Chapter 23:
“I could introduce you to another girl.”
“A—another girl?”
“Yeah. What kind of girl is your type?”
“Uh……”
Her ideal type had always been a man—someone diligent and humorous—not a woman.
“I, um… I like Yvonne.”
Kirian’s face twisted ever so slightly at that.
He remembered what Yvonne Moore had said.
*“He’s an idiot. A real dunce. How could anyone like a guy like that?”*
Yvonne Moore thought so poorly of Franz, yet Franz adored her with pure-hearted devotion, which Kirian found rather distasteful.
“What exactly do you like about Miss Moore?”
“Yvonne? Um…”
“Hey! Franz! Catch this!”
One of the troupe members, completely drunk, rescued Franz from having to answer.
Franz checked the envelope tossed at her and let out a deep sigh.
“What is this?”
“Medicine. So you don’t throw up.”
Seeing Kirian’s puzzled expression, she added an explanation.
“I throw up easily.”
“You’re not feeling well?”
“No, just a habit. Ugh, I should really swear off drinking.”
Embarrassment flushed up Franz’s neck, turning it red. She coughed awkwardly and tucked the medicine into her pocket.
While they talked, Paradi was standing on a table singing loudly.
A few colleagues called out to Franz.
“Franz! Come sing one!”
“Oh—okay! Wait a sec, I’m coming!”
Franz scrambled up and hurried to the cheap piano.
The moment Franz left the table, Kirian slipped outside for some fresh air.
There was a harbor nearby, and the night wind was especially rough. The sticky sea breeze brushed his cheek.
He had already figured out what Franz was trying to hide.
Franz was a terrible liar, and he himself was astonishingly quick-witted. Not to mention, he had access to information faster than anyone in the Empire.
*So the confession story was definitely a lie.*
The way Franz’s eyes wavered while speaking—it was such an amateurish lie.
If only Franz resembled Paradi Laurent, who was always at his side, even half as much, maybe it wouldn’t have shown.
*It seems Laurent didn’t tell Franz that I’m the one who attacked Yvonne Moore.*
Laurent had kept that part hidden—probably for Yvonne Moore’s sake.
*Distant relatives who look like twins… that’s hardly normal.*
There were many suspicious points. There might even be some hidden story between Yvonne Moore and Franz.
However—
*Franz is my brother. I can’t dig into my own brother’s secrets.*
He didn’t want to doubt Franz, nor investigate him like some enemy.
To him, Franz was practically his only family, and family—his only family—was sacred.
“Haa…”
What mattered now wasn’t Franz’s secrets—it was helping Franz get comfortable around him.
Franz still found him intimidating and scary. Maybe he’d always been shy, but unlike childhood, Kirian now had a terrible reputation in the capital, so it was understandable.
His younger brother was timid, after all.
*Time will fix it.*
If he was patient, things would eventually get better.
He snapped open and shut his lighter absentmindedly, then went back inside.
But while he was outside, the tavern had undergone several changes.
Franz, as usual, got drunk off the smallest amount of alcohol and started wobbling.
Paradi carried her out the back door. They couldn’t have her throwing up and needing clean clothes again.
Meanwhile, someone new joined the after-party late.
It was Gunnis, a boy Franz had met in the back alleys.
Gunnis was a fun-loving teenager who occasionally snuck into after-parties pretending to be Franz to score free drinks.
It helped that he and Franz both had blond hair and similar builds from behind.
And since he was only fourteen—short and small—he was easy to mistake for Franz in the dark.
“What, Franz? Didn’t throw up yet?”
Gunnis didn’t bother answering and instead helped himself to leftover food and drinks. The tavern was dark enough that they truly mistook him for Franz.
But his act didn’t last long. A troupe member soon realized he wasn’t Franz and kicked him out.
“Okay, okay! Just let me use the bathroom first, just the bathroom!”
Kirian came back inside just as Gunnis entered the bathroom. Mistaking him for Franz, Kirian followed him in.
*Ugh… scary man.*
When Gunnis came out and saw Kirian, he jolted and bowed his head. Any fourteen-year-old would buckle under Kirian’s intimidating aura.
Kirian looked at Gunnis’s retreating back and the troupe members treating him casually, and thought:
*Franz, a girl? Ridiculous.*
No matter how feminine he looked, Franz was still a young man who freely used the men’s restroom. Kirian scolded himself for entertaining such a suspicion about his own brother.
Meanwhile, Gunnis left the tavern with a drunk troupe member, arms slung around each other.
Kirian, assuming Franz was drunk and enjoying himself with friends, didn’t bother going after him.
And so Kirian’s misunderstanding only deepened.
—
“Ahhh! Home really *is* the best.”
Having played on the beach until sunrise, she didn’t wake up until late afternoon.
Her face was puffy from exhaustion, swollen like a cabbage—by her own judgment.
“I look awful.”
Her pants were sticky from dried seawater and covered in sand. There were ink marks clearly visible on both cheeks.
She was wiping off the word “idiot,” written on her cheek, when someone knocked on the door.
Yawning, she opened it.
Beth was supposed to be away until tomorrow. She probably forgot something.
“Beth, what’d you forget now—”
She opened the door with a playful grin, but Kirian was standing there instead.
“Oh.”
“Franz?”
Arms crossed, Kirian raised an eyebrow as the door opened.
“Wh-what brings you here?”
“What are *you* doing here—”
“You’re here to see Yvonne, right? She’s on a date with Paradi today, so she’s not home!”
Franz lied cheerfully, hoping he’d leave quickly.
But Kirian pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“I’ll wait inside.”
“…Huh?”
He settled into the living room like it was his own home.
Following behind him, Franz scratched her tangled hair, swallowing a sigh. With Beth gone, she had to play host herself.
“Do you like rooibos tea?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Then I’ll bring orange juice! I like it. Hehe.”
She sat across from him with the drinks, sipping her own.
Compared to when they first reunited, she’d become far more relaxed—still nervous, but not like before.
“No performance today, I see.”
“Right. Not every performance includes a musician. On days with live music, ticket prices change. I only perform in about thirty percent of the shows.”
“Then you must not earn much.”
“Oh, that’s not why I do it. I do it because it’s fun.”
Waving her hands, she smacked her lips and eyed her empty glass. Then carefully asked:
“Have you eaten?”
“Oh—I suppose you’re hungry. Let’s go. I’ll buy you something good.”
Judging by her messy clothes, which looked like they hadn’t been washed for a month, he could tell she’d just woken up.
“You’re a guest. If you haven’t eaten, let’s eat together. I’m actually good at cooking.”
“I thought the only thing you’re good at is eating.”
“No way!”
“You polished off all those sweets without blinking.”
“Ah… well, I *do* eat a lot. Anyway, let’s go. I think Yan hasn’t eaten yet either. I’ll take responsibility and cook for you.”
Franz stood up solemnly and marched toward the kitchen.
Kirian, who had already eaten both breakfast and lunch at dawn due to work, simply followed because he found Franz’s behavior cute.
Franz moved around Yvonne’s house as naturally as if it were her own.
Of course it *was* her own, since she *was* Yvonne—but Kirian didn’t know that. To him, it looked like Franz had long been freeloading at Yvonne’s place.
“Ahem! Today’s breakfast is cream pasta. With bacon! Shrimp! Parsley and onions… mm, delicious pasta!”
She knew exactly where every ingredient and dish was—like it was her kitchen.
Kirian watched her humming while stirring the pan.
When Franz cooked, she looked nothing like the guarded, nervous person she became around him otherwise.
Her loosely tied hair was an absolute mess, but she didn’t notice. She looked so cheerful, so unabashedly happy cooking that he couldn’t help but find it adorable.
He had to suppress a smile.
“Yan, you don’t dislike cream, do you?”
“I don’t.”
He did. He loathed sweet and creamy foods.
But he couldn’t bring himself to say so—not when Franz was cooking so brightly for him.
If his subordinates saw him now, they’d rub their eyes and clean their ears in disbelief. But Franz knew none of this as she plated the pasta.
“…”
Kirian stared at the dish, eyes wide.
He had eaten at countless luxury restaurants as the head of Frutra—gold-leaf dishes, shark fin, truffles…
But Franz’s food was different.
Because it asked for nothing in return—it came purely from kindness.
Not because he was a duke, not because he was the ruler of Frutra—
but simply because he was Kirian.
That small sincerity hit him strangely hard.
Franz sat across from him.
“If it’s not enough, just say so! I can make more.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The delicious smell increased Franz’s hunger, and she began emptying her plate with gusto.
Kirian stared at his own plate—the cream pasta he normally wouldn’t touch. Lifting his fork felt strangely overwhelming.
“You’re not eating?”
“I am.”
Franz, already halfway done, looked at him with bright, round eyes.
Kirian twirled the pasta around his fork. The creamy smell that usually nauseated him didn’t bother him.
And Franz watched—eyes sparkling—as he put the pasta into his mouth.
The rich, creamy taste filled his tongue. But strangely, it didn’t feel overwhelming.
In truth, he could barely taste it—something thick was rising in his throat, making it impossible to focus on flavor.
But because of that emotion, he understood what the taste *meant*.
It was—
“Delicious.”
The most precious flavor he had ever tasted.
That day, for the first time in his life, Kirian cleaned his plate of cream pasta down to the last bite.
