CHAPTER 94………………………………………
“Has something been worrying her lately?”
He paced in circles around the large room that had been entirely granted to him, lost in thought.
Why does she keep acting hot and cold like this?
There had once been a time when she was more transparent than a glass marble—so clear that even if he hadn’t wanted to, he could read her heart. He had kept staring at the face that hated him, and somewhere along the way, he fell in love. He liked how honest she was when her true colors showed. When she was happy, she laughed. When she was upset, she got angry. When she was sad, she cried.
But lately, she had been spending time with him in a perpetually curt manner, as if she had become a completely different person. The lively, love-filled gaze she once directed at him had disappeared at some point.
“Did I look pathetic when I collapsed after eating that olive?”
It seemed unlikely she had grown tired of him just because he showed a moment of weakness—after all, he had already shown her plenty of pathetic sides before. Then had all those moments piled up until they finally burst?
No matter how much he racked his brain alone, her true feelings remained utterly unclear. He could just ask her directly, but he hesitated, afraid he might hear something he absolutely didn’t want to hear.
Who could help him?
Susan…?
He shook his head at the thought of the maid he always sought out. Thinking rationally, none of the methods she had suggested before had ever worked.
In the end, he put on his cape and headed outside.
“Is this the place?”
Unlike the quiet night outside, this place was filled with noise, light, and vitality. The sign that read “Blue” confirmed he had come to the right spot.
He went inside and walked toward the bar. Addressing the man polishing a glass to a shine as bright as his own gleaming hair, he asked,
“Is there a man named Kyle working here?”
“Kyle? Never heard of him.”
“I mean Kyle the guitarist.”
The bartender shrugged. No matter how he thought about it, it was not a name he recognized.
“There’s no guitarist named Kyle here.”
Ah. Only then did he realize his mistake and correct himself.
“My apologies. His name isn’t Kyle—it’s Alex.”
“What? Those names aren’t even similar. Anyway, there he is now. Hey, Alex! You’ve got a guest!”
Before he could even turn to confirm his friend’s face, he felt a hand smack his back. A hearty voice rang out.
“Well, well! If it isn’t my idle noble friend!”
It happened to be his break time, and he led his guest into a quiet room. Unlike the bustling outside, this was a space better suited for conversation.
“It’s good to see you after so long. What brings you here?”
“Uh, Kyle… I mean, Alex…?”
Laughter filled the room at his flustered state.
“Hey, this isn’t ‘Drama,’ so call me Alex. Memories from ‘Drama’ stay in ‘Drama,’ got it, Your Grace?”
At the sudden title, he nearly fainted but barely held it together. Having witnessed the lively reaction he’d hoped for, Alex clutched his stomach in laughter.
“H-How…?”
“I heard your war speech. What a voice—you’ve got talent. Ever thought about singing?”
“I thought you said you don’t attend those kinds of events.”
“I remembered Miss Rose mentioning some diplomatic ambassador speech in the capital during our ‘Drama’ days, so we figured we should cultivate some culture too and went. And there you were—such a familiar face.”
Sensing a strange betrayal, he listened as Alex added,
“Still, I don’t plan on raising my speech level. Once friends, always friends.”
“I’d prefer that as well.”
“Good. Then since no one will come in here, how about taking off that suffocating cape? It’s already stuffy in here—you’ll get heat rash at this rate.”
Grateful for his friend’s thoughtfulness in bringing him to a private room, he removed his cape and felt refreshed. Placing both hands on the table, he hesitantly began to state his business.
“I’d like some advice. You’re the only person I could think of asking.”
“Oh ho. Don’t tell me—it’s romantic advice?”
With an amused expression, Alex listened as Peredil rapidly vented all the grievances he’d been harboring about Joyce. His well-practiced breathing technique shone even brighter than it had on the speech stage.
“She avoids physical contact, and when she comes out on dates she always looks sleepy. She’s unmotivated no matter what we do, and she tries to go home early. No matter how nice I am to win back her heart, she just responds indifferently.”
“Ah, you foolish friend. You know diplomacy but not romance. Romance is diplomacy too, you know. If you just keep giving without considering balance, people get tired of it quickly.”
“She’s tired of me because I treat her too well?”
“That’s right.”
With a baffled look, Peredil asked,
“Then are you saying I shouldn’t treat her well? How am I supposed to do that? It doesn’t make sense. I like her—so I shouldn’t treat her well? That’s absurd.”
Alex found himself genuinely wondering if his friend had always been this talkative. He felt a pang of pity—how pent-up must he have been to fire off words like that without even taking a sip of alcohol?
“If she were tired of me, she could just refuse to go on dates. But whenever I ask, she comes. And it’s not like she refuses to hold my hand entirely. She’ll hold it, but then suddenly pull away sometimes.”
“Hm. She agrees to dates? And holds your hand?”
“Yes. Her actions are inconsistent—it’s confusing.”
Possessed like a detective, Alex pondered deeply. Peredil gazed at him with earnest eyes, hoping for a clear answer.
“Okay. I’ve got it.”
Seeing him finally speak after building suspense, Peredil smiled brightly.
“Really? Tell me. Hurry.”
Watching him urge impatiently, Alex pretended to make it seem more valuable, calming him down. If the citizens of the empire saw their diplomatic ambassador swayed so easily by his voice, they might faint. It wasn’t superiority he felt—rather, he found his friend’s unpretentious nature endearing.
“Now, my friend. Listen carefully.”
Peredil leaned in.
What has Peredil been thinking lately?
Quite some time had passed since we began going on similar dates while I maintained a prickly attitude. I thought he would eventually be unable to bear the frustration and vent to me—but instead, he kept these suffocating dates going, carefully watching my mood.
Like now, walking hand in hand without a trace of a smile.
“Haah.”
He looked flustered, knowing full well that a sigh uttered so loudly couldn’t be taken back. Is today the day? His particularly dark expression today made me think he might finally say we should break up.
“Is there something you want to say?”
If I opened the conversation first, perhaps he would speak. On the capital’s streets, where the sounds of laughing and chatting people drifted like background music, only we stood facing each other with blank expressions.
“As I’ve said before, I didn’t start seeing you lightly. I’m not someone who does things halfway. If I fall for something, I begin with the intention of it lasting a lifetime.”
How many times must he have practiced to speak so smoothly without stumbling? As I listened to the worries he had kept to himself, I braced myself. Should I wear a sorrowful expression befitting a breakup scene? No, I shouldn’t look too sad.
I had to act as if my feelings had faded, so I maintained my indifferent attitude. Unlike me, his eyes were shimmering with tears. I forced myself to ignore the urge to wipe the moisture from the corners of his eyes.
“Joyce, I want you to be honest with me.”
I prepared to say something dishonest while pretending it was honest. That I was confused about whether I loved him. No—confused about whether it had ever been love in the first place. Then, shocked, he would end things.
The long-awaited turning point was finally approaching.
After hesitating, he finally spoke.
“By any chance… are you carrying our child?”
