TREV 23

Chapter : 23

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

Morgan shook his head as if frustrated.

“Were you alone?”

“I was with Barber and Milrem, but they didn’t see what flew in either.”

“Did you check the area?”

If something had flown in and struck his head, it must’ve landed on the ground.

But Morgan could only shake his head.

“There was nothing unusual.”

“……”

At those words, Lawrence frowned, and Morgan seemed to think he was being worried about.

“Don’t worry too much. Father said a stone must have bounced up while we were swinging swords and told me to be careful. I think so too.”

“Then among Lord Barber or Lord Milrem, one of them…?”

“Probably, except they both said it wasn’t them.”

Morgan shrugged.

Something felt strange, but Lawrence simply nodded.

He couldn’t understand how one could practice swordsmanship so badly that a stone on the ground would bounce high enough to hit one’s head—but he let it go.

Everyone knew the Herarilla boys had no talent for swordsmanship.

“You should probably be more careful during practice from now on.”

At Lawrence’s remark, Morgan’s face flushed bright red.

It seemed he knew well enough how awful his swordsmanship was and reacted sensitively.

“Their swordsmanship is atrocious.”

Morgan said it calmly, as if it had nothing to do with him—as if he were different.

But the bright red face and trembling gaze clearly showed how mortified he was.

Lawrence considered teasing him further, then simply nodded.

“My lord, Patricia seems to be running late. Would you care for a walk in the garden with me?”

Lawrence had no real desire to stroll anywhere, but after thinking a moment, he rose to his feet.

* *

“Good day, my lord.”

“Oh—Lord Barber.”

Walking down the corridor, Lawrence ran into Barber Herarilla and surprisingly stammered a bit.

The moment Lawrence’s eyes landed on Barber’s face, a question crossed his own.

“Well then, enjoy your stay. I-I’ll take my leave now.”

Barber stuttered in embarrassment at Lawrence’s stare, then hurried off.

“Lord Morgan, why was Barber…”

“Ah, well…”

Morgan stammered.

He clearly knew something, but answering seemed difficult.

“Was Barber also hit by a stone?”

With that reaction, Lawrence understood the bruise on Barber’s face.

Morgan must’ve punched him.

“…Yes.”

But Morgan answered only in a tiny voice.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d thrown a punch and bruised his younger brother.

He knew it was shameful.

“He’s bruised as if someone hit him.”

Fighting while practicing swordsmanship? That mental image made Lawrence snort a laugh.

“…Impossible.”

Morgan’s face reddened again.

He worried that Lawrence might have realized the truth, yet still brazenly denied it.

“Ha!”

“M-My lord?”

Morgan blinked rapidly, startled by Lawrence’s empty, deflating laugh.

Lawrence lifted his gaze, one corner of his mouth twisting, and glanced at Morgan.

Morgan’s expression gradually stiffened.

“Indeed.”

After a long moment, Lawrence finally spoke.

“There’s no one more ridiculous than a man who thinks he can solve everything with fists and brute strength.”

“…Quite right.”

“For a moment, I thought you’d swung your fist.”

“……”

“But of course you’d never stoop to something so undignified.”

Lawrence shot Morgan a sidelong look.

Morgan’s already flushed cheeks deepened in color.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Y-Yes! Exactly! Throwing fists is beneath us!”

Morgan shook his head vehemently.

“That’s what crude, uneducated street rabble do when they cannot reason. I am nothing like those people. Violence is beneath me.”

His words sped up.

“I have never once thrown a punch in my life, my lord.”

Lawrence slowly nodded.

“Lady Patricia has arrived. Perhaps we should end our walk here.”

“Ah…”

Only then did Morgan notice Patricia behind him.

Their eyes met—her violet irises calm, unreadable.

A bead of sweat slid down Morgan’s face.

“P-Patricia, you’re here.”

“……”

“Th-then I’ll be going!”

Wiping sweat with his sleeve, Morgan hurried away.

He’d read the words forming silently on Patricia’s expression.

Really? Not even once?

Staying any longer would mean dying of humiliation.

* *

“My lord, what brings you here today?”

I asked as I stared at Morgan’s retreating back.

It hadn’t even been a week.

Hadn’t he visited just a few days ago?

And now he was here again—what could he possibly need this time?

If he had something to say, couldn’t he have said it then?
What a hassle.

“……”

Lawrence’s face briefly hardened.

“You could’ve sent a letter if you were busy. Coming personally like this leaves me at a loss.”

“……”

“Did you wait long?”

I worried my tone sounded like complaining.

So I hurried to clarify—pretending I was grateful, not annoyed.

“…No.”

“Good! I was worried you might have been waiting too long.”

Feigning innocence, I clasped my hands together.

“……”

What he wanted to say, he could just say it.

Lawrence looked into my face steadily.

“You’ve changed.”

“…What?”

“You’ve changed.”

Step.

He took one step closer.

His red eyes darkened—almost searching.

He stared for a long while.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“So you won’t tell me.”

My heart pounded like crazy.

My pupils must be shaking too.

Better to lower my head than get caught staring in panic. And at that moment—

Thump.

His hands caught my head.

“…Huh?”

I reflexively lifted my face, shocked.

What—what was he doing?

With absolute seriousness, Lawrence patted my head.

Not gently like a romance novel.

But like someone rubbing a stone statue for good luck—firm, thorough, earnest.

His expression was so somber it proved how sincere this bizarre act was.

After a long while, he finally withdrew his hands.

“W–What was that for?”

“…Something was on your head.”

What a pathetic excuse.

He’d have sounded more believable saying he wiped sweat onto my hair.

“…Something was on my head?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded vaguely.

Suspicion filled my glare, but he didn’t care.

His gaze drifted downward—slowly.

“……!”

No way.

I stiffened, instinctively stepping back and covering myself.

What if he reached again—

“Ahem! N-No.”

Lawrence’s face flushed bright red before he turned away sharply.

“If there’s anything I can help with, tell me.”

“…Help with what?”

“I can do at least that much.”

“……”

“And your ball gown—make it blue.”

Why did he sound…sad?

Was that emotion meant for me?

His brow faintly furrowed, a soft sigh escaping.

Completely unlike usual.

I stared at him, unable to respond.

He’d accused me of changing…then manhandled my head…then offered help…and now dictated my dress color?

Why was he even here?

“I mean it. If you need help, call me.”

And again.

Offering help.

He turned away.

I had no idea what help he imagined I needed—or what I could even ask.

Help.

If I could make one request of him, I knew what it’d be—

Please forgive me for losing that photograph.

That’s all.

But somehow, that didn’t seem like the sort of help he was talking about.

“…Haa.”

I stared blankly at the spot he’d left, then sighed.

At least he didn’t hate me anymore.

That much was good.

But why the sudden interest?

Why say cryptic things and make me uneasy?

Yes—I’ve changed.

I don’t chase him anymore, don’t bother him.
That’s good news for him, isn’t it?

“……”

If I could wish for one more thing, it’d be this—

Let him lose interest in me again.

Once the photograph matter ends—if it ever ends—we can drift apart like we should.

“……”

What is wrong with that boy?

I shook the lingering warmth out of my hair.

* *

Bang!

“Patricia!”

As always, Morgan barged into my room without knocking.

I could guess why he came.

He wanted to know what Lawrence had said.

“What did you talk about with the young duke?”

“……”

I restrained a sigh.

Why on earth should I report to him?

The audacity was unbelievable.

“He said to match the dress in blue.”

He wouldn’t understand if I argued, so I gave him the barest answer possible.

“And? He didn’t say anything else?”

This idiot never knew when to be satisfied.

I only shrugged.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Didn’t we fight? Even if we hadn’t, I still wouldn’t want to talk to you. Sharing this room with you is enough to make me sick.”

“What! You wretched—!”

Morgan puffed up, trying to intimidate me.

“Crude street thugs solve things with violence. I am nothing like them. Violence is beneath me.”

“……”

His steps halted.

“You said you’ve never once thrown a punch in your life.”

Realizing I was mocking him, Morgan flushed even redder.

“So what you did to the butler last time wasn’t violence?”

“T-that was—!”

“Are you too uneducated to know what violence is? Or did you lie to the young duke?”

His eyes flickered.

He hadn’t known I was there then.

“Or should I ask him myself whether what you did that day was violent?”

Morgan trembled in humiliation yet quickly shook his head.

I hadn’t expected him to fold so easily.

It had just been a jab to tease him, yet he reacted like I’d caught him by the throat.

Why he acted like this, I didn’t know—and didn’t care.

I only wanted him out as quickly as possible.

“Fine, I won’t.”

“……”

I said magnanimously.

As if I’d ever actually bring it up with Lawrence.

When I jerked my chin toward the door, Morgan obediently moved.

“Oh, one more thing, Morgan. When you enter someone’s room, it’s polite to knock. Basic manners.”

“……”

His clenched fist trembled.

He glared at me, breath hitching, but stomped out and slammed the door.

Bang.

I stared at the closed door, oddly triumphant—and mildly perplexed.

Morgan clearly feared Lawrence.

But why that much?