Chapter 19:
After finishing her performance, Franz glanced at Kiryan to read his expression.
Kiryan, frowning at an emotion he was feeling for the first time, looked more terrifying than ever.**
*‘This is crazy. Why did I insist on performing…?’*
While she hesitated, watching Kiryan’s mood, he was fighting desperately to hold back the surge of emotion welling up inside him.
He met dozens of people every day.
They all eyed the crumbs of benefit that might fall from him, skilled at sizing him up to use him for their own gain.
No one had ever given him a gift out of pure sincerity.
When they were children it had been her snacks, and now it was her music… Franz alone treated him without ulterior motives.
Why on earth was this tiny thing so naive?
Even as a sigh escaped him, her clear goodwill warmed him to the point his insides trembled.
“…You…”
Franz, frightened and cautious, glanced up at him. Small for a man, slight of build, almost feminine.
Maybe that was why—even though it hadn’t been long since their reunion—he could clearly see she wasn’t like ordinary men at all.
“Y-Yes?”
“…….”
Kiryan stared at Franz. Suddenly her shabby clothes caught his eye.
“Let’s go.”
“Go… where?”
“I refuse to see my younger brother walking around in such rough clothes. If you’re someone who performs on stage, you need a fine formal suit befitting that.”
“What? No, you don’t have to—”
While Franz stammered, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along.
Her bones were so delicate it made him sigh. How could someone this fragile survive in such a harsh world?
Kiryan headed straight to a nearby clothing shop. He didn’t have the time to order custom-made clothes and wait for them to be finished.
Marching in confidently, he skimmed his fingers along the racks from one end to the other.
“From here to there—pack everything and deliver it to the Alyosha Theater.”
“What? What are you talking about?!”
Franz gaped at him in shock.
“You don’t even have a proper place to live, so fine clothes might be too much for now. Then we’ll only take those hanging on this wall. Next, shoes. Let’s go.”
“No, no. I’m fine! My clothes are totally—”
She looked down at her clothes and stopped. Even to her own eyes, they were too shabby.
She often rolled around on sandy beaches or back alleys, so they were stained and frayed everywhere.
Still, since ‘Franz Bernicke’ didn’t feel like her true self, she’d never felt the need to dress nicely.
“I can buy my own clothes!”
“The great Duke Hischleger can’t even give his younger brother this much? Truly, I’d love to give you a good house with plenty of sunlight, but since you’d dislike that, clothes will have to do.”
“This is too much. I… I’ll just accept the thought behind it.”
Her voice shrank as she watched his expression.
She felt like dying of embarrassment. But she mustered courage and pulled out a few outfits she liked from the rack.
“Shopkeeper. I’ll try these on to check the size. He’ll pay. We don’t need the rest.”
“Franz.”
At Kiryan’s disapproving tone, Franz reflexively gave him a sheepish smile—an innocent smile Parrady said could disarm anything.
“Don’t feel pressured.”
“No. It’s just… I don’t need that much. Instead, buy me a meal sometimes. I like food.”
“……Fine.”
If she didn’t want it, he couldn’t force her—especially someone like Franz, who watched him so nervously, unable to hide her fear.
Even though she refused his gift, he found himself liking her all the more.
Not wanting compensation, knowing propriety.
Such traits were rare in the world he lived in.
Even in the Frutra where he grew up, wasn’t it a world of devils who devoured and were devoured?
“It suits you well.”
In new shoes and clothes, Franz looked like the rich young master he remembered from the past.
Shining golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, a relaxed smile, fair skin.
Compared to the rough-and-tumble Kiryan, Franz looked more fitting to be the Duke of Hischleger.
“Thank you.”
Franz couldn’t hide the embarrassed guilt on her face. The new clothes felt unfamiliar; she fiddled with the loose hem of the vest.
“Let’s go. I’ll walk you to the theater.”
“Uh… okay.”
As they retraced their steps, Kiryan, now more relaxed, asked Franz various questions.
Predictable ones:
Can you make a living playing piano?
Don’t you want to settle somewhere?
Thought about doing other work?
Are you satisfied with your current life?
As if he were family.
“Honestly… well… this work doesn’t make much money but…”
He saw trouble spread across Franz’s face.
Matching her words to Franz’s circumstances rather than her real identity—Yvonne Moore—felt like lying, and it was hard.
But Kiryan didn’t know that. He assumed Franz was just uncomfortable being asked personal questions by an old childhood friend she wasn’t yet close to.
“If you need it, I can find you a decent part-time job.”
“I’m an adult too. I can take care of myself.”
Franz spoke carefully yet firmly. Then she checked her cheap wristwatch and exclaimed,
“I have to go. I forgot I had an appointment. Thank you for today… Duke—no… Yan.”
The nickname *Yan* still felt awkward on her tongue, but the moment she said it, it felt like they were children again. A faint smile appeared on her lips.
Franz rushed back to the mansion. Practicing wasn’t the problem.
“Ughhh.”
She ran straight to the bathroom and threw up. “Vomit Fairy Franz” was the nickname she’d earned from constantly getting nauseous and throwing up easily.
“Young miss. You’ve got indigestion again? What on earth did you eat?”
“If only it weren’t for the clothes…”
Maybe Kiryan’s offer to buy her clothes weighed on her a lot. Enough to make her sick like this.
Just then, a commotion sounded by the front door, and Parrady burst inside. He locked it quickly, and immediately someone began pounding from outside.
“Young master! Open this door! Young master Parrady!”
“Knock all you want. I’m not opening.”
Parrady braced the door with a bar so the family butler, Alberto, couldn’t open it, then flopped onto the floor, sweating.
“What? You said you were going to a meeting for a prospective match.”
“I ran. I thought it’d be a casual chat over tea, but they started talking about dowries and future children.”
“Oh.”
“Grandfather sent the household guards to the troupe, so I came here instead. The old man still never touches your home.”
“The marquis must have a lot on his mind.”
“What? Whose side are you on?”
Parrady suddenly put her in a headlock.
“Aaagh! That hurts!”
“You brat, I raise you and you take his side?”
He thumped her on the head, and she tried to push him away.
Eventually, the two collapsed side-by-side on the parlor carpet, panting.
Once they calmed down, they talked about what had happened that day. Yvonne’s golden hair and Parrady’s curly black hair tangled together on the carpet.
“Grandfather wants me married soon… but I don’t know. I’m starting to think my happiness matters more than the family.”
“That’s a tough one.”
Yvonne had inherited her title naturally when her parents and Diana passed away, but Parrady was different.
He already had the title of Count Gestaff, but when his grandfather died, he would inherit the Marquisate of Lorang and had to revive the family.
The problem was that Parrady was too free-spirited.
He inherited the blood of his mother, an opera singer; he loved freedom and art. His identity as an artist was stronger than his desire to continue the family line.
“When I was young—before becoming an adult—I wanted nothing more than to play without a care. But now… I want a little stability until I reach a point where change is needed. But then again, I’m *Lorang*, aren’t I?”
Parrady’s droopy eyes softened.
Lorang wasn’t just a surname. It was one of the few remaining noble houses whose power supported the Empire—one of the last great aristocratic symbols.
“Is it hard?”
“…….”
Yvonne stroked his hair, waiting for his answer. His green eyes drifted, then curled mischievously.
“Rights come with duties, and power with responsibility. No point whining—I just have to handle it.”
“True.”
“Anyway, looks like Alberto left, so I’ll get going.”
“Already?”
“What do you mean already? People are watching. I can’t freely visit a house where a woman lives alone.”
“Since you’re already here, have dinner before you go.”
“It’s better if I leave before it gets too late.”
“…Just say you came to see Franz.”
Eating with Kiryan was uncomfortable, but eating with Parrady kept her from feeling lonely.
She was tired of dining with only Beth. No—being alone in that huge mansion was suffocatingly lonely.
That was why she went out as Franz. Franz had many friends, and everyone forgave anything Franz did.
“Officially, Franz is my cousin—maternal side. And everyone in Ténan knows you’re Franz’s closest friend.”
Reading her loneliness, Parrady wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her tight enough to crush her. Rubbing his cheek against the top of her head, he whispered:
“Alright. For the sister of my beloved friend, I can do at least that much.”
Naturally, Yvonne’s face brightened.
And the next day, Parrady regretted not refusing dinner.
Because the morning paper splashed with a scandal about Yvonne Moore and Parrady Lorang.
**The villainess of Ténan seduces the heir of Lorang!**
CRASH!
Startled by the sensational headline, Yvonne dropped the cup she was holding.
The sharp shatter broke the quiet of the morning.
