Jeril shivered violently.
The moment she instinctively realized that the hand on her shoulder belonged to Caron, she tried to run away again.
There was a reason her nickname used to be “rabbit.”
“Where are you going?”
But Caron had no intention of letting her escape. His hand turned her arm gently yet firmly, and he frowned.
“I’ve been looking for you for a while.”
“Haha, really? I didn’t even notice.”
“Why do you keep avoiding me?”
Jeril shot a desperate look toward Chelsea.
If you can see me, tell me how to get out of this, Chelsea!
“Good evening, Your Grace the Duke of Lefert.”
“Viscount Rebeline.”
“Would you please release Jeril?”
“And why should I do that?”
“She is my lifeline.”
“Your lifeline?”
Jeril shook her head furiously. Don’t go spreading your weird theories!
“It’s not something to discuss in public, I’m afraid. I ask for your understanding.”
“Well, understood,” Caron muttered, as though he couldn’t care less, and nodded.
While the two were talking, Jeril tried twisting her wrist to slip away—but his sharp gaze immediately pinned her in place.
Oops…
She tried to act nonchalant and looked away, only to hear a low chuckle above her head.
He stared down at her like one might at a guilty puppy, fingers still loosely gripping her slender wrist.
“Viscount, would you mind giving us a moment?”
But Chelsea hesitated—a rare thing.
Lefert’s notorious temper was well known. Having once been part of a suppression unit formed to deal with his rampages, she couldn’t ignore the thought that Jeril was standing beside a live bomb.
That was the only reason she asked something she normally wouldn’t have.
“Do you intend to harm her?”
The air, which had been calm if not friendly, instantly chilled.
Caron asked slowly,
“And if I did, what would you do, Viscount?”
“…That’s…”
“There’s nothing you could do, is there?”
Monster.
He could read the word clearly in Chelsea’s eyes.
It was the kind of look he was used to receiving—and yet, for some reason, it irritated him anew.
Jeril watched him, startled by how quickly his expression had turned sharp again.
His hand had gone pale, bloodless; a faint tremor ran through his wrist.
For some reason, he looked as though he might shatter any moment.
Jeril slowly raised her arm and lightly touched his cold hand with her fingertips.
Caron flinched and looked down at her. His pale lips trembled before he spoke quietly:
“…I have no intention of meeting the Viscount’s expectations. My apologies.”
In other words, he wasn’t going to hurt Jeril.
Chelsea bowed her head toward Caron.
Seeing that no further tension lingered between them, it seemed the situation had settled—for now.
Now it’d be great if you could just let me go.
Jeril looked toward Chelsea, silently begging her to take her away.
But the merciless red mage merely bowed politely and walked off, leaving Jeril behind.
Coward.
She glared after her in disbelief—only to meet a pair of fierce red eyes.
“…”
Was that disappointment she saw on his face, or was she imagining it?
I’m still deciding, she thought. Whether to treat you as Caron… or as Cal.
If she chose to treat him as Caron, she wouldn’t alter the original story.
If she chose to treat him as Cal, she’d do whatever it took to change it.
For someone who had resolved to live quietly, healing children, it wasn’t an easy decision.
If I try to change the story, I might have to use the power of the Blue Mage.
And if the world ever discovered that she was the Blue Mage who disappeared a thousand years ago, she already knew how it would end.
She’d become an experiment, a living healing tool, or—worse—a target of obsessive worship.
“Where’s your partner?”
That was why even harmless questions like that still made her uneasy.
Partner? Really? You’re the one who dug a secret passage into the imperial palace.
“He’s over there, putting on a magic show.”
“Viscount Persch is using magic?”
Oh, please. What an act.
Jeril pointed toward Leon—who was, like some circus monkey, performing a flashy fire trick before a group of fascinated ladies.
“I don’t see him.”
“Ah! Look, a UFO!”
The moment Caron’s eyes turned back to her, she shouted with great enthusiasm. His crimson gaze followed her pointing finger, and a few nearby nobles turned curiously as well.
“What’s a UFO?”
“I don’t know—some new kind of magic, perhaps?”
His grip slackened just slightly.
Jeril seized the chance and dashed out of the ballroom.
The warmth that had been in his palm vanished, leaving Caron staring down at his hand—where he could still feel the faint echo of her pulse.
A hollow laugh escaped him, and then his polished black shoes began moving after her, unhurried but steady.
“Hah… haah… I’m so tired…”
Jeril ran until sweat pooled in her shoes, glancing around to catch her breath.
In the mirror-lined corridor, her face was bright red from exertion.
I look exactly like someone being chased, don’t I?
At this rate, she thought, a palace guard would probably catch her before Caron did.
Scanning for something to hide her face, she spotted a row of masks neatly displayed on a cabinet—prepared, no doubt, for nobles sneaking off to secret garden trysts.
She snatched up the nearest one, strapped it on, and broke into another run.
I’ve been running aimlessly, but… where even am I?
The bunny-eared mask wobbled with each turn of her head.
The thick greenery surrounding her told her she’d stumbled into the maze garden—a well-known spot for discreet romantic rendezvous.
I might be lost, but I can just retrace my steps later.
“…Are you afraid?”
“…I should be.”
She was catching her breath when faint voices reached her ears—growing clearer with every word.
Jeril ducked into a bush on instinct.
Wait, why am I hiding? I didn’t do anything wrong…
But soon she realized she’d done the right thing.
It was the Crown Prince—and the Saintess.
Men in cloaks surrounded them, clearly serving as guards.
Though for holy knights, they look a bit… suspicious.
Jeril was just about to sneak away quietly when the Crown Prince’s smooth, lyrical voice froze her in place.
“How is the cleanup of Mekel going?”
What…?
“The knights are handling it.”
“I heard a rat slipped through.”
“Your Highness, please don’t worry. Do you not trust the knights of the Holy Empire?”
Her mind raced.
The suspicions she’d harbored ever since hearing Chelsea’s investigation were now confirmed.
The Mekel tragedy—was caused by the Crown Prince and the Saintess themselves.
What kind of story has the male and female leads killing people?!
Putting all the clues together, she could only conclude one thing:
The original plot had long since gone completely off the rails.
But why?
What could they possibly gain from killing their own citizens?
The disaster had cost them more than it gained.
No one dared voice it openly under the Emperor’s powerful rule, but dissatisfaction was spreading quietly among the new nobility.
And the Holy Empire is involved, too?
The truth she had stumbled upon weighed heavily in her chest.
They had murdered people—innocent people.
And it wasn’t chance; it was deliberate.
She didn’t need to see their “karma values” to imagine how terrible they must be.
Don’t tell me they’re behind the Blue Spots disease too…
Just then, the Crown Prince nodded and spoke again.
“The preparations for the next stage are complete?”
“Of course. Everything is ready.”
“Good. Proceed as planned.”
Are they planning a rebellion now?
But that was supposed to be Caron’s role—not theirs.
The Crown Prince only had to sit back and inherit the throne.
Which means… the Emperor must know, too.
The Imperial family and the Holy Empire had joined hands—
to kill people.
At that moment, a dark figure appeared on the other side of the bush where Jeril was hiding.
And then she remembered—why she’d crouched here in the first place.
Caron…!
