Side Story 18: The Season When the Wind's Color Changes
The color of the wind has changed.
Looking down at the garden that stretched out beneath the balcony railing, Erna mused. The midday sun was still hot, but the air in the morning and evening gave a sense of the slowly changing seasons.
Erna unbuttoned the lace shawl over her pajamas, clutching it as she basked in the cool late summer breeze. She stayed there until dawn faded, but the drowsiness lingered.
Erna, who had finally decided to give up on her morning walk, left the balcony and returned to her bedroom. Closing the door and drawing the curtains, the air in the room became noticeably cozier.
Erna neatly folded her shawl and placed it on the bed bench, then went back into bed. Lying down next to Bjorn, who was still asleep, a warm, cozy warmth enveloped her. Erna, delighted, snuggled into the large man's embrace.
She has to choose flowers to decorate the drawing room and study, and she also has to go to the stable and give Dorothea some beets.
One by one, things she had to do this morning began to occur to her, but sleepiness was strong enough to overwhelm Erna's will.
If.
Erna's eyes wavered slightly as she pondered the question carefully.
Lately, she's been feeling increasingly lethargic and fatigued. She's been feeling drowsy and even running a low fever. These symptoms are familiar.
Is that really true? But what if not?
Erna sighed softly and buried her face in the nape of Bjorn's neck.
It was a question that could be resolved with a doctor's visit, but she was hesitant to voice this premonition. If it were just another delusion, she wasn't yet confident enough to handle the disappointment and anxiety that would follow. But that didn't mean she could avoid it forever.
“Erna.”
A voice, like the color of the wind that foreshadowed autumn, seeped through Erna's repeated sighs. Startled, she raised her head and saw Bjorn, eyes still drooping with sleepiness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
"It's okay."
His lips, with a languid smile, touched Erna's forehead.
“I have to wake up soon anyway.”
By the way, she remembers he saying there was something important at the bank today.
While she was thinking about the conversation they had yesterday, he came up to Erna.
Bjorn leaned his weight on his arms, which were resting on the bed, and kissed his wife. Her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, and her lips. He continued to kiss her gently, lifting the hem of her pajamas. It was then that a small hand grasped his wrist.
"It hurts?"
His gaze, still staring down at Erna, narrowed. Erna had rejected him this way last night, too. Yesterday, and the day before, it was the same.
"...No."
Erna, who had been staring at him with bated breath, shook her head slightly.
“I don’t know.”
Even as she whispered with a confused expression, Erna's hand was tightly gripping his wrist.
What did I do wrong?
Though he carefully reflected on the past few days, Bjorn couldn't find a suitable answer. The days had been smooth, without a single petty argument, and their relationship had been without problems.
Bjorn's eyes, which had momentarily sunken, soon regained their original brightness. He gave a brief kiss with smiling lips and then rose from the bed.
“You rest, Erna.”
He gently ordered Erna, who was about to follow him, to lie down on the bed. He pulled up the blanket, and Erna nodded and smiled.
"Thank you."
Erna gave a slightly awkward greeting, muffling what she was about to say.
Bjorn answered by running her tangled brown hair through his hair and then left his wife's bedroom. He returned to the master suite and rang the bell, which was quickly answered by a maid with the newspaper and morning tea.
It was an ordinary morning.
He drank tea, read the newspaper, and took a longer, hot shower than usual. He wasn't particularly concerned about the results that would be announced today. He was confident they'd win. Still, it was while he was buttoning up his cufflinks that he suddenly realized something was strangely bothering him.
“Let’s call the doctor and have him check on my wife.”
Bjorn gave a calm order to the attendant who had come to support his jacket. The subtle tension that had been lingering in his fingertips, a faint warmth he remembered, soon vanished.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Buttoning his gloves, Bjorn added one impulsive command.
“Please report the results of the examination to me immediately.”
It's all because of Gladys Hartford.
The eyes of the Letzen bankers, who were firing arrows of criticism at Lars across the sea, flashed fiercely.
Wasn't it because of that Princess's injustice that Bjorn Dneister threw away his crown and settled down in the financial world? So it's no exaggeration to say that the witch of Lars was the one responsible for today's tragedy.
Who would have thought he would get this far in just a few years?
Their gazes, which glanced at the ever-relaxed Bjorn Dneister, were filled with annoyance and resentment that could not be hidden.
Even though he was a Prince, he was still a latecomer in the financial industry. It had to be that way. And yet, that young punk, barely a few years removed from his bank's operations, was eyeing the throne of Letzen's financial district. That fact alone was an unbearable humiliation, but the balance was already tilted in his favor.
It was a place to select the royal family's official bank.
Becoming the Royal Banker was tantamount to earning the prestigious title of the finest banker in Letzen, so competition for the position was fierce. The decision rested with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and even the King could not arbitrarily interfere. The fact that Prince Bjorn's bank had been rejected from the Royal Banker selection process for several years was a testament to this impartiality.
But this year, Bjorn Dneister's rise was remarkable. He not only generated massive profits by managing Berg's bonds, but also built a solid deposit base by opening branches throughout Letzen, as if he were running a bakery. Even if he were named Royal Banker, no one would dispute his achievement.
“The bonds between Pelia and Bern have stabilized again.”
A gentleman sitting across from Bjorn spoke. His tone was a mixture of hostility and mockery, but Bjorn simply nodded in agreement.
"Yes. It's a blessing in many ways, especially for the Baltz family."
Bjorn mentioned his name in a relaxed tone. It felt like a colder threat, and he flinched, his mouth tightening.
To counter the Prince, the bankers of Letzen conspired to devise a plan: to devalue the public bonds managed by the Freyr Bank, thereby undermining the financial market's trust in Bjorn Dneister.
Several families pooled their funds to buy up Berg's bonds. They planned to sell them all at once, once they had enough power to inflict damage on Freyr Bank and shake things up.
But the Prince put the brakes on what seemed like a successful undertaking with an unexpected counterattack. The Freyr Bank began purchasing all the public bonds of Pelia and Bern, which other bankers had entrusted to manage. Without needing to involve any other conspirators, Bjorn Dneister was able to threaten them solely with his own capital.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
They were ultimately forced to surrender in the face of Bjorn Dneister, who threatened them in the same way as his opponents. In a battle of capital, they could never stand against that mad dog. The day Bjorn Dneister swept up the public bonds he'd purchased and dumped them on the market like a bomb, the entire continent would be shaken to its core.
No sane financier would commit such a crime, one that would even cost him his own life, but they were unsure of Bjorn Dneister's sanity. He was a lunatic who would gladly cut off someone's ankle if it meant cutting off his own. That was the mad dog they saw in Letzen.
When they halted their operations, the Freyr Bank also ceased its counterattack. It was like a cheeky warning from the young Prince: if you don't want to die together, compete fairly.
As the time for the finance minister to announce the results drew near, the atmosphere in the conference room grew increasingly somber. Only Bjorn Dneister appeared to be completely relaxed, as if he were a lunatic. It was then that his anxious-looking attendant arrived.
The smile vanished from Bjorn Dneister's face as he checked the note he had delivered. For a long moment, he simply stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his eyes still and serene.
Has something unusual happened?
Just as the hopeful bankers began to murmur, the Prince suddenly laughed. He read the note, chuckled, looked off into space, and laughed again. He checked the note again and began to smile with a truly mad, satisfied grin.
“What is that plan?”
Those who met the Prince's eyes, who carefully tucked the note he'd received into his jacket pocket, began to shake with anxiety. Their fear intensified when he smiled gently, as if he were a saint.
“Well, seeing you smile like that makes me think you’ve definitely got a winning hand, but I can’t even begin to guess what it is.”
Amidst the despairing sighs, the finance minister finally spoke. The bankers all rose from their seats and bowed politely.
The result was as everyone expected.
In the winds of changing seasons, a new Royal Banker was born. Bjorn Dneister, the scourge sent to the financial world by the Witch of Lars.
“Congratulations, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz greeted the Prince with a more formal bow than ever. She tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but couldn't quite hide the redness around her eyes.
Bjorn responded to his nanny's feelings with a polite bow.
A summer where lies and hypocrisy strangled him. Another summer where he wallowed in a swamp of chaos. After those two harsh seasons, the greetings of congratulations, returning, were as comforting as the fading summer evening light.
“Her Highness is in her bedroom.”
Mrs. Fitz turned her head for a moment, wiped her wet eyes, and said calmly.
Bjorn crossed the lobby hall, carrying the box handed to him by the servant. His pace grew more impatient as he climbed the stairs and entered the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Bjorn stopped in front of his wife's room, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Sensing the presence, the gatekeeper of Hell flinched and stood up. Her tear-soaked face gleamed in the evening sunlight.
“Her Highness fell asleep a little while ago, but I’m sure she would be very happy to be by your side.”
Lisa Brill, hastily rubbing her wet eyes, spoke politely. It was a presumptuous suggestion, but Bjorn didn't take it personally.
“I, Your Highness!”
After nodding and taking a step forward, Lisa called out urgently to him. He glanced away, and when their eyes met, the gatekeeper of hell burst into a childish cry, unbecoming of her reputation.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. Truly, truly, congratulations. Congratulations.”
Lisa bowed her head, shed tears, and bowed her head again as she offered her congratulations.
Bjorn responded to the exaggerated greeting with a faint smile and walked towards the bedroom door with minimal noise.
The door opened quietly and closed again.
The color of the wind has changed.
Looking down at the garden that stretched out beneath the balcony railing, Erna mused. The midday sun was still hot, but the air in the morning and evening gave a sense of the slowly changing seasons.
Erna unbuttoned the lace shawl over her pajamas, clutching it as she basked in the cool late summer breeze. She stayed there until dawn faded, but the drowsiness lingered.
Erna, who had finally decided to give up on her morning walk, left the balcony and returned to her bedroom. Closing the door and drawing the curtains, the air in the room became noticeably cozier.
Erna neatly folded her shawl and placed it on the bed bench, then went back into bed. Lying down next to Bjorn, who was still asleep, a warm, cozy warmth enveloped her. Erna, delighted, snuggled into the large man's embrace.
She has to choose flowers to decorate the drawing room and study, and she also has to go to the stable and give Dorothea some beets.
One by one, things she had to do this morning began to occur to her, but sleepiness was strong enough to overwhelm Erna's will.
If.
Erna's eyes wavered slightly as she pondered the question carefully.
Lately, she's been feeling increasingly lethargic and fatigued. She's been feeling drowsy and even running a low fever. These symptoms are familiar.
Is that really true? But what if not?
Erna sighed softly and buried her face in the nape of Bjorn's neck.
It was a question that could be resolved with a doctor's visit, but she was hesitant to voice this premonition. If it were just another delusion, she wasn't yet confident enough to handle the disappointment and anxiety that would follow. But that didn't mean she could avoid it forever.
“Erna.”
A voice, like the color of the wind that foreshadowed autumn, seeped through Erna's repeated sighs. Startled, she raised her head and saw Bjorn, eyes still drooping with sleepiness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
"It's okay."
His lips, with a languid smile, touched Erna's forehead.
“I have to wake up soon anyway.”
By the way, she remembers he saying there was something important at the bank today.
While she was thinking about the conversation they had yesterday, he came up to Erna.
Bjorn leaned his weight on his arms, which were resting on the bed, and kissed his wife. Her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, and her lips. He continued to kiss her gently, lifting the hem of her pajamas. It was then that a small hand grasped his wrist.
"It hurts?"
His gaze, still staring down at Erna, narrowed. Erna had rejected him this way last night, too. Yesterday, and the day before, it was the same.
"...No."
Erna, who had been staring at him with bated breath, shook her head slightly.
“I don’t know.”
Even as she whispered with a confused expression, Erna's hand was tightly gripping his wrist.
What did I do wrong?
Though he carefully reflected on the past few days, Bjorn couldn't find a suitable answer. The days had been smooth, without a single petty argument, and their relationship had been without problems.
Bjorn's eyes, which had momentarily sunken, soon regained their original brightness. He gave a brief kiss with smiling lips and then rose from the bed.
“You rest, Erna.”
He gently ordered Erna, who was about to follow him, to lie down on the bed. He pulled up the blanket, and Erna nodded and smiled.
"Thank you."
Erna gave a slightly awkward greeting, muffling what she was about to say.
Bjorn answered by running her tangled brown hair through his hair and then left his wife's bedroom. He returned to the master suite and rang the bell, which was quickly answered by a maid with the newspaper and morning tea.
It was an ordinary morning.
He drank tea, read the newspaper, and took a longer, hot shower than usual. He wasn't particularly concerned about the results that would be announced today. He was confident they'd win. Still, it was while he was buttoning up his cufflinks that he suddenly realized something was strangely bothering him.
“Let’s call the doctor and have him check on my wife.”
Bjorn gave a calm order to the attendant who had come to support his jacket. The subtle tension that had been lingering in his fingertips, a faint warmth he remembered, soon vanished.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Buttoning his gloves, Bjorn added one impulsive command.
“Please report the results of the examination to me immediately.”
***
It's all because of Gladys Hartford.
The eyes of the Letzen bankers, who were firing arrows of criticism at Lars across the sea, flashed fiercely.
Wasn't it because of that Princess's injustice that Bjorn Dneister threw away his crown and settled down in the financial world? So it's no exaggeration to say that the witch of Lars was the one responsible for today's tragedy.
Who would have thought he would get this far in just a few years?
Their gazes, which glanced at the ever-relaxed Bjorn Dneister, were filled with annoyance and resentment that could not be hidden.
Even though he was a Prince, he was still a latecomer in the financial industry. It had to be that way. And yet, that young punk, barely a few years removed from his bank's operations, was eyeing the throne of Letzen's financial district. That fact alone was an unbearable humiliation, but the balance was already tilted in his favor.
It was a place to select the royal family's official bank.
Becoming the Royal Banker was tantamount to earning the prestigious title of the finest banker in Letzen, so competition for the position was fierce. The decision rested with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and even the King could not arbitrarily interfere. The fact that Prince Bjorn's bank had been rejected from the Royal Banker selection process for several years was a testament to this impartiality.
But this year, Bjorn Dneister's rise was remarkable. He not only generated massive profits by managing Berg's bonds, but also built a solid deposit base by opening branches throughout Letzen, as if he were running a bakery. Even if he were named Royal Banker, no one would dispute his achievement.
“The bonds between Pelia and Bern have stabilized again.”
A gentleman sitting across from Bjorn spoke. His tone was a mixture of hostility and mockery, but Bjorn simply nodded in agreement.
"Yes. It's a blessing in many ways, especially for the Baltz family."
Bjorn mentioned his name in a relaxed tone. It felt like a colder threat, and he flinched, his mouth tightening.
To counter the Prince, the bankers of Letzen conspired to devise a plan: to devalue the public bonds managed by the Freyr Bank, thereby undermining the financial market's trust in Bjorn Dneister.
Several families pooled their funds to buy up Berg's bonds. They planned to sell them all at once, once they had enough power to inflict damage on Freyr Bank and shake things up.
But the Prince put the brakes on what seemed like a successful undertaking with an unexpected counterattack. The Freyr Bank began purchasing all the public bonds of Pelia and Bern, which other bankers had entrusted to manage. Without needing to involve any other conspirators, Bjorn Dneister was able to threaten them solely with his own capital.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
They were ultimately forced to surrender in the face of Bjorn Dneister, who threatened them in the same way as his opponents. In a battle of capital, they could never stand against that mad dog. The day Bjorn Dneister swept up the public bonds he'd purchased and dumped them on the market like a bomb, the entire continent would be shaken to its core.
No sane financier would commit such a crime, one that would even cost him his own life, but they were unsure of Bjorn Dneister's sanity. He was a lunatic who would gladly cut off someone's ankle if it meant cutting off his own. That was the mad dog they saw in Letzen.
When they halted their operations, the Freyr Bank also ceased its counterattack. It was like a cheeky warning from the young Prince: if you don't want to die together, compete fairly.
As the time for the finance minister to announce the results drew near, the atmosphere in the conference room grew increasingly somber. Only Bjorn Dneister appeared to be completely relaxed, as if he were a lunatic. It was then that his anxious-looking attendant arrived.
The smile vanished from Bjorn Dneister's face as he checked the note he had delivered. For a long moment, he simply stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his eyes still and serene.
Has something unusual happened?
Just as the hopeful bankers began to murmur, the Prince suddenly laughed. He read the note, chuckled, looked off into space, and laughed again. He checked the note again and began to smile with a truly mad, satisfied grin.
“What is that plan?”
Those who met the Prince's eyes, who carefully tucked the note he'd received into his jacket pocket, began to shake with anxiety. Their fear intensified when he smiled gently, as if he were a saint.
“Well, seeing you smile like that makes me think you’ve definitely got a winning hand, but I can’t even begin to guess what it is.”
Amidst the despairing sighs, the finance minister finally spoke. The bankers all rose from their seats and bowed politely.
The result was as everyone expected.
In the winds of changing seasons, a new Royal Banker was born. Bjorn Dneister, the scourge sent to the financial world by the Witch of Lars.
***
“Congratulations, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz greeted the Prince with a more formal bow than ever. She tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but couldn't quite hide the redness around her eyes.
Bjorn responded to his nanny's feelings with a polite bow.
A summer where lies and hypocrisy strangled him. Another summer where he wallowed in a swamp of chaos. After those two harsh seasons, the greetings of congratulations, returning, were as comforting as the fading summer evening light.
“Her Highness is in her bedroom.”
Mrs. Fitz turned her head for a moment, wiped her wet eyes, and said calmly.
Bjorn crossed the lobby hall, carrying the box handed to him by the servant. His pace grew more impatient as he climbed the stairs and entered the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Bjorn stopped in front of his wife's room, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Sensing the presence, the gatekeeper of Hell flinched and stood up. Her tear-soaked face gleamed in the evening sunlight.
“Her Highness fell asleep a little while ago, but I’m sure she would be very happy to be by your side.”
Lisa Brill, hastily rubbing her wet eyes, spoke politely. It was a presumptuous suggestion, but Bjorn didn't take it personally.
“I, Your Highness!”
After nodding and taking a step forward, Lisa called out urgently to him. He glanced away, and when their eyes met, the gatekeeper of hell burst into a childish cry, unbecoming of her reputation.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. Truly, truly, congratulations. Congratulations.”
Lisa bowed her head, shed tears, and bowed her head again as she offered her congratulations.
Bjorn responded to the exaggerated greeting with a faint smile and walked towards the bedroom door with minimal noise.
The door opened quietly and closed again.
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