Chapter 10…
“I’m sorry.”
First, I needed to bow my head. If the person insisted, I was even willing to kneel and press my forehead to the floor. Kalian, who was looking over documents in his office, frowned deeply—those wrinkles will leave marks—and slowly spoke.
“What is this—”
“…At the banquet. I’m sorry. I caused a scene.”
If you’re going to remember it anyway, you might as well forget it. And if you can’t handle it, you shouldn’t do it at all. I prepared to kneel on the office carpet, reflecting on my past misdeeds.
“What are you doing now?”
“Preparing to bow. Which do you prefer: kneeling and lying flat, or bowing and supporting myself with my legs?”
“What—”
“Don’t you know the prone-stretch thing? Anyway, there’s truly nothing I could say, even if I had twelve mouths…”
“Wait, wait. Stop.”
As I moved my palms to the floor with a sense of solemnity, Kalian got up from his seat and urgently waved his hands. Huh, so he does have some sense of decency.
“It’s not necessary.”
“What isn’t? The apology? A spouse certified by His Majesty the Emperor?”
“Adriana, you need to recognize that you are a noble yourself. Consider that enough for an apology.”
“Uh.”
“What?”
“I’ll just not apologize then! I truly mean it when I say sorry, but if you want a noble spouse, go to the palace now and ask His Majesty to arrange a marriage. I will comply without resistance.”
“You just said you’re sorry to me—”
“Eh. I am sorry for making a scene while drunk, but I have no desire to put on airs of nobility. If you feel like it, I can just kneel instead?”
“Is your knee so light?”
“Honestly, bending my knee once is easier than saying a thousand words, right?”
Rather than offering a long-winded excuse, it’s more efficient to bend the knee once. A lowered gaze doesn’t wear out the joints, and it also proves sincerity.
Kalian’s face twisted as if he had discovered an unsolvable question in a test. Still, his facial muscles only moved half-heartedly, but the Grand Duke of the North was doing his best to look appalled.
“You really—”
“Consistent, right?”
“…You leave me speechless.”
“Huh? You don’t usually talk anyway, Kalian.”
He does nag me sometimes, but usually, it’s just a raised eyebrow, a small nod, or a slight twitch of the lips.
“Even in this, really…”
“Charming, isn’t it?”
“Hah…”
Kalian waved his hands as if to say he had nothing more to say.
“Yes, well. Have a good evening.”
His office was clean and modestly furnished according to Kalian’s tastes. “Furnished” might even be an exaggeration—the space was simple, yet every piece of furniture was high-quality, and the paintings on the walls looked like they had used an exorbitant amount of paint.
Tall, deep bookshelves, a wide wooden desk matching the owner’s height, and a thick carpet keeping the chill away.
“…Ah. If I truly wanted to apologize, I should quit drinking—”
“Pardon? You want me to bow my head even now?”
“…About the drinking—”
“A gentleman ignores a lady’s mistakes. I must be going; I have books borrowed from the library to read.”
I waved the hardcover 1500 Years of Brewing bound in pale yellow leather and stepped back from Kalian.
After apologizing, I felt relieved. Following the conscience of my timid self, my mind became like a lake, and a river of peace washed over me.
Damn it.
A huge problem had arisen. I wanted to flip off a god I didn’t even believe in. Ever since living in this strange world as an unknown person, I’d felt that way, but today, I wanted to slap God’s face even more.
The world hits you on the good cheek after the left one is slapped, they say—but this was really too much. One of the two things that infuriates a person most is stopping mid-sentence—and—
“Huuuu…”
The sky was clear, the sun bright. The garden here was more delicate and beautiful than the rather roughly maintained estate. Spring flowers and fresh sprouts should have lifted my spirits, but right now, I just wanted to bury my head in the dirt and cry.
Boo-hoo.
“Milady?”
“Yes?”
“What is that porridge?”
“-It isn’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said it isn’t porridge.”
“Then what is it?”
It was rice (supposedly). I swallowed my words and entered the mansion sadly. The sunlight was warm, but it was no match for brightening my mood.
If this was going to happen from the start, they shouldn’t have given me hope. Burying the rice deep in the servant-maintained garden felt like burying my hope along with it.
So, the rice I excitedly ordered a while ago was fake. No, “fake” isn’t right. In this world, it would be considered real. But the taste, the taste—
“This isn’t the rice I know…”
I soaked it longer, added less water, but every pot of rice I cooked tasted nothing like the rice I remembered. It wasn’t just a matter of white rice vs. brown rice, or sticky vs. firm—the flavor was completely different.
This wasn’t my skill’s fault. What I did was no different than trying to make a sweet potato pizza with coconut.
“Huuuu, damn it…”
I remembered my older sister, who cooked rice, seasoned vegetables, and made soup every few days while working.
“Ugh, you little brat, do you know how hard it is to make rice? Just standing there and washing dishes doesn’t cut it. You don’t appreciate the effort put into a proper meal.”
Sister, I’m sorry… If she saw me, who once ran away from fire in fear, cooking rice alone, she might have fainted. Ultimately, it all failed.
“Milady, what will you have for lunch?”
“I’ll eat in the dining room.”
Roasted potatoes, cream soup, white bread, a steak slightly bloody, and chicory with sour-salty dressing were served on neat dishes. The bread was bland, the soup greasy, and the potatoes—never mind.
Potatoes should be drenched in chili sauce with melted cheese, or grated, salted, and pan-fried flat.
Leaving food untouched would insult the capital invested in it, so I ate with fork and knife, but my heart was empty, and I felt no fullness.
“Is it good?”
“Not bad.”
I had planned to study over a hundred ways to cook rice, but this plan was ruined. I swallowed my tears and emptied the dish. Kalian, however, ate without expression, like someone taking nutrients for survival rather than pleasure.
“The food doesn’t suit your taste?”
“The seasoning is off.”
“Too bland?”
“Not salty, I want something spicy.”
His gaze, without exclamation or question, just a period, shifted slightly. Dark, like blood, sunset, or ripe persimmon.
“Spicy, you say—”
“No, not that kind. Not a tingle, more like a burning sensation?”
“I see.”
“You like spicy food?”
“I have no strong preferences for food.”
A soldier’s answer. Though not a full soldier, as the ruler of a territory near the border where monsters first cross, Kalian was accustomed to war and war-like situations.
I didn’t care much, but it was a bit disappointing. If he were a picky gourmet, things would have been easier.
“It would be nice to have something you like.”
“Why’s that?”
“It makes life more fulfilling.”
“Is that what alcohol is to you?”
“Well, yes?”
The pudding served afterward was decent. Luckily, the dessert tasted familiar. Without rich crème brûlée and moist macarons, I might have just drowned in alcohol every day.
“Then better none, I suppose.”
That guy… I thought about hitting Kalian’s head with an empty bottle. He’d dodge instantly, of course, being the exceptional Grand Duke.
“I have a question.”
“Again?”
“Just listen first. Uh, are there books not in the Royal Library?”
“Almost every book distributed in the Empire is there, unless it’s intentionally hidden.”
“Even about magic? There’s the Mage’s Association, the Mage Tower. Do they keep separate books?”
“-Magic, you say…? Your guess is right. The Tower does have old books of its own. But there are enough books at Winter as well.”
Kalian rested his chin on his right hand and answered patiently. I wanted to object to him placing his arm on the table, but I held back.
“I want to brew alcohol smoothly.”
I hadn’t seen a story claiming the Grand Duke of the North had a dislocated jaw or scoliosis.
The Mage’s Association library was inside the Mage Tower. Outsiders could enter, but only with prior permission, which could be denied at the administrator’s discretion. Even a reason as vague as “not in the mood” was sufficient for rejection, and applicants couldn’t dispute it.
In some ways, it had more power than the royal family—though only within the Tower.
“Your name?”
“Adriana de Winter.”
Filling out the prior application was a headache, but permission granted, I followed the staff down the Tower in spirals.
‘Tower’ suggested narrow and tall, but in reality, it was spacious and high. Space was used efficiently given the limited plot.
Some items seemed close but were far away; some were only visible up close. It wasn’t considerate to non-magical people.
“Return the same way you came.”
The staff explained in a voice soaked with chronic fatigue, then disappeared like dust. Maybe most wizards are portrayed as crazy in novels because sane ones can’t endure the habitual overwork. Only the slightly unhinged survive.
“What book are you looking for?”
“Uh… um, sorry. Are there books about other worlds?”
The person who appeared behind me was two heads taller. Long limbs moved like a limp giraffe.
“Of course. Specifically—”
“About meeting souls from other worlds, that kind of thing?”
Following his curly hair, we reached a neatly arranged stack of books. Readability was clearly not considered.
“Ah, I think I can just choose from these. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Being awake for 200 hours makes anything feel new.”
“…Excuse me?”
Here’s a labor law addition! I started calculating the working hours of a wizard based on South Korean labor law, then gave up.
“I didn’t expect someone awake for 200 hours to survive…”
“A normal person would have died. But I’m special.”
His amber eyes glittered with madness. His short hair was shiny and curly—whether that shine was hair oil or insanity, who could tell?
Whether the poor wizard was insane or not, the books he recommended were genuine. I skimmed the table of contents instead of checking everything, which seemed sufficient. If these didn’t work, I’d have to wait until next year.
“Adriana.”
“How do you know my name—”
“Are you adapting well to this world?”
His round eyes twisted mischievously. A sociable, crazy wizard. In a normal novel, there’d only be one character like this.
