Episode 10
I sent Susan away and sat facing Carsian.
He got straight to the point.
“I’ll give you only one sheet of stationery.”
“Okay. So you’re saying you want to test me?”
At the word “test,” Carsian’s red eyes wavered for a moment. He must not have expected me to call him out so directly.
Carsian murmured quietly,
“You’re not supposed to take a test once you’ve been caught giving one…”
But that muttering was actually pretty loud.
Even if he’s the male lead, he’s still naïve.
Suddenly, he felt so much like a baby kitten that I couldn’t help but chuckle and say,
“Why not? I’m going to follow your will so I can pass your test, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“Then isn’t that good? You can test me every time. Then I’ll follow your will every time, won’t I?”
Carsian’s eyes widened. As if thinking, *‘Oh, that’s an option?’*
His red eyes sparkled, and the mouth that was always tightly shut with wariness opened a tiny bit.
“Ahaha!”
His expression was so cute that I burst into pure laughter. When I laughed loudly, Carsian’s expression instantly turned sullen.
His eyes said, *‘Why are you laughing.’*
How can he hide his thoughts so poorly?
Then suddenly, something felt off.
Wait—forget young Carsian, didn’t I also read adult Celtron’s expressions perfectly?
Now that I think about it, I easily read Betty, Bill, Ron, even the stoic knights blocking Celtron.
Huh? In the original novel, wasn’t Latia **not** this perceptive? I mean, she wasn’t perceptive at all—she didn’t even know she was an illegitimate child in the past timeline, right?
I tilted my head with a deliberately serious expression. Carsian, who had been sulking, asked nervously,
“What…? What’s wrong?”
“Huh? What?”
“Why did you suddenly get serious?”
He glanced between the stationery he brought and me. He was hesitating—*‘Should I give it? Can I trust her?’*
…See? Even now, I read Carsian’s expression—his thoughts—so naturally and easily.
What on earth is going on? How am I reading other people’s minds?
It was baffling, but now wasn’t the time to think about it. I had to deal with the male lead who held my life in his hands. I pulled myself together and held out my hand.
“Give me the stationery. I’ll pass your test splendidly.”
Carsian still looked uncertain, but he cautiously handed it over. I took his most treasured stationery and placed it on my lap.
I wanted it somewhere visible until he left so he’d feel reassured.
Carsian stared at the stationery on my lap for a long time, then quietly asked,
“Why… did you help the master of the Gruan merchant guild?”
“Huh? How do you…?”
Suddenly, I remembered our eyes meeting when he was outside the window.
So he *was* watching me that day.
“How did you know?”
I feigned ignorance, and Carsian hurriedly made an excuse.
“I-I saw you block the knights by accident! Not on purpose. Never!”
Well, I wouldn’t have minded if he had seen on purpose. The entrance is an open space, and even if someone saw, it wouldn’t have caused trouble.
“I heard he was struggling financially. If my small help improves his situation, why wouldn’t I help? Besides, I also need help from the merchant guild.”
Carsian stared at me, mouth hanging open like someone hit on the back of the head, then slowly closed it.
“You really… changed.”
“Huh? What did you say?”
“No, nothing.”
Carsian thought for a moment, then muttered sarcastically,
“You know something?”
“Hm?”
“When people are close to death, they suddenly change.”
He was testing me.
*‘No one changes this suddenly unless they’re about to die. What’s your motive? Tell me honestly.’*
His inner thoughts were painted plainly across his face.
Being able to read people’s thoughts through their expressions—what kind of mind-reading ability is this? It clearly appeared after I returned in time…
Anyway, he was right.
I **am** going to die.
If I don’t earn Carsian’s favor, I’ll die three years later when his father returns, along with the downfall of the family.
I changed because I knew this.
I changed because I’m close to death. So I answered honestly.
“Yeah.”
“People with limited time usually— …what?”
Carsian’s face froze mid-sentence.
Huh? Why is he reacting like that?
“D-d….”
He looked utterly shocked, lips trembling.
*‘Dying? Latia? She’s terminal?’*
Thanks to that, I realized what he misunderstood.
This mind-reading ability was both convenient and fascinating.
I wondered.
Hmm, should I tell him this is a misunderstanding?
Carsian’s assumption was ridiculous, but it was also true that if things continued as they were, I *would* die because of him.
*‘Dying… Latia…’*
His red eyes trembled pitifully.
But I decided to keep the truth from him.
Because I was going to play the sympathy card.
If he believes I changed because I’m dying, that suspicion he has toward me will soften.
If he thinks I’m pitiful—someone accepting her nearing death—wouldn’t he open his heart faster? Easier?
It feels like I’m using his feelings, but as I’ve said, I’m desperate.
I don’t want to die.
I was treated like trash my whole life because I was a bastard child, and now they want to claim I’m part of the family only when it’s time to die with them? No thanks.
No matter how petty the method, I have to survive. Even if it means using someone’s feelings.
The loneliness and fear I felt at the execution block turned me this ruthless.
Let me survive first, and then I’ll say, “This is what really happened,” and apologize sincerely. Who wouldn’t do anything when facing death?
If I explain I had no choice, surely he’ll understand.
…Probably.
With a troubled expression, I still didn’t correct Carsian’s assumption as he left.
I’m sorry, Carsian. Once I survive safely, I’ll tell you the truth.
I spread the stationery he left near the window and apologized to him in my heart.
—
Three days later, Celtron visited.
Today, I planned to tell him he was a druid descendant. But I knew he wouldn’t believe it if I just said it, so I prepared a few things.
“Here, merchant lord. Try growing this.”
“This is… softleaf herb, isn’t it? And completely wilted at that.”
Celtron examined the yellow, shriveled softleaf herb with a gloomy expression.
Softleaf herbs are used to make salve that prevents wounds from festering.
It was the very salve I promised Carsian before Betty yelled, “Do you know how expensive that salve is?!”
“Salve made from softleaf herb is very expensive, right?”
“Yes. Because you need a huge amount of it.”
“And I’ve heard softleaf herb is extremely difficult to cultivate.”
Its effectiveness isn’t even that great. But since there’s no substitute, people had no choice but to keep making salve from it—if it was grown at our Gladelis marquis household.
In short—
“As the merchant lord, you know this, right? That the softleaf herb used in salve only needs three roots.”
The softleaf herb sold by the Gruan guild had the same effect with just *three* roots as our salve made with *twenty*.
Celtron tilted his head, not understanding. I handed him a book I’d prepared. Susan had borrowed it from the national library.
“History of… the Druids?”
“Yes. And did you bring what I asked?”
“Oh, yes.”
He took out a register listing all previous Gruan merchant lords. I smiled and opened both the book and the register.
In the “History of Druids,” I flipped to “The Last Druid’s Path.”
In the register, I flipped to “Name of the First Merchant Lord.”
Naturally, the names were identical.
“The Gruan merchants pass leadership patrilineally, right?”
“Yes. It’s the profession our family has continued for generations. So this register is basically our genealogy— Wait.”
Celtron’s eyes began to tremble. The founder of the Gruan family shared the name of the last druid.
“Your family has long had a legend that your ancestor was a druid, right? I learned about it when studying major families.”
“Y-yes. That’s true. Then… could it be…”
Celtron murmured, unable to believe it.
“You must have noticed it yourself, haven’t you? When you touch dying plants, they revive or grow beautifully. And you never kill any plant.”
This was why I had specifically prepared a wilted softleaf herb.
“I thought it was thanks to long-acquired knowledge and experience… Goodness.”
Celtron murmured in disbelief.
“Try it with this wilted softleaf herb.”
If he were truly a druid descendant, he should be able to revive this extremely finicky herb. And its quality would surpass anything grown by the marquis household.
Celtron’s expression changed entirely.
“…Alright.”
With firm resolve, he took the wilted herb and left.
“Miss, is he really a druid’s descendant?”
“Well. We’ll know soon.”
I gave Susan the “History of Druids” again, asking her to go through the trouble one more time.
She immediately prepared to head to the library.
