And I still do.”

“Father…”

But Viscount Clement still did not speak the full truth.

Psyche both understood and couldn’t understand him.

“Psyche. It’s true I’ve decided to accept the doctor’s help. I don’t expect you to agree with or accept everything. But there’s just one thing I want to tell you.”

“…Father. I only…”

“Don’t concern yourself with the Clement family anymore. I intend to hand the title to someone else. Surely someone out there still wants this family name.”

Her nausea surged. Psyche swallowed down the bitter shards of emotion that clawed at her throat.

Viscount Clement had already made his decision. This wasn’t a discussion—it was a notification.

“Return to your room at once.”

“…Yes.”

Psyche bit back everything she wanted to say and stepped back.

She understood him—but she couldn’t accept it.

Psyche bowed respectfully, her fists clenched tight. Viscount Clement didn’t respond; he simply looked away.

“I understand your decision, Father. But even if you object—I will protect our family.”

Her message was clear.

She was delivering her intentions in the very way her father had once advised her to: directly.

She glanced at the man who now stood before her—the father who once existed in her memory—and bowed her head.

There was no point in pouring her heart out to someone unwilling to answer. With her resolve firm, Psyche turned away.

She was about to leave the room—until a violent fit of coughing stopped her cold.

Dry, scratchy coughs rang out.

Viscount Clement, now gasping, suddenly let out a painful groan.

Psyche froze at the sound of his labored breathing. Her mind blanked.

“…Psyche.”

His voice was hoarse, likely from the coughing.

Psyche stood frozen in shock.

“I’m sorry… for everything I’ve…”

His words came in stammering fragments—and then they stopped.

“…Father?”

“……”

They say humans can instinctively sense danger.

They were right. A chill ran down her spine.

Psyche turned back toward the path she had just taken.

The skirt of her linen dress flared stiffly in the cold seasonal breeze.

“Father!”

Her scream tore out. She covered her mouth with trembling hands as she rushed forward.

Her legs, already stiff, crumpled with each step.

Viscount Clement was clutching his chest with one hand, gasping for air.

Psyche quickly knelt before him and grabbed his sleeve.

“Father! Please, stay with me. Okay?”

She had to save him—no matter what.

But the terror of the moment—the fear of losing her father, the man she thought would always be by her side—overwhelmed her.

Despite her desperate pleas, Viscount Clement began convulsing.

“I… I’ll go get someone—”

“…Kuh.”

His eyes, once warm or distant with guilt, now wandered lifelessly through the air.

Psyche slowly released his sleeve, her lifeline, as she stared at his empty gaze.

“F-Father.”

His limp hand slipped to the floor. Psyche swayed in place, dazed.

Her mind went white. But if she didn’t move now, he might not survive. That fear finally spurred her into action.

She took a step—and collapsed.

She tried to rise, but her legs had no strength.

Dragging herself across the floor, she reached out.

After several tries, her hand found the bell rope connected to the front chamber.

Only then did her strength give out.

—

* * *

“The emergency treatment is complete. There’s no need to worry.”

Psyche slowly opened her eyes.

“Dear heavens… thank you, Lord.”

The Viscountess crossed herself in prayer, while Psyche began sorting through the chaotic thoughts in her head.

She met eyes with the doctor—his glasses trimmed with gold—and gave a small bow of gratitude.

The doctor bowed in return, averting his gaze.

Psyche turned away from him and faced the man standing behind her.

The man known as the Grand Duke’s envoy. The one with those unsettling eyes.

“Thank you. I know it was shameless of me, but I’m grateful for your help.”

The man met her gaze and slowly curled his lips into a smile.

She understood that was his way of replying.

“I’m fine, Psyche.”

At her father’s voice, Psyche dropped her gaze to the floor.

Thanks to the man’s help, Viscount Clement had barely escaped death.

Finding and bringing a qualified doctor had been no easy feat—there were so few in the empire.

Thanks to the envoy’s help, Psyche had managed to save her father.

She didn’t know what strings he had pulled, but the doctor had arrived at the mansion almost immediately. He recommended keeping a physician on standby for future emergencies.

Psyche was truly grateful to the Grand Duke’s envoy. Without him, they might not have made it through.

For a brief moment, she wondered how she looked in his cold blue eyes.

But she decided not to wonder. Sometimes, truths were better left buried.

Meeting the envoy’s gaze again, Psyche slowly opened her lips.

“May I have a word with you?”