It wasn’t only the ribbon’s material that was peculiar.
Women commonly braided their hair and tied it with ribbons. Usually, they formed them into bows. But this one—no matter how it was tied—ended with two pointed tips overlapping, hanging straight down side by side.
And the woman, holding her hands together neatly in front of her, mirrored that knot exactly.
“Ah… it’s okay.”
Either she suffered from some illness that made her die if she held hands, or—at the very least—she regarded his hands as if they were contaminated.
After refusing, she looked at him, uncertain, as though wondering what he was thinking.
“Is it rude not to hold hands?”
He wanted to tell her that it was.But her timid gaze drifted toward the lone female merchants nearby.
“Of course not. The path is rough.”
The oblivious stranger laughed softly.
“Oh, I see. Don’t worry. I manage well on my own.”
“I see.”
Yes. She did seem to.
When the woman who had summoned me at dawn said she wanted to go to the Central Market, Abel Sting had thought, Perfect.
It was notoriously crowded. Surely, she would ask to leave the moment they entered. And since she was unfamiliar with the city, she wouldn’t know where to go. He could easily suggest a hotel café—quiet, elevated, and private.
But despite appearing to know nothing, she truly did manage well on her own.
Among the merchants, all busy with their work and uninterested in passersby, Seo-ah moved lightly. She never stumbled on the uneven ground, and as though she had eyes in the back of her head, she avoided carts approaching from behind with uncanny precision.
To exaggerate only slightly, even a combat unit trained in ambush would have been louder than her movements.
Quietly. Lightly.She toured the entire market.
The smile on Abel’s face gradually faded.
First, he hated markets. As a child, he had wandered through back alleys like this in his childhood, and such places still made his skin crawl. He always felt uneasy.
Second—and more importantly—there was no reason to smile at all.
Because he couldn’t see his target.
The target walked ahead, looking only forward.
Around lunchtime, the path became clogged, as markets inevitably do. They stopped briefly in front of a sausage stand. Out of habit, the Reinhardt family’s flower snake scanned his target’s gaze.
Her eyes were fixed on the sausages sizzling on the hot plate.
He seized the chance, quickly spoke to her.
“There’s a restaurant I know, famous among the markets—”
A secret sanctuary for lovers, with a hotel and a scenic view above.
“Hey! How many times have I told you not to stack your goods here!”
“Say it a hundred times! This isn’t your land—what business is it of yours how I stack my goods!”
The market was too loud though. His carefully polished voice wasn’t merely drowned out—it vanished entirely beneath the shouting.
“Miss, try one. This one’s the best.”
Somehow, Seo-ah ended up with a sausage in her hand. Given the circumstances, she seemed inclined to eat it.
“It’s cheap too. Ten Kertes!”
The merchant was clearly attempting to fleece the foreign-looking woman. Abel’s irritation, already simmering from the chaos, spilled over. He intervened politely, smiling.
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“Go somewhere else. They’re all like this.”
She could eat dishes worth tens of thousands of Kertes at high-end restaurants paid for by her target, yet Abel Sting could not tolerate a sausage being overpriced.
He was not Simon von Bernheim, noble-born and indulgent.
Abel scowled above the woman’s head. Beneath the polished façade of a charming gentleman, the fierce face of a street wanderer flashed through.
“This is ten Kertes?”
“…Ten Kertes for five.”
He won easily.
And that—that—was the first thing that caught the attention of the woman who had until now ignored Abel Sting entirely.
Price negotiation.
The foreigner he had expected to beg to leave the market walked past the sausage stand. She even selected a notebook from a general store cluttered with miscellaneous goods.
She ignored every hand thrust toward her, avoided eye contact with desperate precision—then, holding the notebook, she finally looked up.
“…How much is it?”
“Fifteen thousand Kertes.”
The foreigner—ignorant of the world, yet oddly perceptive—tilted her head.
“Fifteen thousand Kertes for this, sir.”
Her elegant tone clashed faintly with the rough cadence beneath it.
“Two thousand Kertes.”
“Make it three thousand Kertes.”
Only then did the foreigner seem satisfied. She paid, and even smiled.
“Thank you.”
“……”
It was around then that unease crept in.
The woman Abel Sting was supposed to seduce wandered the market—from fishmongers to butchers, from stall to stall—as if she had never seen such a place before.
To what extent?
Even the backup team—let alone Abel, who was accustomed to the tastes and stamina of noblewomen—grew weary, faltering under the pace. Just as Abel found himself wanting to flee the market altogether, seduction and anything else forgotten—
“Is that the place called a café?”
Abel, the backup team, and everyone else who had been worn down by the market felt a surge of joy.
“Can we go?”
“Would that be all right?”
Had they known it would turn into yet another pitfall, they would have done anything to stop her.
Despite seeming as though she had been entirely shut off from the world, Seo-ah somehow knew that it was rude to occupy a seat for too long while ordering only one drink. She ordered a drink every hour.
Six cups of coffee, in total.
Darn it. Six cups.
Six cups—absolutely six. He could tell.
—
When Seo-ah and Abel returned to the mansion at dusk, Barbara and the staff looked bewildered.
The soft-looking foreigner appeared perfectly fine. Abel Sting, however, went straight to the annex without a word, as though all will have drained from him. Those who had expected at least a hand-holding after so many hours together were left utterly confused.
Seo-ah, aware that dozens of presences had followed her into the mansion yet oblivious to Abel’s intentions, greeted Barbara politely and went up to her room.
The double doors of the hall were tightly shut. The corridor lay silent, like a dead mouse. Through the window facing the hallway, the garden cloaked in darkness was visible. Among the black outlines of the trees, shadows moved slowly, quietly—appearing and disappearing.
As she passed through the study, her gaze drifted instinctively to the left.
There was no presence.
Entering her room, she placed the notebook she had hugged tightly against her chest onto the desk and removed her outer garment. The pouch Barbara had given her held what remained of today’s money—enough, it seemed, to last until the day after tomorrow.
She lit the gas lamp and hung her clothes in the wardrobe. Not long after, Barbara brought dinner.
“Dinner. I will return in an hour to collect the dishes.”
“Thank you for the meal.”
The noblewoman—steel given human form—flicked an eyebrow and left. Only then did Seo-ah sit down to eat.
On a round plate, crispy fried meat and mixed vegetables were arranged neatly. Everything in this land across the sea felt unfamiliar.
The meat was crisp and flavorful. The sour vegetables were not entirely to her liking, but they cut through the richness well.
As she chewed, the thought of warm rice surfaced unbidden. Steaming white rice, freshly cooked.
She laughed quietly at herself.
How can I complain about food when I don’t even know where I am?
Seo-ah continued eating, finishing the meat and vegetables despite her preferences. When she set down her fork, Barbara returned.
She looked at the empty dishes for a moment.
“Was it not enough?”
“No. It was a good meal.”
Barbara nodded slightly and gathered the dishes.
“Will you be going to the market again tomorrow?”
“Is there a market other than the one we visited today?”
Barbara paused, her thoughts catching on Seo-ah’s question.
In truth, from Barbara’s perspective, Oscar’s orders regarding the target were difficult.
He had restricted her range of movement to Vues, yet instructed that as few limitations as possible be placed upon her within it.
Observe her without losing her.And yet—allow her a measure of freedom.
—