Chapter 43
He was the boy who had thrown a warning at Hera the very first time she stepped into Under Bridge.
“You…! You’re that one from earlier!”
Up close, the boy’s face looked much neater than Hera had first thought.
Especially his long eyelashes—so striking that they stood out even in the dim evening hours, when even familiar faces blurred.
Thanks to that, the boy carried quite an air of refinement.
Of course, that refinement was hidden beneath his gaunt frame and the dusky complexion unique to slum-dwellers.
“What are you doing here, lady? Hanging around Under Bridge since earlier. Do you know how much trouble you’d be in if you took that money?”
Despite his cocky tone, the boy showed not the slightest trace of regret for having subdued her by force earlier.
Hera had been about to scold him, but instead, his words sparked her curiosity.
“Trouble? Why?”
“……”
When Hera asked back, the boy turned his gaze away, as though he knew but didn’t want to tell her.
For some reason, Hera’s usually dull instincts stirred sharply.
Something was happening here in Under Bridge.
And it wasn’t anything good.
“Is it dangerous? Do you want me to help?”
Hera grabbed his shoulders with both hands.
His bones were so sharp beneath her palms it almost hurt.
To think such a frail boy had managed to overpower her earlier—it was laughable in hindsight.
With that thought, Hera looked at him with pity.
He was surely this thin because he hadn’t been eating properly in the slums.
Living with a body this frail from lack of food… that’s real suffering.
Hera knew it well.
Her medicine had been too strong. Her body had always rejected food, vomiting it back up.
She’d been thinner and weaker than anyone else.
Moved by sympathy, Hera absentmindedly poked at the boy’s body.
His face flushed bright red, and he snapped.
“F-forget it! Why’s some lady butting into slum business anyway?”
Right on cue, his stomach let out a loud growl.
His face went even redder, as if it would burst.
Hera barely suppressed her laughter and made him an offer.
“Sorry for meddling. Will you let me buy you a meal?”
Oh, right. She also needed a guide to help her find the way back.
“And if you tell me how to get back to the B-flat District while you’re at it, I’d be even more grateful.”
***
The B-flat District was one of the most stylish parts of the new city.
Located between the Imperial Palace and Tolinga, it was a familiar street for Hera by now.
Following the boy’s lead onto the main road, she realized that Under Bridge lay right at the border between the Kuon District and B-flat.
The boy described Under Bridge as “a place where you face the old history at the edge of a space filled with the new.”
Quite a poetic thought.
“Eat up.”
“Thank you.”
Large-scale restaurants were in fashion in B-flat.
Regardless of rank, nobles of all classes now considered it trendy to stop at chic eateries for a meal after a short outing.
When Hera spotted the sign of one Cecilia had always begged to visit, she decided to treat the boy here.
The interior was rather luxurious.
If she had to rank it, it was decorated like the home of a wealthy baron.
The dishes catered mostly to the younger generation—flashy and stimulating rather than traditional or bland.
He eats like he actually learned table manners somewhere.
Perhaps it was a silly prejudice, but Hera had assumed the boy wouldn’t know how to eat properly in a place like this.
After all, noble etiquette was absurdly complicated—far beyond reason.
So many utensils, so many types of glasses, and more prohibitions than allowances.
The boy’s manners weren’t flawless, but they weren’t sloppy enough to draw criticism either.
If anything, it looked as though he knew the rules perfectly in his head but was carrying them out for the first time in practice.
Now that I look closer, shabby as his clothes are, they’re actually put together properly… What is he, really?
Hera studied his clothes.
They were torn and full of holes, yes, but on closer inspection, he had dressed properly.
It was clear he was imitating the attire of solicitors or financial managers.
Could a boy with this level of manners and dress really be a slum child?
“What’s your name? Can I ask?”
Curiosity piqued, Hera set down her fork.
She asked as kindly as she could, hoping to win him over. The boy glanced at her, then muttered.
“…Jeff.”
“Jeff, huh. I’m Emilia.”
Exchanging names made them feel a little closer.
“You’re a noblewoman, aren’t you?”
Jeff, having begun to chat with her, carefully set his fork down without letting it clink against the plate.
Sitting up straight, he asked bluntly. Hera nodded, caught off guard.
“Mm… yeah.”
“You look it. You smell nice, you’ve got poise, and you’re really pretty.”
A wave of compliments washed over her, and Hera’s cheeks burned red.
Unlike her flustered reaction, Jeff’s face remained calm, as though he hadn’t meant to embarrass her at all.
“Thanks. I’ve… never heard anyone say that before.”
“Huh? Really?”
Hera twisted her hands under the table, her voice shy.
Living as Emilia had its comforts, but standing beside Cecilia—who was always the subject of praise—she sometimes felt envy.
It wasn’t just about looks. Hera, like a child, had a small, simple desire to be complimented by someone.
Maybe it was because she hadn’t known a normal childhood.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve said it more sincerely then.”
As though he’d read her heart, Jeff leaned his elbows on the table and folded his arms.
The table was a little tall for his frame, so the pose looked awkward—but his easy, sly smile looked natural enough.
“I thought you’d be sick of being called pretty all the time.”
His smile, crinkling up to his eyes, reminded Hera of an adult man deliberately trying to charm her.
“You little brat…”
Hera puffed her cheeks and covered her flushed face with her hands.
Being thrown off by a child—it was humiliating.
Jeff only smiled wider at her red face before turning back to his meal.
Fresh vegetables were a rare luxury. Jeff tried not to leave a single bite behind.
“Oh? Lady Emilia?”
In the middle of their quiet meal, a familiar voice reached Hera’s ears.
“Sir Foy…?”
Hendrik Foy, Marriott’s knight, was watching them with soft brown eyes full of curiosity, glancing between Hera and Jeff.
And in front of him—how long he had been standing there, she couldn’t say—was Marriott himself.
“Your Grace?”
“……”
Marriott stood there glowering at her for no apparent reason, making Hera uncomfortable enough to cast Hendrik a pleading look.
Hendrik tugged on Marriott’s arm and gave Hera a polite bow.
“Then we’ll just go have our meal—”
But Marriott stood rooted like a tree, refusing to move.
His lips finally parted with sharp words.
“There’s a seat free here.”
“…What?”
He had already pulled out the chair, his tone less a request than a demand.
“Mind if I sit, Lady Emilia?”
***
The table was steeped in unbearable awkwardness.
No one spoke first.
This is the first time we’ve met since the trial.
Two weeks wasn’t so long, so the memory of that courtroom was still vivid.
Especially the moment Marriott, before Viscount Bouvier, had defined her relationship with Hera as that of lovers—that memory still lingered heavily.
Because of that, Hera sat in uneasy silence.
Marriott, however, was studying Jeff across the table.
No matter how generously one looked at it, Jeff did not look like someone fit to share a table with a noble.
So why was such a boy dining alone with Tolinga’s young lady?
“Do you often come to B-flat District?”
The one who finally broke the silence was Hendrik.
He was a man who couldn’t stand awkward atmospheres.
“No, just by chance today…”
Hera replied, sneaking a sidelong glance at Marriott.
His gaze had been fixed on Jeff the whole time.
For some reason, he hadn’t spared even a glance for Hera.
Unaware of Hera’s constant attention to Marriott, Hendrik brightened, relieved the conversation had started.
Leaning toward her, he eagerly continued the small talk.
