Chapter : 8
“I have failed to properly discipline my subordinates and caused you distress. Please, show mercy.”
Sol Riche clicked his tongue.
“That’s not it.”
“P–pardon…?”
“Shouldn’t your apology be directed over there?”
His long finger pointed at Rosetta. Meeting her golden eyes, Madam Cryill’s eyes widened.
Apologize to that woman?
She would rather die and come back to life than apologize to someone who didn’t even know her place.
When Madam Cryill didn’t move, Sol Riche spoke again.
“Did you not hear me?”
“N–no, Riche.”
“Then do what you’re supposed to do.”
Grit.
Grinding her teeth, Madam Cryill staggered to her feet. Standing before Rosetta, she bowed her head with difficulty.
“I… am sorry, Lady Valeri. My incompetence has caused trouble. Please, grant me your generous forgiveness.”
“……”
Looking down at the crown of her head, Rosetta said quietly:
“It seems you’ve been overworked managing the servants all on your own. From now on, I’ll take the initiative and lighten your burden, so don’t worry.”
“……!”
Madam Cryill snapped her head up.
She was saying she’d take part of the head housekeeper’s authority away.
And the less she had to manage, the weaker her power would become.
Ignoring Cryill’s sharp, flashing gaze, Rosetta continued in a gentle tone:
“Oh, and your salary for the next two months will be reduced. The deducted amount will go toward food expenses. It’s disciplinary action for negligence—surely you have no objections?”
Rosetta looked to Sol Riche. He nodded. There was no reason to object—for the money to be used for ingredients, of all things.
Turning back to Madam Cryill, Rosetta asked:
“You don’t object, do you, Madam?”
Madam Cryill clenched her teeth. In the end, she had no choice but to give the answer Rosetta wanted.
“I am grateful… for Lady Valeri’s generosity.”
Watching the trembling of her shoulders, Rosetta smiled sweetly.
Once the matter was settled, Sol Riche took Rosetta out to the terrace.
He had lunch served there, and the two began their meal together.
After clearing away the fresh Greek salad and charcoal-grilled octopus, Rosetta silently set down her utensils.
“Thank you for the meal.”
“Why not eat a bit more?”
Sol Riche, already done and drinking his coffee, offered. Rosetta shook her head.
“So you can fatten me up and eat me?”
“You need to put on weight.”
At his teasing grin, the memory of the previous night flashed through Rosetta’s mind, and her face turned red.
‘Can’t even make a joke now.’
Her shoulder suddenly felt itchy.
As she rubbed it, Sol Riche gestured toward the wooden storage box on the table.
“So. What’s that, exactly?”
“I told you—it’s my mother’s keepsake.”
“Not that. What’s in it?”
“Oh…”
Rosetta’s expression darkened as she recalled what lay inside.
The hinges had been crushed—surely the jewelry box inside was ruined. She wouldn’t be able to hear the music box tune she loved ever again.
“It was a music-box jewelry case. When you opened it, it played a melody.”
“Hm.”
Sol Riche stared at her face for a long moment, then picked up the wooden storage box with his long arm.
Startled, Rosetta grabbed his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Let go.”
“Give it back!”
“Tch.”
He pushed her forehead away.
“Stay still.”
At his irritated tone, Rosetta’s expression briefly crumpled. Seeing her face, his eyes twitched.
At that moment—
Kiiiing—
A ring of light spread from his hand. Rosetta gasped and released him.
“—?!”
“…Oops.”
He hadn’t meant to do that.
Sol clicked his tongue and focused his strength. The ring of light condensed, becoming round and firefly-like.
Rosetta’s eyes widened.
‘What is that?’
The round light spread again, enveloping the wooden box completely—and then,
Pop!
It vanished like a soap bubble.
“W–what… was that…?”
As she murmured in shock, Sol complained:
“You’re so impatient. Was someone trying to eat you?”
What?
‘Who is he calling impatient?!’
Flustered, Rosetta snatched the box back from him.
“I told you—it’s my mother’s keepsake! Show some respect!”
“I did respect it.”
“How can you call that—!”
“Just look.”
He jerked his chin. Rolling her eyes, Rosetta examined the box in her arms.
“…Huh?”
The box, damaged beyond repair, was now perfectly intact. The crushed joints were smooth and new.
‘How…?’
Dumbstruck, she stared. Sol urged her:
“What are you doing? Open it.”
“….”
Hesitating, Rosetta set the lock and lifted the lid.
Inside lay her music-box jewelry case, glowing softly.
“…My goodness.”
It should have been shattered.
‘Impossible. There isn’t a single scratch.’
But her relief didn’t last long.
It was so unbelievable—like magic—that she asked carefully:
“How did you do that?”
“There are ways.”
Sol Riche shrugged and sipped his coffee. He clearly had no intention of explaining.
Rosetta glanced at the bracelet on his wrist.
Its dragon-scale pattern alone made it obvious it wasn’t an ordinary item.
‘Don’t tell me… it’s a magic tool? A restoration-type magic tool? Something like that would be priceless…’
The magic tools on the market were small conveniences for daily life.
When faucets that produced hot or cold water instantly came out, and later portable magic kettles for brewing tea anywhere, they were considered revolutionary—at first.
But people quickly adapted.
Even so, they were priced so that middle-class families could buy them with some effort.
But a restoration magic tool would be a completely different matter.
How many cultural artifacts had been destroyed?
If the ancient relics ruined by reincarnators could be restored, the continent’s history would change.
The economy, the political sphere—everything would shift.
And if Iglesiera, with its vast magic-stone mines, had the means to produce such tools and control the supply?
‘Why wouldn’t they release them on the market? With something like that, Iglesiera could be far wealthier than it already is.’
Even as Rosetta puzzled over it, Sol asked casually:
“What?”
“N–nothing…”
Curious or not, gratitude was still gratitude.
Rosetta beamed.
“Thank you, Sol. Now I can cherish my mother’s keepsake for a long, long time.”
Sol only smiled lightly and sipped his coffee.
Juan Machi, pacing anxiously in the hallway, brightened when Sol Riche finally stepped out of the inner chambers.
“Riche! You’re out at last?”
“…….”
Sol Riche looked strangely languid. Maybe because it was morning. Juan followed him, beginning his delayed report.
“The proposal you rejected was revised and resubmitted. Should I handle it as you instructed?”
“Hmm… What did I say again?”
Juan paused, then replied cautiously:
“‘The fundamental premise is flawed, so even a revision should be thrown out,’ sir.”
“Ah. Right.”
He responded as casually as someone who’d forgotten what they had for breakfast. But Juan shot him a worried glance.
Normally, the man remembered every tiny detail.
Whenever he slipped like this, Juan became uneasy.
‘He’s been stable recently, but…’
It didn’t affect his work, but once in a while he’d show these strange lapses. It always made Juan nervous.
‘I hope nothing’s wrong…’
Juan sighed inwardly.
Just then, Sol Riche suddenly turned his head.
“Oh, and cancel my afternoon schedule. I’ll be entering that room.”
“Sir? But Riche, you have the patent conference in a few hours—!”
“Postpone it.”
No matter how Juan pleaded, Sol didn’t care.
He had already done the courtesy of skipping his honeymoon and attending a breakfast meeting immediately upon returning. That was enough.
If anyone was in a hurry, it wasn’t him.
“Riche…!”
Juan, nearly in tears, hurried after him.
End Of Chapter : 08
