Chapter 1
And Then the Fever Rose
It was definitely a ghost.
Benedict Winfield was certain of it.
Of course, he didn’t go around announcing, “A white-haired girl ghost has moved into the mansion’s cottage!”—no matter how astonishing that was.
What if the servants got scared and caused a commotion? That would be a disaster.
Such a racket would undoubtedly reach the ears of his father, the Duke. And that kind-hearted man would certainly take interest in the ghost problem.
There was surely no twelve-year-old gentleman in the world as considerate and graceful as Benedict!
His heart swelled with pride—until…
“Argh!”
A sharp pain shot through his rear, as if it were splitting in two.
He had been trying to climb out the window when he heard his nanny Tabitha’s scream, which startled him into losing his balance and falling backward.
“Oh dear, Master!”
Tabitha screamed again and rushed over in a panic.
Benedict, ignoring the sharp sting in his backside, stood up calmly and chided her with a dignified tone.
“You mustn’t scream inside the mansion. I believed my nanny to be a more refined lady.”
“I was, sir! At least I was, right up until I saw your two legs flailing wildly as you tried to clamber over the window!”
Benedict’s face flushed bright red.
Like the protagonists in novels he admired, he had wanted to leap gracefully through the window frame. Unfortunately, his sadly inadequate leg length had turned it into a clumsy spectacle.
His nanny seemed to mistake his embarrassment for remorse.
“To think you were sneaking out into the garden in this cold weather!”
Her scolding continued immediately, as always.
“I told you, if you catch a chill again, your fever will return!”
Ah, not this again.
Benedict hated winter with all his heart.
The moment that dreadful season approached, and the wind began to turn sharp, the adults would panic, desperate to keep him locked inside the mansion.
“But don’t worry, Master. You can get better.”
“…Lies.”
Benedict had been hearing those words for over a decade. Sure, he couldn’t remember much from when he was younger, but things couldn’t have been much different back then either.
“Grandfather lived like this his whole life too. It’s called a hereditary disease. I’ll end up just like him.”
The unfortunate genetic illness he had rarely showed symptoms under normal circumstances.
But now and then, it would hit with burning fevers and pain so intense it felt like his bones were being ground to dust.
He had heard that as one grew older, the episodes became more frequent—until, finally, one would die in agony, consumed from the inside by an invisible fire.
“Oh, don’t say such dreadful things! Your father will find a cure somehow. All you need to do is rest quietly, alright? And absolutely, positively don’t go outside!”
“…Okay.”
As he climbed back into bed, Benedict thought again:
“The one who will get rid of this disease… isn’t Father. It’s me.”
Because he would never marry. He would never have children.
That was the most perfect way to eradicate this cursed illness once and for all. He truly found it strange that no adult had come up with such a brilliant solution yet.
After his nanny left, Benedict sat up in bed with a mischievous grin.
Then, he unlatched the heavy shutters and window and leapt out onto the sill.
His room was on the ground floor. They had chosen it that way so a doctor could quickly reach him if anything happened—and Benedict had always supported that decision.
After all, it made sneaking out to play much easier now and then.
He landed softly just outside the window and looked up, eyes sparkling.
He already knew exactly where he was headed.
Ever since last night, when he followed his father and the butler after they returned from an outing… and saw a ghostly white figure in the backyard cottage.
* * *
The Winfield estate stood with its back against towering mountains, and its backyard led directly into sheer cliffside walls that looked like they could be the resting place of a demon.
Unlike the neatly tended front garden, maintained with the skill of professional gardeners, the backyard remained mostly in its natural state.
And Benedict liked the backyard far more.
In summer, seeds would drift down from the mountains and bloom in vibrant colors like spilled paint. Untamed trees stretched their limbs freely toward each other.
A stream ran through the shaded forest, always teeming with ducks, frogs, or small fish. But now it was winter, so no such lively scenes could be expected.
The grass was half-dead and brittle, lying limp on the frozen ground. Leaves collected beneath the bare trees were nothing but damp and dirty.
“Not over here!”
“Where did he go?!”
Just then, the voices of the servants echoed from nearby.
Already?! They found out this fast?
Startled, Benedict quickly headed for the low-growing dogwood tree near the frozen stream.
When he hid beneath its clusters of red berries, the adults usually had a hard time spotting him.
He reached the tree and darted into the shadows cast by its long limbs.
At that exact moment, his violet eyes went wider than they had in the last ten years.
“…!”
His heart leapt to his throat in shock.
A trembling twig dropped one of its red berries.
It landed atop a head of white, curly hair.
“…Ah.”
Instinctively, Benedict reached out toward the head.
Some of the berries bounced off his hand and plopped into the icy stream.
He stared at the scattered fruit for a while, then slowly turned his gaze.
The girl had round eyes, just like the berries, and she looked up at him with bright red irises that mirrored the dogwood’s fruit.
She blinked.
Then smiled at him—soft and sweet.
Thud.
It was the same sound you’d hear when your heart drops after being caught doing something wrong.
But it wasn’t his heart that dropped—it was his butt. He had fallen flat on the cold, winter dirt.
A ghost appeared!
And an incredibly pretty one at that!
But it was a misunderstanding.
The snow-white girl was certainly not a ghost. Her vivid red eyes full of life and the visible white breath that escaped with every exhale proved it.
They introduced themselves to each other.
The girl’s name was Lucien. She was the same age as him—twelve.
“I came from a traveling troupe.”
“I heard clowns from troupes can fit inside drawers?”
Since it was a story he was familiar with, Benedict put on a serious voice and pretended to be knowledgeable.
“I’ve never seen one actually go into a drawer, but I think they could. They can squeeze into places even smaller.”
Benedict tried to imagine it as vividly as he could, but he just couldn’t picture a grown adult fitting snugly into a space smaller than a drawer.
“More importantly, how did you get in here?”
“I followed the Duke. You know, Duke Winfield.”
“Fath—…”
Benedict almost blurted out, ‘Father brought you here?!’, but quickly shut his mouth.
If he revealed his identity now, Lucien would probably become all stiff and formal like everyone else—and for some reason, he really didn’t want to see that happen.
“So Duke Winfield brought you here himself?”
“Yeah, see that house over there?”
Lucien pointed to a small cabin visible beyond the stream.
“He made sure I could stay in that pretty house.”
From that answer, Benedict guessed that the white ghostly girl he’d seen yesterday must’ve been Lucien.
He felt a little disappointed—he’d hoped to earn some credit by banishing a ghost—but at the same time, curiosity about the mysterious girl bloomed in him.
“So what are you doing over there?”
“That… I’m not really sure.”
The girl shrugged.
“The troupe leader just told me, ‘Do whatever the Duke tells you to do.’”
“My fath— I mean, the Duke has something he wants you to do?”
Benedict almost said “father” again. Luckily, he managed to correct himself quickly, and Lucien didn’t seem to notice.
“Seems like it. But the Duke must be a quiet person. He didn’t say much in the carriage on the way here.”
That was strange.
Benedict’s father wasn’t quiet at all. If anything, he could talk endlessly like a storyteller.
But now he’s being called quiet?
As Benedict pondered that, the conversation continued.
“That’s why I keep worrying.”
Lucien pursed her lips tightly. Maybe it was a habit she had when deep in thought.
Benedict had to resist the urge to poke her cheeks, which looked as soft as white bread.
“I don’t know how to walk a tightrope or balance on a ball. But I don’t know what the Duke will ask me to do, so it’s a bit frustrating. If I knew in advance, I could at least practice.”
“You’re going to perform here?”
“Probably?”
Sounds fun. Benedict wanted to say, but he held back in case it made her feel pressured, since she hadn’t learned any tricks yet.
“The only thing I can do is throw bean-filled pouches high up and juggle them in the air.”
He wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but Benedict was already excited.
Just watching her cheeks and lips move as she talked was entertaining—so spinning beanbags on top of that sounded even more thrilling!
“You’re really amazing.”
“Oh.”
At his sincere compliment, Lucien’s cheeks turned red.
“No one’s ever said that to me before… I know what people call someone like you. They call them ‘kind.’”
Benedict had never been called that before, but he didn’t dislike it. So he made a silent vow to always be a kind person to this girl.
“I should get back to the cabin now. If I’m gone too long, the people looking for me will feel sorry.”
Lucien stood up, brushing the dirt off her clothes.
“Actually, the adults who brought me here told me never, ever to go near the garden.”
“Never, ever,” huh?
Benedict burst out laughing.
“Ah, I can’t help myself when I hear something like that.”
“Right? I knew it!”
“Of course.”
Benedict got up with her.
By now, alongside the voice calling out for the girl, he could hear another voice calling, “Young master!”—his nanny’s.
* * *
That night.
A man with pink hair quietly approached the deeply sleeping Benedict.
With a gentle touch, he brushed Benedict’s forehead, full of genuine concern.
“The fever… is gone.”
As he murmured softly, the butler, who had been bowing his head in the dark, cautiously replied.
“I failed, my lord. The servants should have stayed close to him.”
“No, Bell. Children should be allowed to grow freely. That’s how it should be…”
He bit his lip, as if in pain.
“That… girl?”
The Duke’s voice now trembled slightly. Perhaps from fear.
“The maid checked again while bathing her. The mark on her back… It seems it’s genuine.”
“So this time… it’s real.”
“Yes, sir. The child seems to think it’s just a birthmark. Could it be she truly doesn’t know?”
“I spoke with her briefly in the carriage on the way here. She really didn’t seem to know. I suppose… we’ll have to explain it to her someday.”
“Perhaps it’s better if she never knows, sir. It would spare her a tragic fate.”
“…”
The Duke didn’t reply. The butler, reading the mood, spoke again.
“For now, I’ve made sure she’s comfortable in the cabin. I told the staff she’s a young girl you intend to sponsor.”
“Sponsor… huh.”
The man—Duke Winfield—muttered with a tone that sounded almost self-mocking and rested his forehead gently against his son’s bedside.
His shoulders shook slightly—as if he were about to cry.
“If only I could be the one to endure it all instead.”
“You still must tell him. For the young master’s sake.”
“For Benedict’s sake…”
It was a strange thing to say. What kind of father says such a thing “for his son”?
“Benedict, I’ve found a way for you to never be in pain again. But… it requires…”
The Duke, slowly crafting the words he would one day say to his son, paused.
Even imagining how to say it made him want to retch.
“…Ah.”
No matter how he thought about it, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to say those words out loud.
That in order to escape the pain that burns through his body like fire—
That innocent girl must be killed… by Benedict’s own hand.
