Part 2 Chapter 46
The terrace bathed in moonlight.
We stood face to face.
“…To comfort you.”
Nike spoke quietly to me as I stood frozen. His words made me laugh softly.
“How?”
He hesitated, then spread his arms. I laughed again.
Stepping forward, I gently wrapped my arms around his waist. He returned it, holding me close.
Comfort…
Yes, his embrace really did have a magical effect on me.
Even before the regression—when I thought of giving up on everything—it was this warmth that kept us going, that helped us endure.
Resting my ear against his chest, I whispered:
“Your Highness.”
“…Mm.”
“……”
“……”
“…It’s hard to focus on feeling comforted.”
“……”
Nike paused, then let out a faint laugh. “Sorry.”
His heart was pounding so hard against my ear it felt like it might burst. Fast, strong.
I tilted my head just a little to look up at him.
He gazed straight down at me without letting go.
“…Do you like me?”
“……”
His breath came unevenly through parted lips. His hand rose carefully, brushing my left cheek.
“…Yes.”
I covered his hand with mine, pressing it against my cheek.
“How much?”
“……”
His breath left him in a heated sigh, his gaze dropping lower. His thumb traced the line of my lips.
“…Enough that—”
“……”
“—even if you ruin me, I wouldn’t care.”
Yes.
Our love was destructive.
Just as he had said when he sent me back in time.
“I’ll end up ruining you again.”
My life, his life—both shattered by each other.
From the moment we were born, we had always been incompatible pieces, and yet—
We still forced ourselves to fit together.
Cutting, breaking, forcing bloodied shards into place.
That was our love.
“…Me too.”
He lowered his head. Our lips met.
The kiss rushed in hot and bittersweet. His tongue slid into mine, shaking me to my core. The heat, the force of it, blurred my senses.
As my strength melted away, he held me tightly, then broke the kiss just enough to lock eyes with me.
Those blue eyes—blurred, wild with passion.
In a low, husky voice he whispered:
“…May I kiss you?”
A belated question.
I laughed, looping my arms around his neck.
And then the heat surged back, twining us together again—ruining, tangling, destroying—
***
A young emperor, Alphonse Rod Valensier, knelt with his head bowed low.
From that humiliated angle, all he could see was his adversary’s boots.
The battlefield, moments ago in chaos, had been quelled in an instant.
With a single bow of his head, he had saved hundreds of citizens. For the Emperor, it was a victory of the most humiliating kind.
“Your Majesty.”
At the voice, Alphonse raised his head.
There he was—the man like the sun.
Golden hair, golden eyes.
Not “like”—he was the one who stood as the sun of the Gifted houses.
Edgar Bassenberg.
The man who had outstripped all his siblings to claim leadership of his clan.
“Remember the screams and cries of your people.”
The young duke laughed, intoxicated with triumph.
“Remember the ruined land, destroyed by your hesitation.”
And grinding his boot onto the Emperor’s hand, he said:
“Most of all, remember this—our eye level.”
That was the beginning of the curse.
And just as Edgar had said, that memory was branded into Alphonse’s mind, never fading, never forgotten.
***
Plop… plop.
The bobber on the water dipped.
Two middle-aged men sat fishing. Their clothes were simple, but their bearing betrayed noble birth.
“Ah, a big one!”
Pol, the Emperor’s aide, pulled up his tenth fine catch and glanced at Alphonse, who only pouted.
The Emperor’s rod had been cast for three hours without so much as a nibble.
“Haha. When Your Majesty’s heart is restless, even the fish stay away.”
Pol tossed the catch into an already brimming basket.
“Rubbish. I’m not restless.”
“When do you plan to return to the palace?”
Pol baited his hook and cast again. Alphonse kept his eyes on the bobber.
“I want to rest a little longer.”
“You know the Crown Prince is burning up with worry. How cruel.”
“Burning? There’s nothing that can’t move forward without me.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Pol turned to him, exasperated.
“What son can calmly proceed with a marriage his father opposes?”
“I never opposed it. I gave the Crown Prince full authority long ago.”
Alphonse thought of Nike.
That stone-hearted son who never wanted for anything—who, for the first time, had looked his father in the eye and said he had found a woman he wished to marry.
“How could I oppose that?”
Indeed.
“Weren’t you upset when the match with Ebonwind fell through?”
“Bah.”
Alphonse scowled.
“After all these years by my side, do you still not know me?”
“Hahaha. Just teasing.”
They were more than Emperor and aide.
They were comrades—men who had borne together the humiliation of Bassenberg’s tyranny.
To Alphonse, Pol was more than family.
“You only sought that alliance for Nike’s sake.”
“Yes.”
Again, Alphonse thought of his son.
The boy he had thrown into hell.
The son who had carried nothing but the cold command: risk your life to protect the people.
But Alphonse hadn’t always been so cold. In the early years, the guilt and nightmares had nearly consumed him.
Until one night, Nike had stood before him and said:
“Think of me not as your son, but as your subject. You have always made the right choices for the Empire. Please, do not wound yourself with guilt over using me.”
That boy had shouldered even his father’s remorse.
How hungry must he have been for love? And yet, knowing what a prince’s life demanded, he had given it up without hesitation.
So Alphonse had wished—when it all ended—that he might finally give his son something as a father.
If his son could meet a good woman, build a family, and know happiness… If he could finally value his own life…
That was why he had carefully chosen a bride.
Of course, when Nike rejected her and claimed another, Alphonse had felt no bitterness—only relief.
Nike, choosing for himself? That joy was enough.
But when he learned who she was—
“…The daughter of Edgar Bassenberg.”
He had gone still.
Naturally, it gave him pause.
Yet still, he did not oppose.
How could he, after the debt he owed?
Surely Nike had chosen with care. Surely he hadn’t been blind to her bloodline.
Besides, the girl had been cast aside herself, neglected and unloved.
But still…
Alphonse sighed.
“…I’m a small-minded man. I know it.”
The enemy who had branded him for life.
And her—the man’s daughter.
Could he truly look at her face and not see him? Could he truly not hate her, though she bore no blame?
He wasn’t sure.
And so he stayed away.
“A worthless father who gave him nothing but burdens… better I vanish than spoil his joy with my eyes.”
“You could just close them, Your Majesty~”
“…If only I trusted myself to.”
Plop.
The bobber sank again—this time on Alphonse’s line.
And at that moment—
“Father.”
A familiar voice.
Alphonse’s head snapped around.
“…Nike?”
There he was, barely ten paces away.
And behind him—
Pink hair peeked out, small enough to be hidden entirely by his son’s frame.
She looked like a small animal. A rabbit, perhaps…
‘Ah.’
When Alphonse finally saw her face, he realized.
This was the girl. Edgar Bassenberg’s daughter.
Not because she was with Nike. Not because of the marriage negotiations.
But because—
Those golden eyes.
That delicate face.
No matter how he wished not to see it, her features carried his mark.
“Remember our eye level.”
Alphonse’s hand trembled on the rod.
That voice, seared into him, never forgotten…
“An honor to meet you!”
His dark thoughts shattered.
The small girl stepped forward, bent her back in a perfect ninety-degree bow, and shouted with all her might:
“Father-in-law~~~!!!”
“…?!”
our Bunny finally became a rabbit