“Are you here, miss?”
“Yeah, I’m back.”
He didn't say much, but he was wary of Gerald entering the main building and carefully observing Aila's complexion, showing that he was worried that the bastard might have done something.
“What’s wrong, Cloud?”
She tilted her head with a look of ignorance.
It felt incredibly hypocritical for Cloud to be concerned about her, since he only intended to use her anyway.
“...It’s nothing. Come on in. The master is waiting for you.”
He shook his head and walked towards the annex, urging Aila on.
And as soon as she arrived at the annex, she was taken to Byron's room instead of her own.
“Come quickly, my daughter.”
Byron feigned composure and sat hunched over in his comfortable armchair, but his expression was not entirely relaxed. He had graciously allowed her to leave, but it seemed he was still worried after sending her out.
Aila laughed inwardly at his petty appearance, then ran over and knelt before Byron naturally.
“So, was it fun outside?”
He reached out to touch Aila's head, then withdrew it and asked.
No matter how obsessed he was with her silver hair, which resembled Ophelia's, he didn't seem to want to stroke it after it had been trapped under his hat all day.
And she quickly turned her head in that fleeting moment.
What answer would satisfy Byron's twisted judgment?
If she had clearly answered, "It was fun," he would have said all sorts of things like, "Did you like that old Gerald?" or "This father is sad."
Should she just say it wasn't fun? That seemed better. If she mixed in a little truth and embellished my story, there would be no need for unnecessary suspicion or nitpicking.
But since he sent it out after all this time, if she just says it wasn't fun, he'll definitely think she's ungrateful, so it would be better to add some good parts as well.
“...No. It wasn’t very fun. I just stayed at the cafe all day.”
“A cafe? Weren’t you at a festival?”
Byron asked, puzzled by Aila's answer.
“He said he didn’t want to hang out with lowly commoners, so he took me to a cafe.”
She answered with a pout. It wasn't a lie. It was definitely Gerald who said it.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Byron nodded, his expression absurd. It was clear he thought Gerald would be a good fit.
“Still, the cake was delicious, and oh! I also had a fruit tea I’d never seen before.”
Aila chattered excitedly, recalling the food she'd eaten at the café. Her charming voice must have had an effect; Byron nodded in satisfaction.
"I heard that in this area, they pickle grapefruit in honey and eat it that way. I'm glad the cake was delicious."
'Phew, that's enough.'
Aila let out a small, secret sigh. She felt like she'd passed Byron's test without a hitch.
His mood seemed to have improved, Aila said, one side of her lips curling into a smile as an interesting plan came to mind.
It was a shame to let that worthless bastard Gerald go like this.
"Oh, but Father... that kid called me 'lowly.' What does that mean? I'm your precious daughter."
Aila looked up at Byron with eyes that looked as if they were about to burst into tears and asked.
How could Gerald have known that she wasn't Byron's biological daughter? It must have been passed down from Byron to his father, and then to him.
And there's no way Byron would have easily revealed such a secret. He must have clearly insisted that it be kept at all costs.
Byron couldn't leave Gerald alone, for he dared to let Aila hear such useless talk about 'low things'.
And as she had predicted, Byron's eyebrows twitched unusually upon hearing the story. It was a sign that he was deeply uneasy.
"What are you talking about, my daughter? How dare he say such things to you? This is an insult to me. I'll give him a good beating, so don't worry about it. Go inside, wash up, and get ready to rest. You must be tired today."
Byron, speaking like this, was smiling gently, but the corners of his mouth were trembling. He looked as if he might go to the Count and Gerald at any moment and throw a fit of rage at them for being so lax.
This was a relatively minor punishment for what Gerald had intended to do, but it would at least vent some of his frustration.
“Yes, Father.”
Aila nodded, feeling refreshed.
There were many twists and turns, but Aila enjoyed the festival and even met some people she's been missing. It was a truly unbelievably lucky day.
Gerald was locked in his room, avoiding his father, who kept nagging him, asking, "Did you have fun after being so stubborn?"
He was so angry he couldn't stand it. What kind of girl could be so proud of herself?
As if she knew everything about him, she avoided the trap and put him to sleep while she was eating cake peacefully.
The more he thought about it, the more resentful he became. Gerald had tried to treat a lowly woman, not even the daughter of a distinguished guest, with affection and to play with her, but she didn't know her place and ended up playing with him instead.
When he remembered the sight of her eating the cake with that fresh face when he woke up, he felt like his clothes were turning inside out.
And most of all, the angry one was himself.
"You think it's pretty to see you eating cake after being treated like that? Are you crazy?"
No one in their right mind would do that. This was a complete bewilderment.
'Yeah, she's possessed. That girl must have pulled some cowardly trick.'
In the end, she wasn't at fault at all, but he felt a little better after blaming it on someone else.
After such a bold escape from reality, Gerald finally realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything all day.
It was only natural that he had taken sleeping pills and fallen asleep while she was eating cake alone.
“Hey, is anyone out there? Bring me something to eat. I’m hungry, now!”
Gerald tugged at the rope, his temper rising. He felt compelled to empty his food storage to fill this empty void.
And a moment later, the door burst open and someone came in. It was a rude visit, without even a knock, but Gerald, so hungry he could eat his own shoe, ignored the visitor and stared at him.
But unfortunately, it wasn't the servant who brought the food who entered the room. It was Count Ernes Cenospon, his father, his face flushed with rage.
“You, you punk! I heard you said something to that girl about her being ‘lowly.’ Is that true?”
“Huh? What is that...?”
The Count suddenly grabbed his son by the collar and screamed, and Gerald just blinked with a bewildered look on his face.
"Don't even think about denying it. The guest came running because he was furious! He trusted me and told me his secret, and now you're making a fool of him!"
As Byron's face, which had coldly laughed and said, "You're a more open-mouthed person than I thought," came to mind, the Count felt goosebumps run down his spine and tremble all over.
It seemed like everything he had earned by flattering Byron, including the throne, was flying away.
“...”
And Gerald shut his mouth tightly. Come to think of it, he'd probably said something like that as he left the cafe.
He didn't say it with any particular intention. He was so angry that he felt like he needed to say something, but that was the first thing that came to mind.
Seeing his son's speechless expression, as if his mouth had been glued shut, the Count raised his hand as if ready to strike him. At the last moment, he seemed to regain his senses and didn't dare strike, but the mere sight of him deeply shocked Gerald.
The fact that his father, who had cared for him so much, was about to hit him was a world-changing event for him.
"You're banned from going out. You won't even get any allowance."
“...What, what is that!”
And then, from his father's lips, a verdict as shocking as a bolt from the blue came. It was so shocking that he felt he would have been better off getting hit.
If he had been hit and his lips had cracked and his cheeks had swollen, his father's anger might have eased just because he felt sorry for him.
“...Until when?”
Gerald asked, timidly, watching the Count's expression. Even though he thought to himself, he felt like he'd done something wrong.
Still, they should have told him the deadline. It was too harsh to suddenly ban him from going out and not even give him any allowance.
The Count looked at his son as if he were completely dumbfounded. "How long does it last?" he asked.
“Until the guest in the annex calms down.”
The Count replied, still furious. It was a warning that if Byron's anger persisted, it might never subside.
Gerald, realizing this, finally lost his temper and raised his voice.
“How could that be true! I’m being treated unfairly! It was that girl who got it first...!”
But soon, he felt that if he told everything that happened today, he would be the one who would be in trouble, so Gerald kept his mouth shut.
"First, what? Tell me the rest. Let me hear your story."
“Yeah, I’m back.”
He didn't say much, but he was wary of Gerald entering the main building and carefully observing Aila's complexion, showing that he was worried that the bastard might have done something.
“What’s wrong, Cloud?”
She tilted her head with a look of ignorance.
It felt incredibly hypocritical for Cloud to be concerned about her, since he only intended to use her anyway.
“...It’s nothing. Come on in. The master is waiting for you.”
He shook his head and walked towards the annex, urging Aila on.
And as soon as she arrived at the annex, she was taken to Byron's room instead of her own.
“Come quickly, my daughter.”
Byron feigned composure and sat hunched over in his comfortable armchair, but his expression was not entirely relaxed. He had graciously allowed her to leave, but it seemed he was still worried after sending her out.
Aila laughed inwardly at his petty appearance, then ran over and knelt before Byron naturally.
“So, was it fun outside?”
He reached out to touch Aila's head, then withdrew it and asked.
No matter how obsessed he was with her silver hair, which resembled Ophelia's, he didn't seem to want to stroke it after it had been trapped under his hat all day.
And she quickly turned her head in that fleeting moment.
What answer would satisfy Byron's twisted judgment?
If she had clearly answered, "It was fun," he would have said all sorts of things like, "Did you like that old Gerald?" or "This father is sad."
Should she just say it wasn't fun? That seemed better. If she mixed in a little truth and embellished my story, there would be no need for unnecessary suspicion or nitpicking.
But since he sent it out after all this time, if she just says it wasn't fun, he'll definitely think she's ungrateful, so it would be better to add some good parts as well.
“...No. It wasn’t very fun. I just stayed at the cafe all day.”
“A cafe? Weren’t you at a festival?”
Byron asked, puzzled by Aila's answer.
“He said he didn’t want to hang out with lowly commoners, so he took me to a cafe.”
She answered with a pout. It wasn't a lie. It was definitely Gerald who said it.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Byron nodded, his expression absurd. It was clear he thought Gerald would be a good fit.
“Still, the cake was delicious, and oh! I also had a fruit tea I’d never seen before.”
Aila chattered excitedly, recalling the food she'd eaten at the café. Her charming voice must have had an effect; Byron nodded in satisfaction.
"I heard that in this area, they pickle grapefruit in honey and eat it that way. I'm glad the cake was delicious."
'Phew, that's enough.'
Aila let out a small, secret sigh. She felt like she'd passed Byron's test without a hitch.
His mood seemed to have improved, Aila said, one side of her lips curling into a smile as an interesting plan came to mind.
It was a shame to let that worthless bastard Gerald go like this.
"Oh, but Father... that kid called me 'lowly.' What does that mean? I'm your precious daughter."
Aila looked up at Byron with eyes that looked as if they were about to burst into tears and asked.
How could Gerald have known that she wasn't Byron's biological daughter? It must have been passed down from Byron to his father, and then to him.
And there's no way Byron would have easily revealed such a secret. He must have clearly insisted that it be kept at all costs.
Byron couldn't leave Gerald alone, for he dared to let Aila hear such useless talk about 'low things'.
And as she had predicted, Byron's eyebrows twitched unusually upon hearing the story. It was a sign that he was deeply uneasy.
"What are you talking about, my daughter? How dare he say such things to you? This is an insult to me. I'll give him a good beating, so don't worry about it. Go inside, wash up, and get ready to rest. You must be tired today."
Byron, speaking like this, was smiling gently, but the corners of his mouth were trembling. He looked as if he might go to the Count and Gerald at any moment and throw a fit of rage at them for being so lax.
This was a relatively minor punishment for what Gerald had intended to do, but it would at least vent some of his frustration.
“Yes, Father.”
Aila nodded, feeling refreshed.
There were many twists and turns, but Aila enjoyed the festival and even met some people she's been missing. It was a truly unbelievably lucky day.
***
Gerald was locked in his room, avoiding his father, who kept nagging him, asking, "Did you have fun after being so stubborn?"
He was so angry he couldn't stand it. What kind of girl could be so proud of herself?
As if she knew everything about him, she avoided the trap and put him to sleep while she was eating cake peacefully.
The more he thought about it, the more resentful he became. Gerald had tried to treat a lowly woman, not even the daughter of a distinguished guest, with affection and to play with her, but she didn't know her place and ended up playing with him instead.
When he remembered the sight of her eating the cake with that fresh face when he woke up, he felt like his clothes were turning inside out.
And most of all, the angry one was himself.
"You think it's pretty to see you eating cake after being treated like that? Are you crazy?"
No one in their right mind would do that. This was a complete bewilderment.
'Yeah, she's possessed. That girl must have pulled some cowardly trick.'
In the end, she wasn't at fault at all, but he felt a little better after blaming it on someone else.
After such a bold escape from reality, Gerald finally realized he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything all day.
It was only natural that he had taken sleeping pills and fallen asleep while she was eating cake alone.
“Hey, is anyone out there? Bring me something to eat. I’m hungry, now!”
Gerald tugged at the rope, his temper rising. He felt compelled to empty his food storage to fill this empty void.
And a moment later, the door burst open and someone came in. It was a rude visit, without even a knock, but Gerald, so hungry he could eat his own shoe, ignored the visitor and stared at him.
But unfortunately, it wasn't the servant who brought the food who entered the room. It was Count Ernes Cenospon, his father, his face flushed with rage.
“You, you punk! I heard you said something to that girl about her being ‘lowly.’ Is that true?”
“Huh? What is that...?”
The Count suddenly grabbed his son by the collar and screamed, and Gerald just blinked with a bewildered look on his face.
"Don't even think about denying it. The guest came running because he was furious! He trusted me and told me his secret, and now you're making a fool of him!"
As Byron's face, which had coldly laughed and said, "You're a more open-mouthed person than I thought," came to mind, the Count felt goosebumps run down his spine and tremble all over.
It seemed like everything he had earned by flattering Byron, including the throne, was flying away.
“...”
And Gerald shut his mouth tightly. Come to think of it, he'd probably said something like that as he left the cafe.
He didn't say it with any particular intention. He was so angry that he felt like he needed to say something, but that was the first thing that came to mind.
Seeing his son's speechless expression, as if his mouth had been glued shut, the Count raised his hand as if ready to strike him. At the last moment, he seemed to regain his senses and didn't dare strike, but the mere sight of him deeply shocked Gerald.
The fact that his father, who had cared for him so much, was about to hit him was a world-changing event for him.
"You're banned from going out. You won't even get any allowance."
“...What, what is that!”
And then, from his father's lips, a verdict as shocking as a bolt from the blue came. It was so shocking that he felt he would have been better off getting hit.
If he had been hit and his lips had cracked and his cheeks had swollen, his father's anger might have eased just because he felt sorry for him.
“...Until when?”
Gerald asked, timidly, watching the Count's expression. Even though he thought to himself, he felt like he'd done something wrong.
Still, they should have told him the deadline. It was too harsh to suddenly ban him from going out and not even give him any allowance.
The Count looked at his son as if he were completely dumbfounded. "How long does it last?" he asked.
“Until the guest in the annex calms down.”
The Count replied, still furious. It was a warning that if Byron's anger persisted, it might never subside.
Gerald, realizing this, finally lost his temper and raised his voice.
“How could that be true! I’m being treated unfairly! It was that girl who got it first...!”
But soon, he felt that if he told everything that happened today, he would be the one who would be in trouble, so Gerald kept his mouth shut.
"First, what? Tell me the rest. Let me hear your story."
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