Chapter – 21….
Baron Chern appeared only through rumors. In the story, all he ever did was cast his presence over everything like a shadow.
How does the plot move forward without the protagonist, you ask?
The people connected to Baron Chern, the master of the small, old manor, told their own stories in an omnibus format, all woven together by the rumors surrounding him.
The first episode was a romance between a maid who loved Baron Chern and a knight who slowly began to fall for that maid. Baron Chern appeared only as someone the new maid, Sherin, gazed at from afar. He existed and acted solely through the rumors of the characters.
The Misfortune of Baron Chern stirred up quite a lot of talk at the beginning of its serialization.
New maid Sherin didn’t love Baron Chern for social climbing. She genuinely loved him with a pure heart. She even turned down Sir Daviderian, the captain of the knights, saying she couldn’t enter a loveless marriage.
Because of that, the public made a fuss.
They questioned the realism—would a low-born girl really reject the proposal of such a handsome knight? And never before had a story put the protagonist’s name in the title and not featured them directly.
Where’s the protagonist, Baron Chern?
Why are we hearing only about the people around him?
While everyone grumbled, I—someone who had possessed this body—quietly enjoyed myself, remembering a classic novel that had been a massive hit long ago. You know, the one whose most famous line declares that an unmarried man must be in want of a wife.
I guess people who critique the institution of marriage exist everywhere.
As the complaints about Baron Chern’s absence continued, they slowly began to die down. Sherin and Daviderian’s youthful romance turned out to be far more enjoyable than expected.
After reading the heartbreaking love story of the previous work, Kettlin, this innocent, awkward, and fresh romance was such a refreshing change!
But then—right after Sir Daviderian’s long-suppressed jealousy exploded—the first hiatus began.
“I’m so jealous I could throw Baron Chern’s severed head at your feet.”
Society went absolutely wild.
A knight saying such a thing about the nobleman he owes his honor to? Is he insane?
But truly—what woman wouldn’t feel her heart flutter at such a scandalously romantic declaration of love?
Of course, if I were Sherin, I’d be horrified.
But that’s what makes fiction beautiful. It’s not reality.
Readers were dying to know Sherin’s reaction, and when the story suddenly paused for hiatus, they erupted. But since it was the first hiatus, people reluctantly let it slide.
The second hiatus came after Sherin and Daviderian resolved their misunderstandings and fully acknowledged their feelings for each other.
Right after Daviderian’s second desperate confession—asking if she could accept his love—the chapter ended. Then came a brief announcement that the author would be taking another break for personal reasons.
By this point, people were starting to complain:
Are we being toyed with? Is the author irresponsible?
Fans like me were annoyed, but we also began to worry. What if something had happened to the writer?
And then came the third, infamous hiatus—the one that finally made reader frustration explode.
It came right after the second hiatus ended, and the announcement was even shorter than usual. And unlike the usual two-week break, this one lasted over a month. That says everything.
Knowing what I did from Marquis Orelnot about Author Ibur’s situation, I honestly thought it wouldn’t be strange if the hiatus lasted a year—or decades. If they quit writing altogether, there was nothing I could do about it.
…But to receive this kind of gift at the very beginning of the bright summer season?
A gift arriving like rain before the season changes.
As Tasha continued reading aloud, the maids around me shrieked in excitement.
Even the nanny had been standing halfway hidden behind the hall wall, listening to The Misfortune of Baron Chern being read. I alone had noticed, but I pretended not to.
When Tasha finished reading, Olivia asked curiously:
“But why is it The Misfortune of Baron Chern? The Baron doesn’t seem to live an unhappy life.”
“Who knows. Maybe he’s going to be unhappy.”
This was a question everyone reading the story had.
Why is Baron Chern unfortunate?
He had an old but charming manor with a lovely garden, and a silver-rich mine under his name—wealth that would make anyone envious.
He was a young man of incredible beauty, someone anyone would covet.
So why was he unfortunate?
Even among Author Ibur’s works, this story had an unusually distinct atmosphere.
“He’s unhappy because he isn’t married yet.”
“He’ll find someone soon enough. Once Part 1 ends, I bet a potential Lady of House Chern will appear.”
Just like our pragmatic Even said, the story was nearing the end of Part 1. Probably one of the nobles appearing so far would become the protagonist of Part 2.
“What do you think, my lady?”
The maids chattered like busy little morning birds, but my opinion was short and sharp.
“He slayed.”
Everyone in this manor knew how excessively I adored Author Shell Ibur. The maids laughed, amused by my fangirl behavior.
“My lady, that expression again!”
The nanny, who had been half-hiding in the hall earlier, had quietly vanished.
She probably thought her presence would disrupt the maids’ excited atmosphere.
“You shouldn’t be reading that at the dining table.”
We were having lunch. Susan, in her robe, tore a piece of bread and lightly scolded me.
While holding the damp weekly paper Tasha had given me, I slowly stirred my steaming onion soup and responded lazily.
“Author Shell Ibur finally ended their hiatus. I’ll eat after I finish reading this.”
“So that writer has finally ended their break. Hand it to me when you’re done.”
“Be careful not to get grease on it or wrinkle it. I need to cut it out and store it.”
In an instant, Susan’s mild scolding turned into sparkling-eyed excitement.
“I know I shouldn’t listen to only one side of a story, yet I still get swept away so easily—truly frustrating. If it weren’t for you, Rita, I would’ve believed those ridiculous rumors about that wonderful novel forever.”
“Well, that’s how people are. It’s not easy not to be swept along.”
I carefully handled the slightly rough and thin edges of the weekly paper so they wouldn’t get damaged, muttering:
“But if you kindly explain the truth and the other person still gets angry about it, it’s easier to give up and walk away. Arguing in that situation is just a waste of time for both sides.”
I sensed Susan staring at me as she silently sipped her lightly brewed tea.
Sure enough, even before she set the cup down, the question—more of an accusation—came exactly as I expected.
“In that case, why did the usually composed Liberita Loire invest so much effort debating with the young Lady of House Clenot that day?”
“Only when it concerns Author Shell Ibur.”
“So you’re practically in love with that writer? No wonder you haven’t shown any interest in the noble young men around you.”
Susan leaned in with bright curiosity and asked:
“Suppose that writer reveals themself—and turns out to be the precious son of some baronial family. Would you marry him?”
There it was. The innocent yet outrageous question.
“Why would I marry the author?”
I swallowed the fact that the author already had a spouse and child.
“My goodness! If you married the writer, you’d immediately know the reasons behind every hiatus. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
…Would it really be as wonderful as you think?
I calmly answered, long used to this kind of nonsense from my aunt.
“Authors and readers should maintain a certain distance.”
