30.
“You did cry.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why was my shoulder wet?”
“Maybe… it was your own sweat?”
“Admit it—it was tears!”
“Why are you so hung up on tears? …Is it really that important to you, that I cried?”
Zaka glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curling up.
This time he didn’t even bother to hide the teasing look in his eyes.
All this time, I’d been tiptoeing around the subject, worried about it—and it felt unfair.
He had acted so weak before me, clutching onto me as if begging not to be abandoned…
And then Zaka muttered indifferently,
“So if I cry in front of you, that means I like you?”
“Of course it does!”
“Exactly.”
His voice was low, with a faint trace of laughter in it—so different from before.
By then we had reached the dining hall. Zaka pushed open the door with his shoulder, lips tugging upward.
“If you already knew, why ask?”
That direct gaze stole my words away. Before I could recover, Zaka carried me casually inside.
“I mean, that’s not what I—”
“I like you. That’s why I worry. Am I not allowed to?”
The plain honesty in his voice struck me speechless again. My mouth just opened and closed like a fish.
“O-Overprotective…”
“Would I ever do something you truly dislike?”
He had even hidden a drunkard inside my wardrobe for me. Too much, really.
With a faint laugh, Zaka lowered me gently onto a chair.
I adjusted myself awkwardly, trying not to look flustered.
“I’ll get your crutch. The food will be here soon.”
He left, and the dining hall door closed behind him.
…What was that?
What just happened?
Something about Zaka felt… different.
I sat there in a daze until I heard faint chimes ringing.
For once, we had a visitor at the estate.
Curious, I leaned toward the window facing the front gate.
At the same time, servants brought in food from the kitchen.
It seemed Zaka had once again prepared it himself in advance—another light meal suitable for a patient.
Now that I thought about it, there wasn’t a corner of this mansion that didn’t bear traces of his care.
With so few servants, his presence was even more noticeable—one man’s work as good as a whole household staff.
When Zaka eventually left…
Would I never taste this soft, savory soup again?
“…”
I thought resolutely: I’d better tell the cook to learn the recipe while there’s still time!
Yes, that would solve it. Somehow.
Just then—
Footsteps. Steady, calm, deliberate. Crossing the hall toward me.
I knew that measured pace.
Of course. I’d forgotten there was only one person who ever visited here.
The dining room door opened, and in stepped Friane Izanar.
“Ah… Sir Izanar.”
“Good morning, Baroness.”
His face looked more at ease than before.
But now that his heart was lighter, the trouble came from elsewhere.
“What brings you here so early?”
“I woke up before dawn… I think it’s because I wanted to see you.”
I blinked, not believing my ears.
“…What?”
“I couldn’t bear it anymore. So I waited for sunrise—and then came straight here.”
“…Haha…”
With a guileless expression, he laid out his feelings openly—leaving me to deal with the awkwardness and the impact of his words.
I wasn’t supposed to fall for that face of his.
‘I’ll promise you this. I will never return your feelings.’
‘So you can love me without fear.’
I’d already said that. So I couldn’t even scold him now.
He looked happy—shouldn’t I just leave it at that?
But honestly, what kind of reaction was I supposed to give to words like these?
His cheeks faintly flushed, he approached slowly.
He leaned slightly, glancing curiously at the food I was eating, face unusually bright.
His long silver hair slid smoothly over his shoulder.
Every time I saw it, I thought—just once, I wanted to touch it.
But if I did, he’d think I was interested. Then he’d fall back into that exhausting cycle of confession and rejection.
…Wait.
Wasn’t that actually easier to handle? Maybe I’d made a mistake cutting that off…
“I like you,” he said suddenly.
I had been half-distracted by my thoughts, only half-listening. But those words snapped me awake.
“…What did you just say you liked?”
He glanced at me, realizing I hadn’t even been listening properly.
Instead of scolding, he smiled softly.
“Of course, I like you, Baroness.”
“…!”
I gasped and choked, coughing until my face flushed red.
Did it physically hurt him not to say that for even one day?
Startled, Friane leaned closer and patted my back.
“Are you alright?”
“No—ugh—That’s not… cough! That wasn’t the topic!”
I could have sworn we were talking about food.
Friane only gave a quiet laugh, offering no clarification.
He thought he could get away with it just by smiling. Honestly—did he know exactly how handsome he was?
I glared at him without real anger as he sat across from me.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?”
“No.”
“Then… do you want to join me?”
“Yes.”
That answer came a little too smoothly.
I narrowed my eyes at him, only to see him smiling brightly, like he had gotten exactly what he wanted.
He really was shameless.
I sighed, gave up, and asked a servant to bring more food.
“How is your health now?” he asked.
“Much better,” I answered.
“That’s good.”
Even as he said that, his hand inched toward mine on the table.
I quickly pulled it back and gave him a sharp look.
“Do you take me for a fool?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know what you’re trying. You can’t just hand out holy power to anyone like that.”
He had been about to give me more of it—just now.
He couldn’t have meant only to hold my hand.
“You aren’t just anyone, Baroness. It’s fine.”
“Well, it’s not fine for me. You’re not supposed to give it to me like that.”
“Then why not let me give, and you just receive?”
What a stubborn man.
“They say if you overuse it, it’s like losing your life force. How could I accept that? And besides, I’m fine now. It’s not like I’m on death’s door anymore.”
“…”
“And isn’t it true that a Holy Knight has less power than a Priest? What if something happens later? You can’t just be reckless.”
I delivered my lecture in full, while he listened with that soft smile.
Only when I finished did he reply,
“Normally, yes. But I’m an exception.”
“…Exception? How so?”
“The Archbishop considers me his successor. When it comes to holy power, there’s no one who rivals me.”
“…What?”
“But it doesn’t matter. I have no intention of becoming a priest.”
“I always wondered—why do you wear priest’s robes then?”
“Because priests can’t marry.”
His eyes glimmered mischievously as they met mine, and realization hit me.
“…It was to drive people away, wasn’t it?”
“It was easier. Rejecting each one directly felt rude and troublesome.”
‘So you weren’t a priest after all.’
‘It was my fault for not correcting the misunderstanding. Usually… I let people think that.’
Now I fully understood what he’d meant back then.
As someone who drew people to him regardless of gender or age, this was his way of protecting himself.
After all, who would chase after a priest?
The mood was so open that I decided to ask one more thing.
“Then why did you dislike me calling you ‘Sir Izanar’?”
“I never disliked it.”
“But that time, you clearly—”
Realizing when I meant, he tilted his head slightly.
“Ah, that must have been a misunderstanding. My heart raced with a strange flutter I wasn’t used to… That was all.”
Should I ask further?
Maybe I should leave it alone.
“At what point, exactly—?” I began reluctantly, but before he could answer, a servant arrived with food from the kitchen.
Only after the servant left did Friane speak again.
“Because that’s actually my real name.”
“…Your name?”
“It isn’t unusual. Upon being knighted, one may be given a new name. I was given the name ‘Friane.’ At that time, I cast aside my original surname and made my given name into my family name.”
So he had abandoned his family. Broken ties.
I didn’t ask further.
We were meant to part ways eventually—knowing too much about each other would only make it harder.
And he wasn’t the type to share his personal history openly.
His gaze turned cool, distant, even though I was right before him.
“Still, when you called me that, it reminded me—it had been a long time since I heard it as my true name.”
“…”
“It made my heart tremble.”
“…”
“And it still does, whenever you call me that.”
“…”
“I like it, when you call me by that name.”
…Damn it.
Now what? Was I supposed to stop calling him ‘Sir Izanar’ altogether?
I’d only used it as a polite form of address—and somehow it had come to this.
