✦ Chapter 2 ✦
I sat at my desk, eyes fixed on the portrait I’d retrieved from the archive room.
He stood there—a fair-haired youth—his features frozen in time. The colors of the painting had faded, whispered across the canvas as if from a bygone era. His face revealed no emotion.
He could be from his academy days. Short hair truly suits him.
Curly-haired men often look awkward with cropped cuts, their faces elongated. But Cerulean looked perfectly symmetrical.
“…Strange that I couldn’t recognize him at first glance.”
I couldn’t understand why this striking face escaped my memory.
Cerulean Luc. Twenty-four years old.
He was the most talked-about bachelor in the nation—whether admired or envied.
The adoptive son of Duke Luc, who had been single for years, Cerulean had been spotlighted in newspapers as the fortunate commoner who’d inherited a duke’s estate.
But that past lingered again in the present.
Despite being twenty-four, he was still called “Mister Luc”—not “Young Duke.”
In other words, the press still painted him as a guest at the court’s cheap gossip.
Can Cerulean Luc remain a mere Mister forever?
Indeed, he was embroiled in a fierce inheritance dispute.
When a public boy became Duke Luc’s heir apparent, no one expected him to fade into obscurity.
Until, six years ago, Duke Luc married a woman ten years his junior.
Everyone in the realm knew the scandal—it was headline news.
Now, Duke Luc had a five-year-old son with his wife—and that wife was…
“…Princess Barinen.”
The name slipped from my lips as if it had always belonged there; a name I’d never dared dwell upon, yet one that burned like fire in my thoughts.
“Do not let bitterness consume you—for such is the nature of life.”
Even after all those years, my heart pounded as I recalled that whisper. I ground my teeth and pushed myself from the desk.
I rubbed my face, desperately trying to quiet the headache thundering through my skull.
That woman must be living in bliss now—when she condemned me to this torment.
I gazed at Cerulean’s portrait once more. Bathed in moonlight through the window, his golden hair glimmered with an unearthly chill.
Youngest Luar–Hunter.
Though knightly titles were considered trivial, if asked to choose the nation’s finest, everyone would choose him without hesitation. He possessed a wealth of knowledge about Luar.
More importantly, he held the potential to humiliate Princess Barinen utterly.
Cerulean, adopted son. The princess bore a biological heir. Yet, he too claimed his right to the ducal title.
Duke Luc’s line was an ancient warrior dynasty—generations devoted to slaying monsters.
Among the noble families supporting the Duke, most flocked to Cerulean—an academy graduate, a military officer, a decorated hero.
Once his succession is secure, Princess Barinen will seethe with fury.
Through him, I could achieve both my goals.
I should’ve seized the moment when I met him today.
Or at the very least exchanged contact information!
I kicked the distant couch in frustration—but my momentary outburst faded quickly.
Disgusting.
What would I say to a man who’d declared me “disgusting”?
Was there truly a scent? Or did he feel faint?
Recalling that I nearly stumbled too—it might not have been all my fault.
Could it really be connected to Luar?
A strange sensation twisting within me, like vertigo.
As these thoughts convulsed inside me, I shook my head fiercely and exhaled.
“I hope I meet him again.”
Next time, I would interrogate him thoroughly: What exactly is Luar? How can I evade it?
I stared at his image one last time; despite being a still picture, his cold presence radiated clearly.
“Should I propose a formal marriage?”
Journalistic instinct told me he needed a wife to secure the ducal title—a notion carefully promoted by Princess Barinen to ensure her son’s inheritance.
Wouldn’t it be the perfect scheme?
He gains the title through marriage. I gain inside knowledge of Luar. And Princess Barinen tastes defeat.
This is just my mind racing.
Would I have the chance to see him again?
I laid the portrait down on the desk and left the office.
⇢ The Next Day
It had happened—I said those words.
“I’ve read all your articles with admiration.”
That morning at the newspaper, there he sat: Cerulean Luc. At the guest table. White-gloved, hands folded, a single leg crossed.
He was… waiting for me.
“What on earth is happening?”
Everyone in the newsroom stared, hardly daring to blink. It felt like witnessing nobles reunite after years apart.
Only one man was exuberant—our bald editor-in-chief, snatching his palms together in glee, nearly erasing his fingerprints, basking in anticipation.
“Hahaha, Idel is a tremendous reporter! I can’t wait to see the sales figures for this issue.”
Ah yes—my article, “The Bad Daughter-in-Law of Aristocratic Society.”
Surely Mister Cerulean Luc wouldn’t care about such a frivolous column.
Yet, if he didn’t come for the article… then why?
Maybe he’s a lookalike conman.
I pinched my thigh under the desk.
Ouch!
The pain confirmed the reality. Enough escapism.
After all, who could mimic such features? And that insignia on his military tunic—only few earned such honor.
He is the Luar–Hunter.
This is no time for awe. I told myself. This is a golden opportunity—focus, Idel Azean!
I banished frivolous thoughts and prepared tea and light sweets, then took my place before him.
“It is an honor to meet you, Mister Cerulean.”
The editor-in-chief crept over, eager to join, but Cerulean’s voice cut through in politeness layered with restraint:
“I’ve come to speak with Miss Azean only. I have serious matters to discuss—would you excuse us?”
“…Of course.”
His decisive words left the intrusive editor no option but retreat. I felt a surge of professional nervousness.
Such cold air. A man—or a… Golem in human form?
Yet I remembered how human he had seemed when disgust seized him yesterday.
I studied him closely, glad I retained a polite smile.
“Mister Cerulean Luc, is that correct?”
He nodded, not a muscle flickering.
“Yes.”
His measured response left my throat dry. I mustered composure and guided the conversation:
“What sort of tea do you prefer? Traditional Earl Grey?”
“I don’t usually drink tea…”
He paused, paused—and then reconsidered.
“Very well. Please serve it.”
What?
Despite my limited knowledge, I knew he did not change his mind so easily.
I lowered the Earl Grey leaves into a warming pot.
He studied the brew silently, his thoughts unseen, and then spoke in that low, dry tone:
“I came to ask you something.”
“Yes? What is it?”
My hands folded in my lap; my calm voice betrayed my nervousness. My mind raced—maybe he was intrigued by my profession. Or irritated by yesterday’s investigation.
But he remained silent, waiting.
He should’ve spoken right away. This suspense is killing me.
I fixated on his closed lips, feeling a spark of frustration… Then I realized: this was my opportunity.
“May I ask something too? Fair is fair, yes?”
He met my gaze—eyes like placid lakes—and exhaled, his voice soft as a sigh:
“Proceed.”
His response was calm, devoid of warmth.
So, like any journalist, I began my questions:
“Why are you here, at the height of your inheritance battle?”
“As I said, I have a personal purpose.”
“And when will you marry? Surely you need to wed someone with influence to counter your stepmother, do you not? Is there someone you have in mind?”
“Do you think she will allow a quiet marriage?”
His answer came even-toned, utterly composed.
The more I speak with him, the more I sense his uniqueness.
But at any rate, I was ready. I asked the question that burned in me:
“What exactly is Luar? Is it truly, as they say, a creature that paralyzes you with terror before you can flee—then devours you?”
“Something like that.”
“Hah—what is that for an answer?!”
“I have no better description. It’s best if no one ever crosses paths with Luar.”
“What if someone does?”
“I don’t know. It’s best the name remains unspoken.”
“…”
He gave no further detail—only confirmed its terror. I switched topics.
“The Lucs are a grand ducal house. They have fought monsters for centuries—Luar included.”
Though he carried no bloodline, he upheld their legacy. Yet his voice held no pride.
“That is why this family exists in the first place.”
“Continuing the fight takes incredible will.”
“If you meet the Duke, please tell him that.”
Such a dry reply! He could’ve shown a shred of pride.
It’s hard to keep this going.
As I pondered redirecting back to Luar, I poured tea gently—but my ploy failed.
“Any more questions?”
“Ah—yes, actually…”
“Then it’s my turn.”
What would he ask?
I stared intently. Then—and slowly—Cerulean removed one glove with grace. He extended his bare hand toward me.
“May I hold your hand?”
