Therefore, there was no need to elaborate on how much he had frightened her, or how much verbal abuse he had poured on her in the process.
“Moved from Pal Pien Market to Noteheim Communal Cemetery at approximately 12:25. Arrival at the communal cemetery was around 16:50.”
“There’s a considerable gap between when she learned the origin of the flowers and when she arrived at the cemetery.”
Simon, who had been listening, pointed it out calmly.
“It took time because we attempted to dissuade her from going to the communal cemetery for safety reasons.”
Leaving aside the fact that this so-called dissuasion had included remarks invoking parents, ancestors, and various hypothetical deaths, for Abel Sting, it still fell within the category of persuasion.
“But what did you do to end up in that condition?”
Abel’s usually unshakable expression wavered, just slightly.
Oscar’s gaze, as he sat on the edge of the desk, swept over Abel from head to toe. It overlapped with the image of Seo-ah as she had appeared earlier—disheveled, exhausted. It looked as though the two of them had endured the same labor.
“You said the purpose was to return the flowers,” Oscar continued.“But how would she know which graves they were taken from?”
At that question, the scene at Noteheim Communal Cemetery unfolded vividly in Abel’s mind.
Early winter had already reached the graves.
A dirt path that froze solid at night, then thawed into sludge by day. A slope slick underfoot.
“Among this many gravestones,” he had asked her, forcing professionalism into his voice,“how do you intend to know which ones had flowers taken from them?”
But the naive foreigner was already scanning the cemetery, muttering to herself.
“…Five hundred sixty-two graves. One hundred two flowers. So, if I buy four hundred sixty more…”
A chill ran down his spine, prickling his scalp.
“You’re not planning to place flowers on every single grave here, are you?”
Her head was bowed low. In that moment, he thought even cursing her would be a waste.
What a wonderful idea. Truly admirable.
“Then hurry and do it properly,” he had sneered.“It looks like the ghosts are lifting their chins, waiting for their flowers.”
At that, her face had brightened. She lifted her head at once.
“Yes! Then please sit here for a moment!”
No matter how he tried to make her understand, she never understood.
“Do you see anywhere to sit here?”
“Ah…”
Startled by his harsh tone, she rummaged through her bag, pulled out a cheap handkerchief, and spread it over a flat stone.
“Just for a moment…”
Abel looked down at the handkerchief, then back at her face.
Her eyes were swollen, red from crying in silence. She still couldn’t meet his gaze, yet she forced a small smile.
“I’m sorry. I’ll finish quickly and come back.”
Unaware of the true meaning behind his curse, the naive foreigner trudged along the path, her feet sinking deep into the thawed earth.
“And then,” Abel said flatly,“I placed flowers across the entire cemetery.”
Placed flowers—nothing less.
Anyone hearing it might have thought he was the caretaker. He had even brushed away fallen leaves piled on the tombstones with his bare hands. Given more time, he might have wiped them down with a handkerchief.
“And the flowers you lacked,” Oscar asked,“you purchased them?”
“Yes.”
Oscar stared at his subordinate’s exhausted face, then smiled faintly.
“And you helped.”
The man who was obsessive about clothing, reduced to this state.
“…If I hadn’t helped,” Abel replied,“I don’t think we would have made it back today.”
“And do you think you’ll manage within a month?”
The cracks in Abel Sting’s expression finally shattered completely.
Oscar loosened a few buttons at his collar, which suddenly felt constricting, and asked quietly,
“Are you giving up?”
At the question, Abel held his breath, as though facing the greatest decision of his life.
If I succeed, I can quit the flower-snake work—but I don’t know how many more damned markets I’ll have to endure.
If I give up, I stay a flower snake—but I can stop going to those cursed markets immediately.
For a fleeting moment, he thought that perhaps the flower-snake role suited him after all.
If I quit, what would I even do? Search and rescue? Combat? All team operations. Annoying.
Compared to that, working alone as a flower snake is easier.
And then he realized it.
That assumption existed only in his own head.
Oscar had merely promised a reassignment—if he succeeded.
“…If I give up, I don’t have to follow her?”
“No?”
Oscar looked at Abel, who seemed on the verge of collapse, finding him both amusing and perplexing.
Abel was one of the intelligence agents currently assessed as having reached the peak of his capabilities. The target had already been secured regardless of Abel’s success, so Oscar had allowed him leeway—enough freedom to work without overexerting himself.
But still.
“Stop being swayed so easily. I brought you here to charm and lead her as you wish, not to be dragged around like an idiot.”
At Oscar’s low voice, Abel’s expression hardened at once. He bowed deeply.
“I will keep that in mind.”
Fatigue washed over him.
Oscar swept his hair back lazily and dismissed him.
“Go.”
Simon bowed lightly and turned. Abel straightened his back and followed. The backup agents trailed behind.
Only Barbara remained.
Seeing that, Oscar’s mood dimmed.
Barbara ignoring a dismissal usually meant only one thing.
As expected, once the door closed, her name came up.
“This morning, the Marquise sent word to Your Excellency.”
“Why.”
“To the birthday party of the Countess Jerome’s daughter…”
“She’s really something.”
The words struck like frostbite.
“…She invited you to the Countess’s birthday party. We replied that it would be difficult, as Your Excellency is currently away.”
“The necklace you told me to purchase as her betrothal gift from the King. How much was it?”
“7.18 billion Kerte.”
“7.18 billion.”
Oscar let out a low chuckle and lit another cigarette.
He had thought the cold air had cleared his insides, yet the acrid smoke filled his lungs again.
“The Marquise will likely visit the Marquis residence soon.”
He smoked in silence for a moment, then crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
“It seems shamelessness and greed are hereditary.”
Coldness and disgust dripped from every syllable.
He walked toward the dressing room connected to the reception room, unbuttoning his shirt. Just before entering, he glanced back at Barbara over his shoulder.
“7.18 billion. Process it as business expenses.”
Barbara held her breath under his gaze.
She had not raised him with love, but she had fed and sheltered the orphaned wolf cub.
Even so, the wolf she had raised frightened her.
“That way, we can calculate the profits and losses later.”
The faint smile in his voice was more terrifying than anger.
Barbara bowed deeply.
Oscar disappeared into the darkened room.
—
The dressing room was lightless, drowned in pitch black, yet his steps did not hesitate. With each step, clothing fell to the floor.
The bathroom beyond was like the bottom of a mine—cold, damp air thick in the darkness.
He walked straight to the bathtub and lowered himself into the cold water prepared in advance.
Sometimes, he had thoughts like this.
He wanted to cut open his chest, take out his lungs and heart, and wash them in clear, freezing water.
The water rose to his throat. Then, as if that were not enough, he sank completely beneath the surface.
Water filled his ears.
Underwater—where nothing could be heard, nothing could be seen.
Oscar relaxed his entire body.
He exhaled slowly, long breath.
He could not inhale again, yet he felt calm.
The cold sensation, sharp enough to stop a heart, numbed everything else.
The suffocation.
The urge to tear open his chest.
The nameless fire burning inside.
All of it faded in this moment.
He let his body float like a corpse, lingering there, forgetting life itself, until he reached the edge of death—then rose.
A glorious death.A statue. A name that would remain forever.
And yet the only peace he ever felt came here, in airless, freezing water.
What a pathetic life.
Oscar sat against the cold stone of the bathtub, roughly wiping the water from his face.
Only when the water no longer felt cold did he stand, wash himself, and enter the bedroom.
Even in his own room, habit remained.
He scanned it.
Anything different?Any unfamiliar presence?
His cold gaze swept across the historic, luxurious Marquis’s bedroom, shifted somewhere—
—and stopped.
—