WDHTMU | CHAPTER 33

Chapter 33

The sack Claudio had carried in was filled to the brim with food—so much that just looking at it made Marsha feel rich.

If I’d come alone, I couldn’t have brought even a quarter of this…

For a patient, the man had an unreasonable amount of strength. 

He’d been a huge help all day.

Honestly, even during the haggling, I owe him a lot.

Earlier, Marsha had told Claudio she did all the bargaining herself—but that wasn’t quite true. 

Whenever a merchant clung stubbornly to a ridiculous price, claiming they had too many customers to deal with her, she’d subtly glance toward Claudio or call out something like, “Hey, could you come hold these bags for a second?”—just enough to hint that he was with her.

And it worked beautifully.

I got it way cheaper than I expected.

Good. 

As much as he worked today, I’ll make sure he eats like a king tonight.

Marsha dumped vegetables into a large basin with no hesitation.

But if I prepare all of this… we won’t be eating until midnight.

She frowned, hesitated a moment, then headed outside where Claudio was.

“Hey.”

He had just taken off the bulky fabric draped over him and was quietly gazing into the forest. 

At her voice, he turned his head.

“What is it?”

Hmm?

There was something… off about him. 

Maybe it was just the absence of his usual relaxed smirk. 

Maybe it was the sunset casting his face in the shadows. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Perfectly.”

His reply was sharp and immediate.

“You worry about my health far too much.”

Marsha pouted. 

She hadn’t forgotten the days he lay there without waking, not knowing if he ever would.

 How could she not worry?

“Can you help me with something?”

“With what?”

“I was hoping you’d help me prepare some vegetables…”

Claudio blinked, then gave a simple nod.

Thank goodness.

She’d been worried his pride might flare up—thinking that herb prep and vegetable chopping were two different things.

Marsha assumed he’d do it in the kitchen, but instead, he picked up the basin and a kitchen knife and took them outside.

“Why? Is it too cramped there?”

“Not really.”

“If there’s no reason, let’s do it inside. It’ll be dark soon.”

“I’ll finish before that.”

His answer was flat, almost indifferent. 

Marsha tilted her head.

What’s going on?

Normally, he’d wear that cocky grin and say something like, “Why? Think I can’t handle this much?”

…Then again, he was surprisingly serious when prepping herbs, too.

Deciding it was probably just her imagination, Masha nodded and headed back inside. 

“Alright then.”

While she bustled around the kitchen, busy with dinner, Claudio sat outside and worked in silence.

Some time passed.

“Where should I put this?”

“What? You’re already done?!”

Marsha rushed toward him in disbelief.

She’d half expected him to peel the skins way too thick, but the cuts were clean and thin.

Is this the swordsmanship of a knight at work?

Satisfied, she stretched out her arms.

Claudio flinched slightly, but she didn’t notice—too busy marvelling at the perfectly prepped vegetables.

“You worked hard. Here, give it to me.”

“…It’s fine. Just tell me where to put it.”

“Just hand it over. The kitchen’s a mess…”

“Exactly. That’s why I’ll carry it in.”

“No, seriously, just give it—”

Claudio’s brow twitched.

Is pushing herself some kind of hobby for this woman?

This conversation was going nowhere.

He decided he’d just do it himself and pulled the basin toward him.

What?

Marsha wasn’t about to give in. 

She pulled it back toward her.

Wait, seriously?

The weighty basin wobbled mid-air, rocking back and forth between them.

“You really don’t like losing, do you?” 

Claudio muttered.

“Look who’s talking!”

She snapped back.

Just then, Marsha’s hand slipped. 

She quickly caught the basin again—but in doing so, her arm shot forward too quickly, landing squarely over Claudio’s hand.

“!”

Masha froze. And then, a ridiculous thought popped into her head.

His hand… is huge.

Placed against his, Masha’s hand looked like a toy.

Claudio’s hand, likely hardened from years of training, was much larger—rougher, firmer—but strangely warm. Comforting, even.

So this is the hand that wrapped around my back earlier…

No wonder it felt like pressing against a wall—solid and unshakeable. 

Of course it would, with a hand this big.

As the tips of her ears flushed red for no good reason, Claudio suddenly lifted his hand.

As a result, Marsha’s hand—still resting on top—was lifted high into the air, and the basin, now abandoned by both their hands, plummeted to the ground with a loud CRASH!

With a spectacular clatter, it hit the ground.

Startled, Marsha’s mouth dropped as she stared at the pitiful sight of vegetables rolling across the dirt.

“…Oh no…”

Her lips trembled. 

It was a tragic scene.

Wait, now’s not the time to just sit here!

She quickly dropped to her knees and began gathering the scattered vegetables back into the basin.

“…”

Claudio, snapping out of his daze a beat too late, bent his knees to help her—but Marsha flung out a hand.

“Don’t. If you crouch like that, you’ll hurt your side again.”

“It’s just for a moment.”

“Not even for a moment. Absolutely not.”

Marsha’s voice was firmer than ever.

Yeah… there’s no winning this one.

Claudio furrowed his brow and let out a sigh of surrender.

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine. People make mistakes.”

She said it lightly, but inside, she was a little dumbfounded.

All that just because our hands touched?

Seriously?

Anyone watching would think a spider had landed on his hand.

Then again… it was sudden.

That could startle someone.

As Marsha tried to calm her thoughts, Claudio spoke again.

“I didn’t mean to. Your hand touched mine so suddenly; I just reacted.”

Her lips twitched into a pout.

Oh? I figured that’s what happened, even without the explanation.

As she continued picking up the vegetables, ready to reassure him, Claudio added,

“Sorry.”

“I told you, you don’t need to apologise—”

“No, this apology’s for something else.”

Huh?

What now?

Marsha looked up.

The house interior had darkened with dusk, making it hard to read his expression.

Then Claudio said,

“You don’t like physical contact… and I crossed that line.”

…What?

Startled, Marsha blinked rapidly.

But before she could speak, he added,

“I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“Wait, no—hold on!”

She shook her head and blurted out in a rush,

“I don’t dislike it, okay?”

It wasn’t like she had some strange hobby of enjoying random contact with others, sure.

But she didn’t hate it so much that a brief brush of hands was the end of the world.

Where is this even coming from? Wait… don’t tell me…

Her eyes narrowed like a suspicious cat.

“You’re the one who hates it, aren’t you? And now you’re blaming me for getting out of it?”

So that whole basket-dropping incident—was it really because he hated physical touch and used her as the excuse?

Just as a pang of hurt and disappointment began creeping into her chest, Claudio said—

“I don’t hate it.”

His voice was resolute. 

Marsha stared up at him, stunned, her expression blank.

Claudio seemed just as startled by his own words. 

His eyes rounded, and then he quickly brought a hand to his mouth.

“I mean…”

His voice slipped through his fingers, warm and flustered.

“I just mean… I wouldn’t blame you if you found someone like me utterly repulsive.”

No matter how many times he apologized, nothing could erase what Claudio had done.

And no matter how outspoken Marcia normally was—how she never hesitated to speak her mind—there was no guarantee that the sudden touch of his hand wouldn’t bring back the memory of that moment, of that hand.

That must be why she flinched earlier, he thought.

Pale as a ghost… as if haunted by a nightmare…

Claudio tasted bitterness in his mouth.

What kind of monster had he been back then?

Even if he’d been out of his mind with fever, that was no excuse.

How could he have been so blind, so completely unaware of the situation?

How could he have done that to the very woman who had saved him—this gentle, fragile woman?

Honestly, I wish I could beat the hell out of myself right now.

He wanted to punch himself then and there.

But what would that look like to Marsha?

Just the violent flailing of a deranged psychopath.

Terrifying, probably.

Or maybe she’d snap at him instead—I save your life and this is how you thank me?

No matter how you slice it, I must be making her uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, Marsha was at a loss.

What’s going on with this arrogant brute? 

Why is he suddenly talking like he’s someone else?

This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened out of the blue.

Something must have triggered it.

As she carefully traced her memory, she recalled something on their way back—she had instinctively pulled away from his hand.

Up until that moment, he’d been as irritatingly smug as usual. So that must’ve been what caused this shift.

Oh no… He’s completely misunderstood.

It wasn’t fear that made her pull away from his hand.

“Sometimes, you remind me of a noble lady.”

To her, it sounded like a warning.
Be careful.

Slip up even once, and your secret’s blown.

He knew her situation—and yet he hadn’t said a word. 

So… if the day ever came when he learnt the full truth, would he still keep silent?

Or—

Maybe he could overlook an undocumented migrant… but a missing noblewoman from a foreign country? That’s a whole different story.

Or would he—his beautiful, cold eyes narrowing—look at her and glare as if to say:

“What exactly are you trying to pull?”