Episode 8
It was a Notice of Damages.
To demand compensation from someone, paperwork was, of course, required.
Documents that proved the other party had caused harm.
Fortunately, I had exactly that—the magical recording device I’d used in front of my house yesterday.
‘Here. This is proof that they’ve been exploiting me all this time. I recorded it.’
‘It’s still a bit insufficient, but you’ve fulfilled one of the requirements for drafting a notice of damages. However, there’s a major problem.’
‘What is it?’
‘To deliver this notice, you need the other party’s consent.’
‘Does that make any sense? What idiot would agree to receive a demand for damages?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s how the law works. It’s a bad law. That’s why notices of damages rarely have any real effect.’
Was this for real?
I kicked the ground in frustration—and then came up with an idea.
Currently, two languages were used in the Empire.
The vast majority spoke the Imperial Common Tongue, but some nobles used the Ancient Language.
So what if I drafted the notice of damages disguised in the Ancient Language—one my mother didn’t understand?
Documents written in the Ancient Language were still legally recognized by the Empire.
As it turned out, my mother fell for it perfectly.
“Alright, I signed everything!”
I accepted the document she handed me.
“Thank you, Mother.”
For personally signing the noose that would bind you.
“Mm? Then when will the dress arrive?”
As I looked into her eyes, glittering with greed, I smiled sweetly.
“Probably tomorrow. At the latest, the day after.”
I left the coffeehouse and headed to Knight Administration Team One for work.
My colleagues, Henry and Marilyn, surrounded me as if tying me up.
“What did you talk about with Sir Dylan last night?”
“The rumors are everywhere!”
“Unless everyone hallucinated at the same time, what exactly happened?!”
“Yeah, must’ve been a mass hallucination.”
I brushed them off, humming lightly as I took my seat.
For now, it was better to keep our marriage a secret.
At this rate, though, it might come out anyway.
Just as that thought crossed my mind, Marilyn—the administrator who’d been leading the interrogation—stepped closer.
She usually dismissed me as “Hey, Four-Eyes” and treated me with contempt.
“No matter what you did to Sir Dylan, isn’t it just a classic ugly duckling and prince pairing?”
Honestly, I was the ugly duckling.
But hearing it from someone else still grated on my nerves.
“You’ve got something stuck in your front teeth.”
“W–What?”
“What did you eat for lunch?”
“Nothing special? Olives?”
“No wonder. Your front teeth look dark. Must be an olive.”
“Ah, damn it! What? Really?!”
Marilyn panicked, desperately searching for a hand mirror.
She fell right into it.
Marilyn couldn’t multitask.
Still, being called ‘Four-Eyes’ all the time isn’t great.
For Sir Dylan’s dignity, too, walking around looking gloomy just wouldn’t do.
I should get this broom-like hair cut over the weekend.
Scratching my head, I sat down and began organizing the knights’ requests.
<Sir Tob – Request for Protective Gear: Approved>
Why is Sir Tob suddenly requesting protective gear? Is his life in danger or something?
Either way, approval granted.
Just then, Marilyn—who had fallen for my distraction—came back to her senses.
She leaned close and started firing words into my ear.
“Anyway, Sir Dylan already has a lady he loves.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Unlike you, she’s modest and beautiful. You can’t even compare. So hurry up and get lost—”
She rattled on right beside me.
Right. There was an effective method for moments like this.
I pulled out a pair of earplugs from the desk and casually stuck them in.
Yep. Can’t hear a thing.
Right after dropping the bombshell on the Emperor—his only remaining family—that he had gotten married,
Dylan stepped into the townhouse in the capital prepared for newlyweds.
Both hands were full of groceries.
Today, for the first time in his life, he had used paid leave.
When he’d told the administrator he would be taking leave, the look in their eyes was unforgettable.
‘S–Sir Dylan? You’re taking leave?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sir Dylan, who has given up every holiday and practically lived with the knight order, is skipping sparring?’
‘That is correct.’
‘A–Are you terminally ill? Or… are you getting married?’
Dylan’s expression stiffened as he was struck right on the mark, and he fell silent.
‘I–I apologize for intruding on your personal affairs!’
Mistaking Dylan’s silence and blank expression for anger, the administrator nodded repeatedly, looking as if curiosity might kill them.
‘I–I approve it. Sir Dylan’s first-ever leave request—approved!’
The words “Are you getting married?” kept echoing in his mind.
Throughout his childhood, Dylan had been confined in a small house cursed with dark magic.
The thing he was most curious about in the world was family.
The moment he thought of it, his father’s voice rang in his ears like a hallucination.
‘You disgrace of my life. The only reason I don’t kill you is because I don’t want to stain my hands with filthy blood. Live your whole life like a dog trapped in the north—shamefully.’
Dylan quietly washed his hands.
Even while living alone, he had always dreamed of the day he would serve a precious wife.
Memories surfaced of how long he had practiced housework.
The marriage will only last one year, but I’ll serve her as best I can.
Dylan was shabby on the outside and lacking within.
Unlike him, Ishael shone just by existing.
There was no way he could be bound to her by true love.
But still—
Pushing aside those thoughts, he shook his head inwardly.
To commemorate the marriage, he needed to treat Ishael to a fine dinner.
Placing the ingredients down in the kitchen, Dylan stared grimly at the clock.
Ishael would get off work at six p.m.
The current time was 12:33 p.m.
That left him 5 hours and 27 minutes.
What should I cook?
He’d bought every ingredient.
His strongest dish was aged meat.
He was skilled with knives and good at preparing fish.
But cookbooks said mullet dishes were divisive.
What would Ishael like?
Should he start with a salad?
With the face of a man facing the greatest dilemma of his life, Dylan gripped the knife.
I can do this.
The hand holding the knife trembled—so slightly that no one could notice.
He was, objectively, a good cook.
To survive, he’d had no choice but to cook for himself.
But cooking for his wife was a first.
His heart pounded like a drum, his hand shaking around the knife.
He whispered encouragement to himself.
Then he solemnly tied on an apron decorated with carrots and rabbits.
His expression grew resolute.
He grilled, simmered, blanched, and boiled.
He plated the food neatly onto clean dishes.
Exactly 4 hours and 33 minutes had passed.
Just as he finished inspecting the final dishes, the door opened.
“Something smells amazing… Huh? Sir Dylan?”
Ishael arrived—short in stature, fairy-like and adorable.
She hurried over to the table.
Behind her glasses, her eyes surely widened.
Dylan spoke in a stiff voice.
“As I mentioned earlier, I prepared dinner. Please, sit.”
It was his first time setting a table with fifty dishes.
He had planned everything down to the second.
He’d even placed heating magic devices so the food wouldn’t cool.
This should be… not too shabby, right?
But Ishael said nothing.
“Y–You did all this… yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Personally?”
Her face filled with shock.
Her soft, wheat-colored hair fluttered.
“…Yes.”
Was it still not enough?
Of course—fifty dishes might be insufficient.
After all, today was their wedding day.
A truly monumental occasion.
And yet he’d prepared only fifty dishes.
Dylan’s shoulders drooped—so slightly that no one could notice at all.
I stared blankly at Sir Dylan’s expression, the kind that said “This is nothing special.”
How could he possibly have done all of this alone?
Surely he hadn’t hired a catering service and lied… right?
But this was Sir Dylan.
A man famous in the knight order for his rigid honesty.
I sat down, reverently picked up my spoon, and said,
“Let’s eat.”
“Yes.”
Still utterly stoic, without a hint of expression.
Though his posture seemed just a bit off—probably my imagination.
I looked at the table.
Mullet dishes, lobster dishes, fresh salmon—every kind of food imaginable!
Damn… my mouth is watering.
I took a bite of the cubed, grilled salmon.
At that moment, a heavenly chorus rang in my ears.
The salmon was dancing in my mouth!
I swallowed it instantly.
For a while, only the sound of cutlery against plates filled the room.
After tasting all fifty side dishes, one bite each, I finally came back to myself.
“Um… it was so delicious, I couldn’t stop eating.”
“I’m glad.”
Now it was time for a proper conversation.
For example—about our contractual marriage.
“I have something I’m curious about. Um… Sir Dylan, why did you decide to get married?”
“Ah.”
His lips parted slightly.
Seeing how troubled he looked, I joked,
“Don’t tell me it’s because you like me—ahhahaha! Sorry!”
What kind of deranged thing was that to say?
Scolding myself for my stupidity, I quickly tried to fix the situation.
“I’m joking. Just joking!”
Sir Dylan’s expression wavered slightly.
“I see.”
“Yes. I know you don’t like me, Sir Dylan.”
“……”
“We’ve never even gone out together!”
“…Yes.”
“Honestly, marrying someone you like can be a bit burdensome, so this is actually nice! Not that anyone would like me in the first place.”
Damn that ex-boyfriend, Pedro.
Hearing myself spout self-deprecating nonsense—
He’d completely crushed my self-esteem.
I hurriedly changed the subject.
“Ah—anyway, Sir Dylan… why did you really marry me?”
