“Who said you could?”
Oscar tightened his grip as the woman twisted her head, trying to escape. One hand fully enclosed her astonishingly slender nape, forcing her to look at him. Tears gathered again in her eyes, filled with searing heat and misery.
“Hngh….”
Her face, pleading, seemed to beg him to leave her alone.
A thin fishy smile curved Oscar’s lip.
Give up.
He pressed down on her tongue, which brushed his finger, then allowed her to bite his finger with her white teeth. With a languid expression, he watched as her white teeth sank into his finger.
White teeth between red lips. Warm breath rising from her narrow throat flowed over his tensed hand. Shallow breathing traced his skin, brushing his nose.
“……”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed. A strange scent seemed to pass him.
But his thoughts cut short. He felt the strength pressure of her bite—which hadn't seemed like she was biting—faded from his fingertips. At the same time, the hand gripping his wrist loosened. Her brown eyes, widened in pleading, slowly closed.
“……”
As her struggling ceased, silence settled over the moonlit bedroom.
With the sound gone, time itself seemed to halt.
His blue gaze lowered to her red lips where his finger had been held. Without the slightest tremor, he watched her wet, gleaming lips and the long finger that had entered beyond them.
After a moment, Oscar slowly withdrew his finger. As it slid from between her closed lips, it felt as if her small mouth licked him. His sharp hearing caught a faint sound—something soft breaking inside her mouth. It felt as if he could hear the sound of the wet membrane made a subtle friction at his fingertips.
His finger, slick with clear saliva, bore no trace of a bite.
A light chuckle left him as he began to rise. Then his brow furrowed.
An unmatched chill settled into Oscar’s eyes, already partly calmed down to some extent. He looked down at himself, released a disbelieving laugh, lifted his head—then looked down again. His gaze upon his own body was colder than what he had given Felpe’s fool.
“Star….”
He exhaled the annoyed word languidly and picked up a towel from the bedside. Wiping the saliva from his hand, he chuckled.
Right. She truly was the kind of woman the brothel madam had tried so desperately to keep.
Then the laughter vanished as if it had never existed. His true self, stripped of mirth, stood desolate yet burning—like a black castle swept by fire, heat still lingering in its stones.
Oscar tossed aside the used towel, stared blankly at the woman who had completely lost consciousness, and turned away. He summoned Simon.
“You called, Your Excellency.”
Having washed his hands, Oscar leaned back on the sofa. Resting his head against the backrest, he gazed at the glittering key.
“In your opinion, how did this key end up in that woman’s possession?”
“…The woman appears to be around twenty. Coincidentally, Felpe Bank contacted us. Her nationality is Dangguk.”
“Dangguk?”
“Yes. A kingdom bordering the Rioher Empire, on the continent of East-a-su.”
Oscar fell silent for a moment.
“She looks half-blood.”
“That was my thought as well. I apologize. Beyond speculation, I still do not know how the key reached her.”
“Then what about Peter?”
“……”
“Is that bastard still at the bottom of the sea? And did only this key float back up?”
Oscar remained leaning against the backrest, thinking. Then he spoke.
“Report 2021.”
A report from three years ago. Peter had sunk with the key. Its author—a spy agent of the previous Marquis—had been judged unparalleled in espionage.
“Has Theresia Wittkenstein contacted us?”
“No. Only a message stating she will investigate further.”
“Summon her.”
A key presumed lost had returned brazenly. This was not a matter to settle through writing alone. If the key had surfaced, it was only right to seize it again.
A cruel smile—one that made even Simon’s spine tighten—flickered across Oscar’s lips, then vanished. It was a night when an old grudge, once thought drowned, returned wearing a beautiful face.
—
Yongcheon, where Dangguk’s largest port lay. Most were merchant ships from neighboring countries that had diplomatic relations with Dangguk, but occasionally ships from beyond the great sea would arrive. The merchants who crossed the great sea were unusually tall, with high noses and fair skin. Though they hailed from different nations, the people of Yongcheon simply called them Yangin—foreigners.
Prosperous from trade, Yongcheon was home to a landlord family respected for generations. In famine, they opened granaries to save the people. When sailors vanished, they sent out family ships to at least to retrieve bodies. No one in Yongcheon had not received the Han family’s help. No one did not love them.
All eyes in Yongcheon turned toward Hoyeonjae, the Han family’s main residence.
“Seo-ah.”
The deep, affectionate voice carried warmth like summer sunlight—utterly free of chill.
Seo-ah habitually watched the shadow on the floor. As the portly shadow leaned toward her smaller one, a warm voice stroked her head.
“Child, lift your face. Why do you only look at the floor?”
Even after hearing it, she hesitated for a long while. Then, slowly raising her head, she saw her father—no, her grandfather—his long white beard swaying. His dark eyes, steadfast like a tree that had weathered many storms, gently held her gaze.
“Yes. Lift your head like that.”
The hem of his robe fluttered in the wind and covered her hand.
“The youngest young lady. She’s different as she grows.”
“Shh!”
“No matter how I look at her, she resembles a Yangin. Pale face, brown eyebrows, brown hair, brown eyes.”
“Be quiet.”
“Perhaps… the Madam had an affair with a Yangin…”
“Watch your words! I told you to be quiet!”
“Ah, really! I’m not the only one thinking this. Anyone who has seen the youngest young lady gossips the same. That’s why they don’t let her out of the inner quarters. Even hiring a Yangin tutor!”
Though young, she understood what those words meant. But she could not bring herself to speak the words she had accidentally overheard.
As the world wavered and tears finally spilled, he slowly lifted his hand and wiped them away. After wiping her tears in silence for a long time, he called her as he always did.
“Child.”
“…Yes.”
And as if seeing through her completely, he spoke the words she could never hear enough.
“You are my daughter.”
My most beloved daughter in the world.
“…Yes.”
She lived clinging to those words, even knowing they were not wholly true. If that incident had never happened, she would have lived like that forever.
The inner quarters of Hoyeonjae. One large main hall, two rooms. That would have been her entire world. She would have befriended the teacher her grandfather had brought out of pity. She would have found small joys accompanying her teacher to the night market.
She would have lived as the youngest daughter of Han Hong-heon, landlord of Yongcheon.
But her false life shattered without warning.
Seo-ah.Seo-ah. Wake up.
The gentle yet low voice made her heart pound as if it would sink.
For reasons unknown, Seo-ah realized this was a dream. At the same time, she knew this scene was that night.
She heard crying from afar. The strong scent of blood. Rising flames dyed the paper of the sliding doors red.
Footsteps approached. Frightened, she stepped back. The door burst open.
The Great Lady of Hoyeonjae stood there, her white hair unbound.
The woman who had lost her only daughter stood in an unfamiliar state. Behind her, burning tiles glowed in the fire.
Stood up motionless in silhouette against the flames, she looked like one who had passed through hell. Or a god come to punish sin.
“Get up.”
“……”
“Get up and witness what your father has done.”
Her small voice struck louder than thunder.
“That man who let my daughter suffer to death, and yet could not abandon you, even dug up the grave of your grandfather who took you in…”
Her words, spat through clenched teeth, carried rage that could never be erased.
“He took the remains. It was undoubtedly your father’s doing.”
The burning tiles seemed to spread into her heart. Black ash and soot seeped from it, clogging her lungs and choking her throat.
Grandfather’s grave. His remains.
Seo-ah trembled as she rose, bracing herself on the floor. Even knowing it was a dream, her mind turned white. Unable to lift her head, she curled in on herself and moved past the door, hearing a cold voice behind her.
“You don’t seem surprised. You already knew.”
“……”
“You knew I wasn’t your mother. That the man you called father was your grandfather. Do you also know what your father did to my daughter?”
Though summer had begun, the wind cutting into her embrace felt like blades on her skin.
I’m sorry. I…
Not knowing what she was saying, she ran barefoot, without even putting on shoes.
Behind her, a desperate cry rang out.
“Go to your father and bring your grandfather back!”
She ran through rising flames, through soot and ash darker than night. Screams and cries of people pulled at her ankles like a swamp. Sharp gazes sliced her back again and again. In the wake of the black inferno, only grief and overflowing rage remained.
Her world, precariously pieced together, shattered like a sugar cookie. As sky collapsed and ground crumbled beneath her, only one person remained to rely upon.
“Teacher!”
But that man—her father—had taken more than her grandfather.
Only her teacher could respond to the silent attack. Even though she could not protect her grandfather’s grave, the damage was contained because Seo-ah had burned herself out to stop the attackers.
The terrible dream continued, the scenes shifting.
—