Those deep, ashen eyes were always arrogant.
Elegant. Strong.
Had they ever been anything else?
I had never seen a woman as beautiful as my sister.
Not in this life, not in my last — she was, without question, the most beautiful of all.
She could bewitch people like a sly fox, and then, in the next moment, wear the cold expression of a savage wolf.
Even that ruthless face was, strangely, beautiful.
She never showed weakness.
No matter how grueling or painful things became, she never lost her composure or her grace.
That, perhaps, was the secret of her magnetism.
A quiet sniffle.
…And yet. That sister of mine.
Right now, her face was twisted as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
A face she had never shown anyone.
The most fragile expression she would never have permitted anyone to witness.
And of all people, I was the one seeing it.
The bridge of her nose scrunched. The corners of her lips trembled, barely perceptibly.
Beneath her furrowed brows, the outer corners of her eyes drooped — the last line of defense against grief, finally failing.
Yes. That was the face.
The face of a small child trying desperately not to cry.
Those eyes of hers, which had always held a calculating arrogance that seemed ready to swallow me whole —
now they were filled with nothing but a pain that had no reason to exist.
I am not good at reading people's emotions.
I cannot see through others the way she can.
And yet, I knew.
She was grieving.
Because of me.
…Why?
I couldn't understand it.
It made no sense.
It shouldn't have been possible.
She dislikes me.
No — she is supposed to dislike me.
To her, I am nothing but an obstacle threatening her claim to the Family Head position. Something to be removed.
An unnecessary existence.
A person who should be dead.
'And yet.'
Why are you grieving like that?
Why are you holding back tears like that?
Why are you…
I don't know.
I want to understand what's inside her.
Whether it was fortunate or not, she didn't seem to realize I had woken up.
With her slender, delicate hands, she rubbed her face over and over in a dry wash, struggling to collect herself.
'…This is awkward.'
If I sat up now, the situation would become unbearably uncomfortable.
So I closed my barely-open eyes again.
I waited with my eyes shut, hoping she would compose herself and leave on her own.
Five minutes passed like that.
Ten minutes…
'…Why isn't she leaving?'
She sat at my bedside without moving a muscle.
Even as the time stretched on, the quiet sniffling continued.
'Ah, I can't take this anymore.'
I couldn't endure it any longer. I decided to make a deliberate sound — to pretend I was waking up and break this unbearable silence.
Just then.
Softly…
Gentle fingertips came to rest on my forehead.
With extraordinary care, as though the slightest pressure might shatter something.
The touch swept lightly through my hair,
then traced slowly down along the line of my eyes,
pressed briefly against the tip of my nose —
And finally, came to rest upon my lips.
'…W-what is she doing?'
My heart dropped a beat behind.
My breath caught. Cold sweat traced a line down my spine.
"…Get well soon."
Words that sounded like a plea. Or a prayer.
And then.
A soft, wet warmth — moist and tender — brushed across my closed eyelid.
At that sensation, my eyes opened on their own.
The first thing I saw when I opened them was her face, tilted down over mine.
Tears had not yet fallen; they pooled at the corners of her eyes, and her lips were damp.
Too close.
Close enough that if I spoke, my breath would reach her. Close enough that if I turned my head, our foreheads would collide.
I met the gaze of her face looking down at me, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
At a distance so near our breaths could mingle — her pale rose lips still hovering just where they had been.
"…"
"…"
Her eyes, transparently wet, could not flee. They trembled quietly in place.
I closed my eyes again.
As though nothing had happened at all.
An eternity of silence settled calmly between us.
Then a voice, cold and sunken, came to rest beside my ear.
"…Open your eyes."
"Yes."
* * *
She reclaimed her haughty expression almost immediately, as though nothing had happened.
She crossed her long, shapely legs and looked down at me.
Her gaze was cold, her bearing composed. As if the trembling of a moment ago had been a lie.
She was the one who broke the awkward silence first.
"How long."
"…"
"How long have you been awake?"
"…A while."
"What do you mean, 'a while'?"
"Well, you were saying — 'You idiot, if it's dangerous, just—'"
"Stop."
"'—run away…'"
"I said stop!"
She suddenly leaned forward and covered my mouth with her hand.
Her palm pressed firmly, and no more words escaped.
"I understand, so stop."
"…"
She withdrew her hand and said quietly:
"That's cowardly. You were awake — why were you pretending to sleep?"
Because… it was uncomfortable.
The timing couldn't have been worse to wake up.
She pulled back her hand and held up a vial of medicine.
It must be time for my dose. I tried to push myself upright.
"Ugh…"
But my body wouldn't budge. Not even a twitch.
Regardless of my will, my muscles had gone slack and refused to obey. It felt alien — as though the body wasn't mine.
"Stay still. Don't move."
I had no choice but to comply.
There was no other option to begin with.
"Open your mouth. I'll give you your medicine."
She poured a measured amount of thick liquid onto a spoon.
A deep reddish-brown. A color that did not inspire goodwill just to look at.
…She wants me to eat this?
I looked at the spoon, then at her, then back at the spoon.
I opened my mouth slightly and took the medicine in.
"Blech."
"Hey — don't spit it out, swallow it."
Gulp.
I barely managed to get it down.
"Now, again."
She held out another spoonful.
I shot her a sharp glare.
"I can take it myself."
"What?"
"Leave it. I'll take it later."
I pressed my lips shut and held firm.
I could brace myself for foul-tasting medicine, but this was too much. My tongue was going numb.
"You're not a baby — just take it."
I didn't yield.
I pressed my lips together even harder so the spoon couldn't get through.
"Honestly."
She shook her head and reached out.
Her slender fingers traced gently along the contour of my face.
…And then, the next moment.
"Mmph!?"
She pinched both cheeks and forced my mouth open, then swiftly slid the spoon through the gap.
"Mmf—!"
With one hand gripping my jaw, she pressed her thumb over my lips to keep me from spitting it out.
The bitter, nauseating taste of the medicine wrung tears from my eyes.
I fixed her with a look of pure, concentrated resentment.
"What are you glaring at me for? It's good for you — don't spit it out, swallow."
Only after confirming that I had forced the medicine down did she let go.
She glanced at the saliva on her thumb, then wiped it absently on her own clothes.
Our eyes met.
An ambiguous silence settled between us.
"By the way."
She worked her lips for a moment, then asked, as if deliberating:
"…Are you all right? Your body?"
She continued:
"They said you were poisoned — you bled, too. Does it hurt?"
I was momentarily struck speechless.
Between her expression from earlier and everything else, she was strange in all sorts of ways today.
When I looked at her with puzzled eyes, she averted her gaze.
Her pale cheek slowly flushed to a rosy pink.
"…It's not like I'm particularly worried. It's just that if something happened to you, the Family Head would have something to say about it. That would be a nuisance. That's all."
Well.
Father had certainly said as much.
That if anything were to happen to me, he would strip her of her succession rights.
The meaning behind those words was a restraint — to keep her from doing anything to me.
"…I'm fine."
"You're really fine?"
"I'm fine."
Come to think of it — was Yuri all right?
Before I lost consciousness, her final image surfaced in my mind.
She had not been human.
She had been a killing machine wearing a human's face.
Recalling how she had cut down two assassins in an instant, I felt an inexplicable unease.
"Is Yuri okay?"
"…Yuri?"
"She was with me when we were attacked… where is she now?"
She pointed toward the adjacent room with her thumb.
"She's in another ward. By now she's probably being questioned by the Magistrate."
"The Magistrate?"
Just as I felt a flicker of unease —
Knock, knock.
Someone rapped at the door.
And without waiting for an answer, the door opened without permission.
A middle-aged man. A high-ranking official in blue with gold-thread embroidery — a Magistrate.
"Pardon the intrusion. I am Magistrate Nikolai Veteso. I have a few questions I'd like to ask."
Magistrate Nikolai walked in without so much as a nod, completely unimpeded.
'Magistrate.' In Porca, they were the powerful among the powerful.
Only ten existed in total, and they held the authority to investigate politicians and industrialists.
They also wielded unchecked power over arrest, interrogation, and execution.
The black mantle draped over the left shoulder was the symbol of that authority.
A Magistrate coming in person was no ordinary matter.
But what grated on me most was this:
'Corrupt Magistrate, Nikolai.'
The fact that Nikolai was morally reprehensible.
Nikolai was a Magistrate notorious for his wickedness.
What mattered to him was money and power. For those, he would turn an innocent person into the most heinous of criminals without a second thought.
Not so different from my sister.
In the story, getting entangled with Nikolai was an enormous headache.
Make a single mistake in his event, and you'd be looking at a bad ending.
Taibeon was a commoner, but Nikolai came from a distinguished family and held the rank of Magistrate.
For Nikolai, turning a single student into a criminal was no more effort than blowing his nose.
That was when it happened.
"So?"
Still with her legs crossed, she tilted her head slightly and fixed her gaze on him.
"My brother is very tired right now. Could you come back another time?"
"…Ofilienne Binna Moretti."
Who could tell a Magistrate to come back later?
But she could.
The Moretti family — a house of a thousand years, one that had stood at the founding of the empire. The most distinguished of the distinguished.
A mere Magistrate was utterly insignificant before the name of Moretti.
Magistrate Nikolai's shoulders stiffened. He regarded her with wary eyes.
"I'm afraid that won't do. As this nation's Magistrate, I have a duty to investigate the unfortunate incident that occurred in the Thorn Forest."
"And that's exactly why I'm saying it can't be done right now."
"I have business with the student Matyos, Miss Moretti."
Magistrate Nikolai looked down at me with a steady, cold gaze. There was no goodwill in it whatsoever.
At that moment, she kept her eyes on Magistrate Nikolai and reached her arm back to stroke the back of my head.
"You seem to be misunderstanding something."
"What misunderstanding?"
"Does he look to you like he's in any condition to answer your questions?"
"He's not mute, is he?"
"His mind isn't quite intact, I'm afraid. Isn't that right? My dear brother."
She leaned down and wrapped her arms around me.
What on earth has gotten into her all of a sudden.
Her protection felt strange, but the situation wasn't bad.
Getting tangled up with Nikolai was guaranteed trouble. I leaned into her embrace and whined:
"Mmm… my head hurts."
"You see? He's a child who's been through a terrible ordeal. He just barely escaped with his life — what do you think you're doing, Magistrate Nikolai?"
"…Miss Moretti. I have the right to question you. A right granted by this nation."
"So you intend to proceed."
"There's nothing stopping me. It is my right."
"And you're confident you can handle—"
She turned a small smile toward the Magistrate.
"—the consequences?"
The gazes of the Magistrate and my sister crossed.