I called a servant to bring cold water.
At first, I asked for a potion since it would be much simpler.
"I want Ain to do it for me."
I did as the princess who had worked hard getting hit asked.
I held a cold, damp towel against Giselle's swollen cheek.
Actually, I was going to send her outside to get drenched in the wind and rain.
I stopped because if Giselle caught a cold or someone saw her pitiful state, it would become even more troublesome.
Hitting is convenient, but the cleanup is inconvenient.
I waited for the swelling on Giselle's cheek to subside as she sat in front of the vanity, cigarette in mouth.
"It's fine now. Enough to cover with rouge."
"Look in the mirror."
The side I hit on the stairs was relatively okay.
The side I struck when entering the room still had a handprint.
It was swollen enough that the imbalance between both cheeks was obvious at a glance.
"You shouldn't hit women. I'm fine with anything you do to me.
But still, cherish me a bit more."
"Shut up.
Before I heat up the cheek I just cooled down."
"Even without hitting me, my cheeks flush red whenever I see you."
Looking at Giselle's cheek as she answered, I briefly considered hitting somewhere less visible.
For example, areas covered by clothing.
I thought just correcting her speech pattern to some degree was enough achievement for today.
With this level of obedience, there shouldn't be any major problems going forward.
Water droplets fell from Giselle's wet clothes, staining the carpet in small spots.
On the folds of her skirt, I could see holes made by cigarettes.
I went to the wardrobe and grabbed whatever came to hand.
I tossed nightclothes and underwear onto her lap.
"Take them off."
"I'll go to bed whenever you want."
"I'm telling you to change."
Unexpectedly, Giselle hesitated and just sat at the vanity.
It didn't seem to be from embarrassment.
Though only over her clothes, in the past our skinship had ripened enough that I'd touched her here and there.
True to Ain's pure-hearted nature, it was only careful touches.
I remember Giselle not avoiding my touch but rather encouraging it.
She wasn't the type to know shame in the first place.
"Should I leave?"
"I don't want to be apart."
"Perfect. Let me enjoy that appetite-killing body after so long—strip off a layer."
Giselle remained still, holding the clothes on her lap.
"...Turn around."
I shrugged once and complied with Giselle's request.
Behind me, I heard the sound of clothes and skin brushing.
I looked around the room that was as unpleasant as she was.
Nothing had changed since I last visited before going to war.
I tapped ash onto the floor where we used to sit back-to-back as children.
I felt nothing.
Only one spot in the room felt out of place.
One of the pillows was torn, with feathers sticking out.
What looked like goose or duck feathers were scattered all over the bed.
After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I turned to look at Giselle.
A white body that didn't suit white nightclothes.
Still sitting at the vanity, Giselle awkwardly covered the area near her left wrist.
She looked into the mirror, trying not to meet my eyes.
I approached and snatched the covered wrist.
The clean, straight scar looked quite old.
A crimson line drawn on white paper.
"You did something quite interesting while I was gone."
"Let go."
"No need to be embarrassed.
I have an armful of scars myself, my love."
"Please let go. Ain."
Giselle's face looked paler than usual, excluding her cheeks.
I released her wrist as requested and continued smoking.
Was the Count's trailing off also because of Giselle's self-harm?
I understood why she insisted on long-sleeved dresses unsuited to the weather.
Though I didn't know why she cut her wrist.
Actually, I don't care.
She probably imitated some idiotic novel.
It would be really nice if it also described hanging oneself to death.
While I was thinking about it, I headed to the bookshelf in the corner of the room.
The book with the cover I knew wasn't on the shelf.
I found it lying open on the table.
I didn't check which chapter she'd been reading.
I picked up the book and handed it to Giselle, who was looking at the floor.
"Going to read it together?"
Giselle asked with a faint smile, full of anticipation.
"Light a fire."
I took out a new cigarette and said.
The area above Giselle's blank eyes trembled briefly.
She seemed to understand I didn't just want fire for my cigarette.
"No."
"It'd be more romantic if you burned it than if I tore it up with my hands."
"...No. Don't."
"You're not stupid enough to forget what you said just an hour ago."
Giselle didn't budge, holding the book with both hands.
I snatched the book that made me angry just looking at it and headed to the still-open window.
Giselle jumped up from her seat and stood at the window first.
"...Give it. I'll do it."
I watched Giselle burn the book starting from the edges.
I thought it would feel as refreshing as stretching.
But I felt nothing particular.
A small crimson circle created by the flames Giselle produced appeared in the dark room.
By the time the book's binding had burned away, tears flowed from one of Giselle's eyes again.
Instead of wiping her tears, I transferred the fire from the book to my cigarette.
"What was it about?"
"...It's a story about love."
Like a ghost story. Using something that doesn't even exist as subject matter.
I stepped on the book that had now become ashes.
It wasn't as grand as revenge, but it felt like venting frustration.
I pulled Giselle into my arms with the cigarette in my mouth.
Her consistently cold body was genuinely unpleasant.
But if it's playing the male prostitute, I learned that in my past life.
"We're together even without this. You're happy, right?"
"...Happy."
"I came back just as you wanted. You couldn't ask for more."
"...Yeah."
Burning the book was more effective than hitting for shutting her up.
I pushed Giselle, who was in my arms, onto the bed.
She collapsed weakly, surrounded by feathers, and I looked down at her and said.
"I received a promise from the Count about marriage."
Giselle's unfocused pupils turned toward me.
Light and vitality began to return in an instant.
Giselle knelt on the bed and looked at me.
"Really?"
"Yes. Think of it as my modest gift."
"I'm happy, truly happy."
Unlike her reluctant answer earlier, she seemed genuinely pleased.
I traced the still-wet droplets on Giselle's face with my finger.
I lightly grasped both her cheeks with my hands.
"Remember well that it can be canceled too.
Like a candle before the wind, with my life that could go out at any moment as the price."
"Yes, I'll keep that in mind."
Not that I have much expectation.
I ruffled Giselle's hair, treating it like dog fur.
"Take care of yourself. We have to go to school together."
"We can sleep together in bed."
"Thanks for the uncomfortable offer. I'll pass today."
I covered Giselle up to her neck with the blanket and went outside.
I was damn tired even though I'd done nothing.
Still, it was too early to sleep.
I needed to drive in a nail so I couldn't run away if weak feelings arose.
There were also various other things to prepare.
Outside, the rain showed no signs of letting up.
I borrowed an umbrella from the manor's entrance.
How long had it been since I walked avoiding the rain?
I threw the umbrella over the now-locked front gate and climbed over the iron bars.
I headed toward my shabby, long-forgotten home.
I walked through the rain threads that grew thinner as the moon brightened.
Near the house, I saw drunks dragging their feet.
I don't want to mix with that crowd again.
Not that I'll avoid alcohol either.
—Creak
The sound of opening the plank door was neither familiar nor lonely.
I didn't turn on the lights. I had no intention of staying long.
I opened the first drawer, took out the silver engagement ring, and put it in my pocket.
I folded the uniform that had only been gathering dust and tucked it under my arm.
I fastened the sword I'd left standing on the shelf to my waist.
I looked for the strongest liquor in the cupboard.
Whiskey and beer wouldn't be enough.
At the very back was an unopened bottle of dark brown rum, close to pure alcohol.
I sprinkled alcohol everywhere without missing a spot—from the bathroom to the kitchen, the bed and table, spare clothes.
I stood at the entrance and looked at the house for a moment.
The house where only the sound of rain tapping the ceiling could be heard.
I chugged the remaining alcohol.
My fatigue melted, and the headache and phantom limb pain that had plagued me since regression faded.
A toast—or rather, a farewell drink.
I struck a match and dropped it on the floor where I'd sprinkled alcohol like a fuse.
Flames flowing along the winding path lit up the room in an instant.
I threw the empty bottle hard, smashing the window.
I kicked furniture still avoiding the flames into the fire.
Inside the blazing fire, things melted and burned away.
The damp wood crackled and split.
The household goods being devoured by the flames were quite a sight to see.
Even sleeping covered with dirt shoveled over me would have been more comfortable than sleeping here.
Could this cut off one of the nightmares that made my bed savage?
Not a chance.
Rather, the fire before my eyes might be added to the nightmares.
No problem.
I'm confident I can bear a yoke better than anyone.
I threw the cigarette I was smoking into the house turning pitch black.
By the time I stepped outside, I heard the sound of the roof collapsing.
I didn't look back.
I walked for a long while again, this time heading to a place I'd been avoiding.
Under the bridge, the beggars' dwelling place, was quiet.
Snoring sounds came from inside the erected planks and tents.
Obviously, I wasn't here to buy drugs.
I'll never do drugs again.
I approached the tout nodding off in front of the hole.
Into the chest of the tout who woke from drowsiness at the sound of gravel being stepped on, I thrust the umbrella that had served its purpose.
"Kehek.... Kkeheuk...."
Only the sound of air escaping came from his punctured lung.
Fortunate that it didn't turn into a scream, since he'd be keeping watch too.
I drew my sword and swung it at his neck.
I kicked the severed head once, placing it in a spot that would catch good light during the day.
By dawn, everyone in the shantytown would witness it.
I shook the blood off my sword and headed back to the manor.
The rain washed away the blood droplets that had splattered on my shirt from the unclean sword strike.
He was a criminal with no connections anyway, one involved with drugs at that.
I could worry less about the investigation closing in.
If by any chance I became a suspect, I could just kill myself and start over.
I retraced my steps.
By the time I opened the manor's front gate, I was soaked again.
Whether it was thanks to the alcohol or because I hadn't yet emerged from the fire's heat,
I didn't feel cold.
I hadn't overworked my body enough to suffer from a cold like in my past life either.
I passed through the now-dark stairs and hallway.
I went to Giselle's room, not the room assigned to me.
I stripped off my wet clothes carelessly, took out a cigarette, and crawled naked under the blanket.
Giselle was sleeping as if dead.
Curled up with both hands under the torn pillow.
Her breathing was so shallow I wouldn't know if she was breathing without touching her.
Cigarette smoke more insignificant than the fire's smoke rose to the ceiling.
The rain outside would stop by morning.
I'd fastened the first button I'd been waiting for.