The woman, who had been standing silent with widened eyes as though she could no longer comprehend him, spoke with her brows faintly drawn together.
“Are you asking me to treat Your Excellency?”
“Why? Do you not wish to?”
The question, accompanied by a low, arrogant laugh, carried the implication of What if you don’t?
Seo-ah shook her head, troubled.
“I cannot.”
Oscar had no intention of debating the matter. Without asking what she meant by that, he turned and walked toward the bedroom without looking back. On that moonlit night, his steps like someone going for a stroll—unhurried, almost leisurely—did not resemble those of a man bleeding from his hand.
Seo-ah glanced at the spot where blood had fallen. It was difficult to see clearly in the darkness, but one of his hands must have been in a terrible state. Pushing aside the helplessness and confusion that had clouded her thoughts, she hurried after him.
“I will call Madam Barbara. The wound looks deep, and if I treat it, I might only make it worse.”
Oscar paid no mind, offering no response.
One of his strides equaled two or three of hers. As though he couldn't see her scurrying after him, he walked casually and turned on the light.
When the room brightened, the wound was unmistakable. His hand was smeared with blood.
“Your Excellency, your hand…”
Seo-ah stopped in alarm.
Oscar remained indifferent. He went to the black cabinet, retrieved a medicine box, and tossed it onto the sofa table, which was now illuminated. Then he sat down—not properly, but half-reclined—resting one arm horizontally along the back of the sofa and naturally leaning his head against it. Only after staring at the ceiling did his eyes roll lazily toward Seo-ah, who stood beside him.
“……”
“……”
There was something in his posture alone that made one’s breath tighten. He was a man who possessed the talent.
Seo-ah, overcome by the sensation of helplessness, standing before a towering wall, lowered her gaze from his piercing blue eyes. Unfortunately, her eyes landed on his wounded hand. He wore only a shirt, and blood had already begun seeping into the sleeve of his right arm, which lay casually across the sofa back.
She spoke more firmly when she witnessed it.
“I will call Madam Barbara.”
“If I intended to call her, I would have done so already. It is merely medicine and a bandage. Why would I need Barbara for that?”
The languid force in each word might have compelled her under ordinary circumstances. But she was not someone who had never endured bitterness. She had chewed and swallowed medicine before. Her stomach had churned while chewing it, yet once swallowed with water, it had gone down.
“It is because I do not know which medicine to use.”
“It all heals in the end.”
The indifference in his reply made her voice sharpen slightly.
“How could that be?”
“……”
“There is medicine to stop bleeding, medicine to prevent infection, medicine to close wounds. Where I lived, there were countless kinds. They cannot all be the same.”
“Is it not enough if it heals?”
“What if it becomes infected?”
Oscar narrowed his eyes at her steady resistance.
He had once overheard her speaking with Abel. In that conversation, Han Seo-ah had spoken plainly, without hesitation. Just as she was doing now.
But before him, she had always been cautious, barely speaking at all.
“Moreover, I have never treated anyone before. The wound looks serious. If you call Madam Barbara, she will be here within five minutes.”
Perhaps this was how she truly was.
Oscar gave a quiet chuckle and beckoned with one bloodied fingertip.
“Then just wrap it. With a bandage”
“……”
The woman who had been speaking softly lost her words at the sight of that bleeding finger summoning her.
Why was he being so unreasonable?
The thought showed clearly on her face, and Oscar saw it.
Though his fingers were still bleeding, he felt no throbbing pain. The sight of her pale face earlier, it was quite a sight to see her speak her mind and now her small flare of displeasure, amused him.
Yet the stubbornness that even the wolf who raised him could not break was not something Seo-ah could overcome. Oscar was a man who obtained what he wanted, regardless of method.
“I said, wrap it.”
“We have medicine, and someone who knows how to use it. I truly do not understand…”
“Then would you prefer to go to Traun?”
“……”
The man who always secured what he wanted by any means necessarily knew precisely how to silence her very effectively.
Seo-ah, who had been speaking with quiet conviction, blinked and bit her lip.
Oscar, observing her dazed expression—as if he had not just asserted his will—clicked his tongue inwardly. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
“So, wrap it.”
The woman, who had been biting her lip, finally gave a small nod.
She brought a stool and sat before the black cabinet. When she opened it, she found medicines and bandages arranged with meticulous order.
Oscar’s eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, shifted toward her.
Her expression, which had tightened as though she were confronting a difficult problem when opening the medicine box, eased slightly as she read the labels on each bottle.
“Ah… fortunately, there are explanations.”
She examined each bottle carefully, her eyes widening as she read. After a moment, she seemed to settle on one.
“This should work.”
The medicine had been chosen. Only the patient remained.
When her attention turned from the cabinet to Oscar, he understood that the greatest obstacle before her was not the wound, but himself.
And yet, she had once said she wished to remain by his side.
Oscar let out a quiet laugh and glanced at his injured hand.
It was not an arterial wound. It was not infected. He disliked showing injuries to others, and receiving treatment passively did not suit him. Moreover, he healed quickly. The wound had reopened only because he had picked at it while it was closing. Left alone, it would likely close within few days even without treatment.
Nevertheless, he pushed himself up. He leaned forward. Resting his elbow on his knee, he extended the injured hand toward her.
Seo-ah dragged the stool closer. The distance between her hand and his elbow narrowed until it could narrow no further.
She placed the medicine and towels within reach and adjusted her seat again. Then she looked at his outstretched hand.
Under the bright light, the wound was deeper than it had appeared in the dark.
Oscar did not look at the wound.
He watched her.
Under the yellowish light, the fine strands of her hair took on a muted gold tone. So did the eyelashes frame her composed eyes. Her delicate eyelashes, as if drawn with a sharp pencil with careful strokes, were like golden shades, cast faint shadows on her smooth cheeks when they moved.
As her eyelashes fluttered, the shadow of her eyelashes, drawn on her smooth cheek, trembled as well. Her round eyes also wavered slightly.
“What on earth…”
Her small voice, tinged with surprise, seemed to expand within him, like a shadow enlarged by light that fell at a right angle.
She blinked in confusion and quickly picked up a damp towel. She was about to wipe away the blood when she looked with a perplexed expression at her hand, which was hovering in the air. It would have been good if he had rested his hand on the table or the sofa armrest, but Oscar didn't seem inclined to do so.
After a moment, she placed her free hand gently beneath his, supporting it.
The softness of her palm around his sent a faint tremor through his nerves.
She wiped away the blood with careful movements, as though concerned the wound might reopen or hurt at the slightest pressure. Though a firm wipe would have cleared it at once, she repeated the motion several times, lightly.
The wound, which should have burned, instead itched. His fingers moved slightly without thought. Seo-ah flinched and looked up. As soon as their eyes met—briefly, she lowered her head again at once, and she said,
“I’m sorry. I’ll be careful.”
She must have assumed she had caused him pain.
Her touch grew even more delicate.
As her fingers moved with increasing caution—light as a feather, nearly brushing rather than pressing—the darkness in his gaze deepened.
And as that darkness deepened, the image returned.
Her standing precariously at the railing.
The red ribbon nearly slipping free.
“Why did you go to the exhibition?”
Seo-ah, focused on the wound, paused at the sudden question.
“Was it enjoyable?”
“……”
“You did not look as though you were enjoying yourself.”
His mumbling words, accompanied by a chuckle, weighed her down. As her own pathetic state came back to her, she wanted to shut her eyes tightly.
“Did you wrong that bastard?”
“…What?”
Her delayed response seemed almost reflexive.
Oscar spoke as though spitting something bitter from his mouth.
“Did you do something wrong to that idiot?”
The cleaned wound, momentarily free of blood, looked indistinct under the light.
Oscar knew exactly whom he meant. He also knew he was referring to the scene he had encountered on the stairs.
“He… tried to grab my—”
“Your what?”
Seo-ah lifted a hand to the back of her head.
“My hair ribbon. He tried to pull it. I stopped him. I pulled my hand away…”
“Huh.”
A sharp breath escaped him, hollow laugh.
“In the place you lived, was that considered wrongdoing?”
“……”
“Lift your head.”
The habit, ingrained through years like his personality, did not dissolve at just that one word.
To the arrogant Marquis who had never lowered his own head, such behavior from her was irritating.
Oscar’s brow furrowed and began to speak.
“Is it that difficult to lift your head? I do not know what customs governed the place you came from, but here, there is no consequence to lifting your head and looking at me.”
—