Chapter 18. The Two People in the Scandal
“To pluck a flower just before it blooms is a sin.”
— Dirkian Proverb
It had been ten days since the memorial service at Count Wintail’s estate.
Hera had become quite accustomed to both Emilia Tolin’s body and the Tolin mansion.
Even the constantly clinging younger sister Cecilia, the frantically busy Julian with his city guard duties, and the taciturn servants of the Tolin household who rarely spoke had all blended into Hera’s daily life.
However, Hera had two concerns.
The first was that she had yet to meet Sub-Baron Ober Tolin face to face.
The second was that she couldn’t get a certain shocking statement from the memorial service out of her mind.
“That I was supposed to marry Marriott Laurent…?”
In truth, this thought had consumed most of her time.
To the point that she would often find herself zoning out.
“Unnie!”
Cecilia clapped loudly right in front of her face—so loudly that Hera’s ears ached.
“What’s gotten into you lately? You keep spacing out!”
Cecilia’s sulky face entered her vision, finally pulling Hera out of her thoughts about Marriott.
“Sorry.”
“We rarely go out to the shopping district, and all you’ve done is nod and say ‘anything’s fine’ no matter what I pick. I don’t mind your reactions most of the time, but when we’re shopping together, I asked you to focus and take it seriously—remember?”
While living as Emilia, Hera had developed some unspoken rules with Cecilia.
In exchange for accepting that Hera’s personality was completely different from the original Emilia’s, Hera had to pretend she hadn’t lost her memories.
Even if someone brought up something she had no recollection of, she had to go along with it—
—as if she truly were Emilia Tolin.
“Sorry. I forgot.”
Now that she was living in a healthy body, Hera was starting to feel some freedom.
As the only daughter of the Wintail family, born with a chronic illness, she’d been treated like fragile glass.
Everyone around her had put all their energy into protecting her.
So Hera had never lived worrying about how others saw her—
—because she hadn’t had the strength to do so.
What had changed most since becoming Emilia was that—
—she now had the capacity to observe others.
Though still clumsy, Hera was slowly learning how the world worked.
[The Dancer on the Peony has been found.]
“What? Now?”
The sudden blue text appeared, blocking Cecilia’s face.
It had been ten days.
No matter how many times she saw it, it was still unsettling.
Startled by the prophecy book’s appearance, Hera forgot she was riding in a carriage with Cecilia and said out loud what she should’ve kept in her head.
“Huh? What did you say, unnie?”
“No, nothing. It’s nothing.”
[Please exit the carriage.]
So forceful. Unreasonably so!
Hera complained inwardly.
‘How am I supposed to get off here?’
She insisted mentally that now wasn’t a good time, but the prophecy book didn’t care about Hera’s situation.
[Enter Patrick Street No. 67.]
‘Where even is that? I don’t know this area well at all…’
[Please exit the carriage.]
Sometimes the prophecy book seemed like it could hold a conversation—
—but moments like this reminded her it was just an inanimate object.
It gave one-sided orders without the slightest regard for its contractor.
‘You could at least stop the carriage before telling me to get off.’
Frustrated, Hera grumbled without meaning to.
Neigh—
Screeech.
“What the—?!”
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jerking Cecilia forward in her seat.
Outside, the coachman’s confused voice rang out.
Moments later, the door opened, and he spoke awkwardly.
“I apologize, miss. The horse suddenly stopped moving. Please give me a moment.”
“What do you mean the horse stopped? Just whip it and move on.”
“I tried, but it’s stuck like it’s rooted to the ground, Lady Cecilia. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
With a baffled chuckle, Cecilia got out and whipped the horse herself—
—but just as the coachman said, it didn’t budge an inch.
[Please exit the carriage.]
It was the prophecy book.
When the proud blue letters appeared again, Hera had no choice but to accept.
If she didn’t obey, the Tolin family’s carriage would stay there in the middle of the road forever.
“I’m going for a walk! I suddenly feel a bit nauseous!”
While Cecilia was distracted with the horse, Hera quickly stepped out of the carriage.
When Hera blurted out her excuse, Cecilia moved to follow her.
“I’ll come with you!”
“No! I want to walk alone!”
“Unnie! Un—wait, huh?!”
At that moment, the horse began to move again.
Now that Hera had exited, it was as if the horse’s job was done, and it sped forward.
Cecilia’s scream quickly faded into the distance.
Hera clasped her hands together and silently apologized to her.
Then, frowning, she turned her eyes back to the message in front of her.
[Enter the alley to your right.]
“Why is it always like this… Can’t you give me a warning or something? I need time to mentally prepare too.”
[Enter the alley to your right.]
“…Okay, okay. Stop nagging.”
This was the old district known as the Kuon Quarter.
It was so ancient that it predated the founding of the Ivy Empire—established over 1,500 years ago.
The capital of the Ivy Empire, Central, was divided into the new city (with the imperial palace) and the old city, Kuon.
Unlike the spacious, pristine new city, Kuon was known for its narrow alleys and worn-out buildings.
Most noble ladies never set foot in Kuon.
They might’ve heard the name, but few had ever walked its streets—so it went without saying that Hera, raised entirely within the Count’s household, hadn’t either.
As she followed the prophecy book’s instructions deeper into the alley, Hera began to sweat.
The unfamiliar scenery, strange smells, and labyrinth-like alleys all made her tense.
“Patrick Street No. 67, Kuon District…”
An old wooden sign, barely holding together, had the street name written on it.
This must be the “Patrick 67” the prophecy had mentioned.
[Descend into the basement.]
The basement?
There were no buildings around that looked like they had basements.
The only structure was a lone, decrepit house at the bottom of the slope.
She frowned. Surely not… but there was nowhere else to go.
“There really is an entrance.”
When she pushed open the door, she found a lifeless house with no trace of human warmth.
Shivering from the chill, Hera stepped inside.
The interior was empty except for one thing—a gaping basement entrance.
Clearly, this whole house existed just to hide that space.
Swallowed by the eerie atmosphere, Hera gulped.
The staircase leading down looked like it would swallow her whole.
“This is insane.”
Once she reached the bottom, Hera couldn’t believe her eyes.
It was like a massive anthill designed for humans—an endless, twisting maze.
She couldn’t gauge the full size, but the branching tunnels and faint voices echoing in the distance gave her some idea of the scale.
“There are people gathering there.”
Even more shocking was that Hera wasn’t the only one down here.
The abandoned house she’d entered was just one of several entrances.
From each entrance, people were converging toward a central hall.
Hera’s corridor was empty—no one in front or behind.
Maybe even the people gathered here didn’t know about this entrance.
“They’re all wearing masks?”
She felt briefly relieved to see others, but soon noticed a key difference.
Everyone was wearing masks.
Not just masks—they wore black and white garments with no accessories, to hide their identities entirely.
Around a dozen people stood in the hall, but not a single word was exchanged.
Unlike the social scene, where people were desperate to make themselves known, these attendees were just as desperate to remain anonymous.
“At least I’m in a dark-toned dress… that’s something.”
Hera, in contrast, was still in her regular clothes.
Her navy-blue dress—almost black—was simple, but still far more ornate than the others’.
And worst of all—her face was completely exposed.
