~Chapter 14~
In the dimly lit room, Zekart, who had seemed for a moment to head toward the bed, instead changed direction and moved toward the bookshelf. He had nearly forgotten, but after all, his goal was the coded book containing the Enigma settings. His hand swept past the humanities books and meaningless novels on the shelves, finally reaching an old drawer below.
The first and second drawers opened without resistance, but the problem was the last one. Click—the drawer protested slightly against the latch.
Zekart raised his eyebrows in mild annoyance and pulled a thin piece of metal from his pocket. Opening this crude lock—a simple one bought at a general hardware store, far from any sophisticated mechanism—was far too easy for him.
As expected, a few careful maneuvers with the metal in the keyhole made the lock release as if lying.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips. The woman who had been so reassured by such trivial things—windows, drawers—seemed a little cute, or perhaps just trivial, to him. He had felt the same when he discovered that the seemingly composed woman had her quirks and preferences.
Ssshh. Finally, the last drawer opened. Being the only one with a lock, its contents were highly personal: some jewelry of modest value, childhood photos slightly younger than his memory of her, and a worn diary resembling a personal journal.
He picked up the diary that most resembled a coded book. It looked very ordinary, save for the folded pages inside.
Perhaps this was what he had been searching for. With a slight sense of anticipation, Zekart opened the diary. On the first page of the folded section, the woman’s neat handwriting spread across the page. If it wasn’t a coded book, it had to be a diary—but surprisingly, its contents were letters.
Letters, foolishly addressed to someone she could never send them to.
*To Maximilian: Today, Leon was really sick. The fever medicine didn’t work, so I stayed up all night. Considering all the little illnesses he seems to get, I wonder if he takes after you. I’ve never heard about your childhood, but I was told I was very healthy as a child.
Honestly, on days like this, I can’t help but be a little mad at you.
No, in fact, it wasn’t just today—I’ve been upset with you on many days.
(…excerpt…)
When I was pregnant with Leon, my morning sickness was so bad that I couldn’t eat anything all day. One night, in the early hours, I suddenly craved fruit desperately. I didn’t care which fruit, as long as it was sour—but I couldn’t eat any. The next day, as I bought and ate kiwi with my own hands, I felt so frustrated, so resentful of you… You wouldn’t know.*
Zekart suddenly clutched his chest. The more he read her letters, the sharper the pangs in his heart, which had otherwise been indifferent to everything. The pain deepened as he recalled her situation and the recent conversations with her former landlords.
It seemed he truly felt sympathy. Gritting his teeth, Zekart concluded that this must be his feeling toward her.
Even after giving birth to Leon, and whenever he did something cute as he grew up, it was like this. Don’t think I resent you for doing this. You can’t say anything about my complaints.
Around this time, she had probably been crying. The tremor of her hand while writing had left traces in her handwriting.
‘So foolish.’
Closing the diary, Zekart stood. He intended to leave the mansion. With the homeowners back, further searching would be impossible. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t found the coded book, but it wasn’t a complete loss—the letters had a diary-like quality, and perhaps even contained notes on their plans.
The problem is, if I take it, they’ll notice immediately…
Zekart narrowed his eyes, tucking the diary under his arm. As he looked for a way, his gaze landed on the oil lamp on the desk.
Heh.
A soft curve appeared at the corner of Zekart’s lips.
“…So what you’re trying to do with me now is—”
Edit could not hide her astonishment. Gisela had finally revealed her reason, and it was exactly what she expected. The freckles on Gisela’s cheeks deepened as if in embarrassment, as if she had anticipated this reaction.
“…Well, Riche is the only married person around. And since you got married young, I thought you might understand… and, um… well, I thought you might give good advice on this kind of thing…”
Listening to her hesitant, almost apologetic explanation for a while, Edit finally laughed with a sigh, mixed with a sense of relief. She had worried that it might be a serious matter she couldn’t even help with—but it turned out it was just a love problem.
‘Well, it might be serious in its own way.’
Suppressing a light chuckle, Edit asked,
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“Well… it’s been a year. But he hasn’t even mentioned marriage. Since there’s been no progress, I couldn’t tell my family that I was seeing someone. Does that mean I’m not marriage material?”
Gisela answered with a serious expression. It was impulsive to bring it up, but it was not a lie; it was a genuine concern she had had recently. In that sense, asking for love advice was a surprisingly excellent choice. For a woman, there was hardly a more interesting topic.
Engrossed, Edit asked,
“Gisela, do you want to marry him?”
“Yes. I haven’t dated much, but you know that feeling when you just know? I think I’d be happy marrying him… Didn’t you feel that way about Riche?”
A tender smile touched Edit’s lips as she recalled Maximilian immediately.
“…I did. I did.”
Perhaps she had been a hopeless romantic back then. After all, she had believed in fate over a man she had only once seen—not even on a proper date—when they had watched the sea together in Cap. She even felt certain he felt the same.
I’ll write you a letter.
The suggestion she had offered at their farewell had not even considered the possibility of his refusal.
But…
He won’t reply.
His response, delayed slightly, had been so blunt and unyielding.
“Oh, but how did you send the letter?”
Edit pouted as she recalled the time. Now that she knew he wasn’t an army officer but a secret operations commander, she understood—but back then, it had stung a little.
“It didn’t matter.”
“Excuse me?”
“I just felt it shouldn’t end like that. Whether a reply came or not didn’t matter.”
Even Edit hadn’t expected it, but in the face of sudden love, she had been quite bold. She had even extracted his address from him, despite his awkwardness.
After returning to Berk, Edit wrote him repeatedly. Nothing particularly important—just daily stories: the weather in Berk, what she had eaten for lunch, tales of Cap, and places in Hasmal she wanted to visit but hadn’t.
As he had declared, no reply ever came.
“Your husband must have been really handsome.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you sent letters persistently, even though no reply came. You must have fallen in love at first sight.”
“Not wrong,” she admitted.
Despite his cold appearance, his thinly layered eyelids, smooth nose, red lips, and firm jawline were all perfect for love at first sight. But Edit’s persistence wasn’t about his looks…
“The letters never came, but he would visit often.”
“Directly?”
Gisela was surprised. A small dimple appeared on Edit’s slightly flushed cheek.
“Yes. Not often, just every few months, without notice.”
He arrived suddenly to tell in person what he could not in letters—stories about Hasmal’s weather, delicious tomato stews, hidden local tourist spots unknown to outsiders.
Around this time, Edit, not talented at cooking, began practicing tomato stew—even though it wasn’t her preference.
“After a few failed attempts, when I finally made a decent tomato stew, I proposed to him.”
“Riche?”
Gisela’s brown eyes widened, reflecting Edit’s smiling face.
“Yes.”
If asked for the most nerve-wracking moment of her life, Edit would answer without hesitation: the moment she proposed to Maximilian.
