It was the day after the coming-of-age ceremony. From that day onward, women who had found a match would tie up their hair and secure it with a hairpin. But her hair was still braided down by her ears.
Even so, she was happy.
“You’re beautiful, …On-a.”
It was the first time she had been called by her real name. A name she had only ever seen written in books. A name too precious to speak aloud.
Seo-ah looked toward the one calling her.
A figure in a magnificent white ramie robe. Stood so good against the blue sea. The garment fluttered lightly in the wind.
Seeing her grandfather, the purpose that had faded into a distant haze returned all at once.
The trembling in her fingertips slowly subsided.
Seo-ah watched the woman standing before the sea, holding her name with such care, as if it might break.
Yes.
Yes.
It was fortunate that she had left her behind.
Without haste or delay, Seo-ah began to undress.
She removed the amber norigae first. Then the pale yellow jeogori.
As well the skirt the color of shallow seafoam. Finally, she slipped off the danghye.
When she raised her head again, the woman who had been smiling shyly by the sea was gone.
Only a red ribbon remained, hanging loosely against her collarbone and shoulder, and her softly rounded chest. Seo-ah delicately reached up and touched the end of it. The ribbon, barely secured, came free without resistance.
She smoothed the creases with her palm.
Again, and again.
As though straightening the cloth might also smooth the days that had once felt only difficult but, in memory, held small pieces of hidden happiness.
She folded the ribbon carefully, placed it atop her folded clothes, and turned away.
Before lingering attachment could slow her. And, brought hesitation.
Before hesitation could grow into fear.
Before fear could consume her.
—
Oscar sat crookedly on the windowsill with another cigarette between his lips, no longer keeping count of how many he had smoked.
“If you keep smoking like that, you’ll ruin your health.”
He remembered the remark.
He hadn’t known whether it was concern or a warning.
“What do you want me to do?”
Barbara had simply taken away the ashtray without answering. After that, she never mentioned such a thing again.
Oscar lit the cigarette.
If his health burned away like tobacco, his mother would probably be pleased. Everything belonging to Reinhardt would eventually become hers.
He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly. Then he glanced down at himself and let out a hollow laugh.
His desire, swollen to an unpleasant degree, pressed against him from the inside.
His reason insisted that what he had done bordered on madness.
The woman who held the key was useful, but suspicious.
She claimed money was her goal, yet he couldn’t accept that at face value. He had ordered an investigation into her background and placed Abel beside her as both collateral and surveillance. Every movement was reported.
So far, nothing unusual had surfaced.
Abel’s reports were trivial. She went places every day, but they were merely markets markets and ordinary places. Today’s incident had been Abel’s responsibility. The wolves sent to her hometown had not yet returned with their findings, but Oscar had already decided to ignore anything that posed no direct threat.
The only thing that mattered was the opening of Felpe’s vault.
Oscar’s eyes darkened as he smoked.
If she had spoken strictly of contracts and refused relocation, he would have trusted her more. If she had demanded additional money, he would have laughed and paid.
“I want to be by your side.”
The words surfaced again.
She couldn’t even meet his eyes when she said them. It hadn’t sounded like seduction. It hadn’t sounded sincere.
Either way, it had nothing to do with him. Moreover, it was outrageously absurd.
And yet—
What was this?
His stomach tightened, as though something alive crawled beneath his skin.
Oscar felt himself sink, cold and deep, like an ancient lake in an underground cave.
“…You crazy bastard.”
The curse slipped out.
Smoke pooled in his mouth before drifting away like cold breath. He rubbed his face roughly.
Should he have treated desire the same as hunger or sleep and satisfied it whenever it arose? If he had, would it have grown this uncontrollable? But even the thought of perfume or powder from those who chased after him made him recoil.
Time folded strangely.
For a moment, the image of the motionless woman overlapped with himself.
His dry lips—
It’s rough.
Still warm.
“……”
That was all.
There was nothing special.
Oscar let out a slow, restrained breath.
Yes. That was all.
Lust was like a wave. It rose, broke, receded, and rose again. Behind each endless crest waited another trough.
It would have been simpler to summon a prostitute and be done with it. Order her to wash away the cloying scent, satisfy the body, and end it cleanly. No complications. No consequences.
Having reached that conclusion, Oscar straightened from the windowsill. He moved to crush the half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray.
Then—
His ears caught the faint sound of a door opening.
Footsteps followed.
Tap. Tap.
Not the hard strike of a shoe sole, but the soft contact of bare flesh touching and leaving the floor.
“……”
Smoke drifted upward from the cigarette tip, before it was crushed in the ashtray.
Tap… tap… tap.
Hesitant steps. Uneven. The wavering steps approaching.
The darkness before his eyes, the smoke curling from his fingers, the conclusion he had just forced himself to accept like an idiot—all of it receded at once into the background.
“…Excuse me….”
The footsteps stopped.
Oscar returned the cigarette to his mouth instead of crushing it.
The faint crackle of the burning tip and the slow exhale of smoke filled the room.
The silence grew heavy, thick enough to feel, it felt like even the sound of time passing could be heard. A silence that would have weighed even on a man who had reduced an entire mercenary company to ruins overnight.
And what shattered that silence—
was the utterly insignificant sound of footsteps.
Tap.
“…Sir.”
Oscar’s gaze shifted slowly.
The woman stood half wrapped in the hem of shadow.
Her dark navy gown blended into the darkness, leaving only pale skin visible where the fabric did not reach.
Her bare feet beneath the hem that reach her ankles. Her slender neck and one hand gripping the front of her gown tightly.
Her head lowered.
He could almost see the breath slipping between her parted lips.
The faint herbal scent that had clung to her before returned to him. The memory of warm skin—the soft flesh beyond his lips. The mount of suspicion built by the scent of greenery that had permeated his nostrils, was crumbling.
The tower of cold reasoning he had built began to shake from its roots.
Cracks spread through it.
…Crazy bastard.
The insult was aimed at himself.
More than mockery, it felt like he should strike himself.
It was only lust.
A trivial urge. Something that could be satisfied once and discarded like waste. And yet it had returned, just as trivially, in the form of this woman. He couldn’t tell whether the heat rising in his chest was irritation or desire.
It didn’t matter.
Not like some rutting animal.
Then what on earth was this?
Oscar watched her while taking a long drag from the cigarette. His gaze fixed on her like a predator assessing prey. He stepped away first and moved to the sofa. Lighting the nearby gas lamp, he sat down.
Only then did she move. Still clutching her clothes, she stepped forward hesitantly. Her expression looked as though she might run at any moment.
Her small, pale feet appeared and disappeared beneath the hem of the gown with each step. As she approached, the darkness around her thinned.
The outline of her legs beneath the fabric. Her hair cascading to her waist. Her hands gripping so tightly that her knuckles showed white. Her arms drawn close to her chest.
And finally, when his eyes landed on her lowered face and exposed white neck.
Oscar realized the darkness had been her last shelter.
And still—
despite being afraid—
“You really want to play with me, don’t you?”
The taunt slipped out with a sneer.
She flinched.
The reaction made him laugh. Even to himself, the sound was cold. Her pathetic frightened expression only sharpened the feeling. It became more amusing.
“If you want to play, you can’t just stand there like that.”
Her lips parted. Her lowered eyes blinked rapidly—obviously nervous. Her hands trembled against the fabric of her gown. The smile he hadn’t meant to show faded on its own.
His mood, which he thought couldn't fall any lower, plummeted.
A violent impulse surged up without warning, hot and sudden, like fire carried by the wind racing through dry grass.
It felt as though molten metal had poured back into his veins, burning through him from the inside.
Oscar reached out with his free hand and caught the woman’s trembling hand.
—