The gray sky with falling snow and the drab scenery of Mayfield Avenue gradually turned golden with the sunset light.

The dress that slid down her back fell to the floor with a thud.

The maid Liz quickly untied the strings fastening the stomacher. With a final tug, the last knot came undone and the stomacher compressing her chest fell away.

As she gazed out the window taking shallow breaths, the maid Liz smiled gently.

“It was uncomfortable, wasn’t it?”

“I need to get used to it.”

“Madame Yvonne insisted that you must wear a stomacher and pannier with this gala dress…”

Liz continued her explanation disguised as complaints while dismantling the pannier.

Her apologetic glances seemed intended to console her for wearing the constricting dress all day.

“We must dress properly to avoid criticism at the imperial gala.”

“Lady Marien, you are elegant and dignified in anything you wear, even without a stomacher or pannier. You’re too perfect.”

Well, that’s a bit much. Sidney brushed it off with an awkward expression.

“Ah… th-thanks.”

But maid Liz placed a hand on her chest, looking pleased.

“It’s not just flattery. There are rumors that Madame Yvonne has taken Lady Marien as her muse.”

Even as she spoke, Liz’s hands remained busy. Finally, when only the white underdress remained, Sidney raised her hand to signal her to stop.

“I’ll do this myself. Liz, prepare some trousers and a shirt for me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

One wall of the dressing room was filled with Imperial Guard uniforms and everyday trousers and shirts.

They were neatly sorted into white, light gray, and black, with over 10 sets of each, just like Logan Redford’s closet.

He’s so fussy. Unlike Logan who changes clothes at the slightest stain or wrinkle, I…

“I don’t need that many.”

Sidney muttered to herself as she turned her head. Outside the window, darkness was slowly descending, pressing down on the red glow.

The scorching heat of the sun, the shimmering haze rising, and the dust swirling on the plains were visible, along with black tents erected and soldiers resting here and there.

It’s a dream. How long has it been since the war ended, how did we end that damn war… So this must be a dream.

I must have fallen asleep in an armchair in the luxury apartment on Mayfield Avenue.

Suddenly, Sidney roughly ran her fingers through her hair and cursed under her breath.

“Damn it, of all things to dream about…”

“Lieutenant Warden, there you are.”

Turning around, she saw a young-faced soldier holding a neatly pressed shirt and uniform. Since she didn’t remember him, they probably hadn’t been together for long…

With a feeling of pity, she called out the name written on the young soldier’s chest.

“Tony Biles…”

“Yes, Lieutenant!”

The lad responded with a loud voice and a crisp salute to his forehead. His eyes were so solemn that she unconsciously covered her mouth with her fist and cleared her throat.

“Ahem, is anything difficult for you?”

“Nothing is difficult in the face of our country’s glory!”

Glory of the country my ass. How thoroughly brainwashed must they be for new recruits to not miss a single word? Sidney patted the recruit’s shoulder lightly and said:

“You’ve been well trained.”

“Th-thank you.”

Then, taking the laundry from his hands, she whispered quietly:

“Is this the battalion commander’s laundry?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’ll take it to him, so you go and rest. And…”

She was about to step away but stopped and gazed intently at the new recruit. Sixteen years old? At most eighteen, even being generous. Sidney pressed down firmly on the young soldier’s shoulders and said:

“Tony Biles, if you die, it’s all for nothing. What I mean is… survive, not for the glory of the country, but for yourself and your family.”

“I was taught that the country is myself and my family.”

Bullshit. She barely swallowed the curse that was about to escape her lips.

“Instead of teaching that, they should have taught you more swordsmanship before sending you out. Anyway, to enjoy that damn glory, you must survive. This is an order.”

“Yes, I will definitely survive.”

The young soldier’s resolute answer left a really bad taste in her mouth. Sidney patted his shoulder a few times and turned away.

This is a truly shitty dream.

Could it be that I’m having this dream because I mocked the uniforms hanging in the wardrobe in the dressing room? Sidney grimaced as she readjusted the angles of the khaki uniform and gray shirt with Logan Redford’s name on them, quickening her pace.

And in front of the tent guarded by two soldiers, she called out:

“Battalion Commander, this is Sidney Warden.”

“Come in.”

As permission was granted from inside the black tent, one soldier lifted the cloth covering the entrance. Stepping inside, the smell of cigarettes stung her nose.

Logan Redford was standing crookedly beside the table placed in the center of the tent, his hand on his side.

As their eyes met, he narrowed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette. While scrutinizing her up and down with a subtle and persistent gaze, he bluntly said:

“Laundry, huh.”

At Logan’s characteristically brusque tone, she found herself smirking before quickly stiffening her expression and responding:

“Yes, I’ll hang them up.”

Just as she was about to step towards the makeshift wardrobe set up on one side of the tent, Logan stopped her.

“Give me the shirt.”

“Yes, sir.”

Logan Redford put down his cigarette in the ashtray and began unbuttoning his shirt one by one.

She placed the gray shirt on the table and turned around, meeting his eyes again. Logan raised his right eyebrow and asked:

“You, why is your expression like that?”

“Like what, sir?”

“That, right now. The way you’re opening your eyes wide and smirking as if you’re about to laugh…”

What are you talking about? As she tilted her head slightly, Logan abruptly turned his head away mid-sentence. Then he muttered, ‘I must be crazy. What am I…’ and waved his hand as if to dismiss her.

In the past, she might have turned away, swallowing a curse about his fits starting again, but now she felt an inexplicable competitive spirit towards Logan rejecting her.

It’s just a dream anyway. Sidney stepped closer to him. And looking straight into his startled eyes, she grinned.

“Like this, you mean?”

His blue eyes wavered and her vision rippled.

As she felt someone shaking her shoulder to wake her, she opened her eyes to find Logan Redford looking down at her with an angry face.

“…Battalion Commander?”

“What? You… What kind of dream were you having?”

Behind the incredulous Logan, she could see the familiar ceiling and chandelier, along with the red tapestries and wooden walls and fireplace.

Feeling relieved, a chuckle escaped her lips.

“Just… a nonsensical dream.”

Usually when dreaming, one simply observes past events. But this time, in a place and situation similar to her memories, she was able to actively engage in conversation and take action.

Logan Redford, who had been quietly listening to the dream story, poured wine into a glass and said:

“Well, dreams themselves are just illusions or remnants of memories… They get distorted sometimes. Plus, if you’re not in a deep sleep, your self-awareness might be strong enough to control the dream like that.”

Ah, that could be it. Sidney nodded as she accepted the wine glass.

“You seem to know a lot about dreams.”

“I read it in a book.”

Logan frowned as he wetted his lips with the wine.

Gazing steadily at him, she tilted her head back and emptied her glass as if to show off. Then, savoring the sweet and bitter taste of the wine, she grumbled to herself:

“Why did I say I wanted to drink…”

Logan snatched the wine bottle and refilled her glass, changing the subject.

“Hmm, so what did you talk about with me in that dream?”

“We didn’t really talk about anything specific. You just asked why my expression was like that.”

“Expression? What kind of expression did you make…”

Instead of answering, Sidney stared straight into his eyes and smiled gently, just as she had in the dream.

Logan, who had been pouring wine, glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His eyes widened and then darted back and forth.

Why would he be so surprised, both in the dream and in reality, over something like this?

As she was about to tilt her head slightly, she noticed the wine overflowing from the glass. She reflexively lifted the mouth of the bottle.

“Oh no, is there something to wipe this…”

As she looked around for something to wipe up the spilled wine on the table, Logan put down the bottle and rang a small bell.

Along with the clear bell sound, the attendant Mylo opened the door and entered.

As if he had been waiting, he had a white towel on his arm and a silver tray with a wine bottle and glasses on it.

Logan pointed to the full wine glass and said:

“Replace it with a new glass.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mylo cleaned up the table with precise and efficient movements and withdrew.

Once they were alone again, Logan poured wine into the new glass and said in a calm tone:

“Earlier, that expression, who did you show it to? You muttered ‘Battalion Commander’ in your sleep, so it must have been me.”

“Well, yes. But why did you wake me up with such an angry face?”

Feeling awkward that he was so certain it was him, she tried to change the subject. As if unwilling to let it go easily, Logan pursued the topic:

“Are you curious why I was angry? Or was the dream so good that you’re disappointed it ended?”

As if he was determined to hear her say that the dream was good, that the Logan Redford she met in the dream was good. No, the look in his eyes that seemed confident those words would come out was quite irritating.

So instead of simply agreeing, she interpreted Logan’s words differently and refuted:

“That… sounds like you’re saying you got angry because I seemed to be having a dream good enough to make me regret waking up.”

“And if that’s the case?”

Is he really saying he got angry because she was having a good dream? As she mouthed ‘Why…?’ to ask,

“My woman smirking and calling out another bastard’s name in her sleep… Do I need another reason?”

“Another bastard? Earlier, I sleep-talked ‘Battalion Commander’…”

“Are you saying I’m the only battalion commander in the Imperial Army? And the Logan Redford that appeared in that dream, strictly speaking, isn’t me either.”

That’s true, but is this really something to argue about so seriously…