Chapter 48
“It’s a misunderstanding. She’s a child from the slums. I was afraid she’d lose her life if I left her there, so I brought her here.”
“Ah, so you’re running a charitable venture for the poor?”
Even the simplest act of goodwill was interpreted as noblesse oblige—that was the fate of nobility.
“It seems someone has been tormenting this child regularly. Since you said she’s from the slums, the assailant must also be a pauper. Isn’t that common there?”
Such cruel prejudice, born of ignorance, spilled from the physician’s mouth.
The arrogance of assuming poverty meant a lack of virtue—this was the very sustenance of a society that divided people by birth.
Hera turned her head toward Jeff, who was standing behind her.
“What happened? Was someone under the bridge bullying you two?”
“No.”
“Tell me. Only then can I do something about it.”
Hera, too, assumed someone from Under Bridge had tormented Betty.
Jeff had to know who had hurt his younger sister—so naturally, Hera pressed him.
But Jeff suddenly shouted.
“I told you it’s nothing! Just tell me if she’ll live or not!”
Seeing it was impossible to draw more from him in that state, Hera turned back to the physician.
The man cleared his throat before giving his conclusion.
“She’ll be fine if she takes medicine and rests enough.”
Both Hera and Jeff let out a sigh of relief.
Hera said to the doctor,
“Prescribe plenty. I’ll look after her here.”
“Yes, my lady.”
After the physician left, Hera carefully inspected the vials he had given, then tended to the young girl’s wounds with practiced hands.
From behind, Jeff shuffled awkwardly, then murmured in a tiny voice,
“…I’m sorry… for yelling earlier.”
“It’s all right. I’m the one who pressed too hard.”
Without turning to face him, Hera kept her tone as gentle as she could.
The sharp scent of medicine filled the room.
Setting the vial down on the bedside table with a clink, Hera gestured to a maid.
“Jeff, you should rest too. I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
“No, I’m fine here.”
“She’s a girl, after all. You can’t very well be the one helping her change clothes, can you?”
Hera picked up a set of small clothes the maid had brought and glanced at him.
Jeff bowed his head, unable to argue, and left the room.
“…I’ll wait outside.”
Once the door shut behind him, Hera removed the girl’s clothes.
Beneath them, more hidden wounds were revealed.
These injuries were not inflicted in a single day.
This dress… it’s not something a child from the slums could wear.
Examining the garment carefully, Hera grew suspicious.
It wasn’t refined enough to be called noble attire, yet it was far beyond what a beggar could have scavenged.
And she doesn’t resemble Jeff at all.
The girl’s faded ginger hair and round features bore no likeness to him.
Both Jeff and the girl were strikingly beautiful for children of the slums, but that was their only similarity.
With Jeff’s earlier reaction still lingering in her mind, Hera couldn’t help but doubt further.
“Is she really your sister?”
Just then, as Hera moved the girl while changing her clothes, the child grimaced and let out a faint groan.
“Betty?”
At the slight stir of consciousness, Hera called her name.
“Betty? Are you all right?”
The girl’s eyes opened, fixing directly on Hera. Then, in a frail voice, she asked,
“Who are you?”
“I’m Emilia. Don’t be afraid. Your brother brought you here. Should I call him for you, Je—”
But before Hera could finish, the girl’s body convulsed as if struck by a seizure.
Terrified, she curled up, begging desperately,
“D-don’t hit me… Brother… please… please!”
“Betty?”
“I was wrong! I’ll be good! Please!”
“Betty!”
Alarmed, Hera grabbed the girl’s shoulders and called her name loudly.
Tears brimmed in the girl’s eyes as she finally looked up at Hera.
But what came out of her lips was even more unsettling.
“Who’s Betty? My name is Rina. I’m Rina….”
Hera spent a long time calming the girl.
Only once Rina had drifted into sleep did she quietly step out of the room.
In the hallway, Jeff sat slumped against the wall, his face buried in his knees.
“Jeff. Can we talk?”
He lifted his head at her words.
His face was clouded with unease.
“She said her name isn’t Betty, but Rina. Why did you lie?”
Taking him into a small room, Hera sighed as she looked at him shrinking like a child awaiting punishment.
She hadn’t brought him here to scold him—only to understand the truth.
“Her clothes… Forgive me for saying this, but they’re not what a child living under a bridge would wear. And she doesn’t resemble you.”
“…I only met her yesterday.”
Finally, Jeff began to explain.
Last night, he had seen a man secretly abandon a little girl beneath the bridge.
She was unconscious, bleeding, looking as though she might die at any moment.
Unable to tell what was wrong or how long she would last, he panicked and ran straight to Tolinga with her.
“I see.”
Hera nodded after listening to the story, then asked again,
“That’s all? Nothing else to add?”
“……”
Jeff remained silent.
But Hera’s instincts told her he wasn’t being fully honest.
The Jeff she had seen under the bridge had carried himself like a ruler of that place.
There was no way he didn’t know how such a thing had happened to the girl.
Deliberately schooling her expression to coldness, Hera swung the small room’s door open and pointed to the hallway.
“All right. Then I’ll handle Rina’s care myself. You should return to Under Bridge.”
“What?”
“She’s neither your family nor your friend. I can’t entrust her to a stranger. I’ll return Rina to her family. You may go back.”
“No!”
When Hera tried to push him out, Jeff braced himself and resisted.
“You can’t do that, miss!”
He gripped her wrist with startling strength, the same unnatural power she had felt from him before.
When she flinched from the pain, Jeff instantly let go, horrified, and clasped his hands behind his back like a scolded child.
“Don’t send her back to her family.”
At last, he spoke the truth he had been avoiding.
And it was far crueler than Hera could have imagined.
“If she goes back, she’ll die. Every child who returned from Under Bridge died like that.”
“…What?”
From the beginning, it had been impossible for nobles to truly grasp the horrors of Under Bridge.
Jeff’s silence stemmed from that disbelief lodged in his heart.
But now, it was too heavy for him to carry alone.
Scratching his head with a bitter laugh, he finally began to tell Hera everything in a softened voice.
“The money you saw under the bridge—it was left in a spot where children are abandoned. There’s a man who takes care of the bastards nobles and the rich don’t want. I call him the ‘Handler.’”
The prophetic treasure, Ceci Boniche’s Red Bull—inside that stone, gold coins had been hidden.
Hera had wondered why money was left there. Now she knew.
“Handler…?”
“If you leave money there, he finds a family to adopt the child. He takes them away.”
“So he secretly arranges new families?”
Jeff pressed his lips shut, as if the word “family” left a bitter taste.
Calmly, Hera asked her next question.
