As soon as the sun rose, Merche hurried her steps upon hearing the news.

The young master, who had been well-behaved until now, suddenly cancelled all his classes and ran away.

The servants hinted to Merche, who came for the class, “The young master is in the back garden.”

It seemed they had tried to bring Rude back several times but ultimately failed and returned empty-handed.

“…Um.”

A servant hesitated, glancing around. Merche, who was heading to the garden, turned back for a moment.

“The… the young master, you… I mean.”

Merche waited patiently without urging, but the servant soon glossed over what he was saying and shook his head profusely.

He said it was nothing, just nonsensical words.

It was strange how he was clearly holding back words that were spilling from his mouth, but Merche didn’t inquire further.

Rude’s matter was more urgent than the suspicious servant.

Fortunately, Rude was in an easy place to find.

On a branch of a centuries-old, large laurel tree that the gardener had devotedly cared for, a man with long legs crossed was humming a tune.

It was a carefree sight that starkly contrasted with the frantic situation outside trying to bring him back.

“Come on, Merche.”

The man, who was now looking down at her, said.

“The view is nice here. Want me to lift you up too?”

“You have to return, Lord Rude.”

“I’ll make you a leaf whistle. I can make it quite decently, you know.”

“If we’re any later, the head of the family will be furious.”

As it was, a guest was visiting the castle tomorrow.

Genovefa had been quite sensitive lately for the sole reason that Fondo’s heir candidate was visiting.

Although Rude had improved a lot, he wasn’t at the level to be shown in front of a real nobleman, especially a member of the same meritorious family.

Therefore, by Genovefa’s order, tomorrow’s Rude was scheduled to be very ill.

So ill with a high fever that he would unfortunately be unable to greet the guest.

For that, he should have been sitting in his bedroom pretending to groan since early on. Yet, Rude was in the garden, looking perfectly fine.

By now, this news must have reached Genovefa’s ears.

Her heart sank, unable to even fathom what Genovefa, with her twisted temperament, would do under the name of punishment.

Unaware of the burning pace, Rude grinned and pulled out various things from his bosom.

“Here. This is a necklace, this is an anklet. This one, what was it called? Anyway, it’s damn expensive.”

Tap, tap. The treasures, reflecting a splendid light, fell one by one at her feet.

Merche looked at them, not understanding what was going on.

Even at a glance, they were no ordinary items.

How and where on earth did he get these things?

“Ah, right. I remember this one. It’s the ring that the woman who was the third head of the family or something cherished the most.”

Then, a ring with a bright red ruby fell with a thud.

Seeing it, Merche’s eyes hardened palely for a moment.

The treasure room that only the head of the family and the heir could open. These were items from there.

Rude had stolen the treasures of the Lupinus family that should never be taken outside.

If Genovefa found out, she would punish him even by searing his skin.

“Put them back. You have to put them back right now before the head of the family finds out.”

“Aah. It’s fine. They’ll all be mine anyway once I become the head, so what’s the big deal.”

“That’s not the issue…”

“I’ll give them all to you. You take them.”

“Lord Rude.”

When she called out firmly, Rude frowned and finally came down to the ground.

“What. Is this still not enough? Do I have to give you something more expensive and precious to satisfy you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. I can’t take them, and they shouldn’t be in your hands right now either.”

“I got it. Just shut up about that for a moment, Merche. Let me ask you just one thing.”

“……”

“You. What will you do once I go through the heir announcement ceremony?”

Suddenly, his playful voice turned ominous.

His gaze bore into her face persistently, and his large, hot hand gripped her wrist.

It wasn’t a painful force, but somehow it felt suffocating.

“Will you leave?”

She should say yes, that she had to. But she couldn’t answer.

The man looking at her seemed so desperate.

Even though Merche was the one driven to the edge of a cliff, it was Rude who looked like he was about to die.

Rude, who had been staring at her without blinking, bent his broad back to pick up the treasures he had dropped, one by one.

His hands were so large that all those numerous items somehow fit in one hand.

Rude held it out to Merche.

“I don’t need any of this trivial stuff. I’ll give it to you, so you take it all.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Why.”

“I don’t want it.”

“…Yes, you’re right. These are not yet my property.”

With a clatter, the dazzling jewels flowed down like a handful of sand.

Rude, who had tossed them away nonchalantly, climbed up the tree again and came down with something.

“It looks like crap, but at least this isn’t stolen. It’s something I made. They say it’s quite special in this kingdom.”

What he held out was a laurel wreath woven with laurel leaves.

It had a few leaves plucked here and there and was terribly crude, but it was a circular wreath completed with all his might.

In the Ifero Kingdom, the laurel wreath held an old meaning.

The royal crown was modeled after this laurel wreath, one of the three symbols of the first king along with the sword and the ring.

The people of the kingdom gave a laurel wreath to their lovers or fiancés only once in their lives.

And that one time referred to when they proposed.

“…Young master! Young master!”

Someone called out to Rude desperately and ran over. It was his servant, whose face had turned pale.

Anxiously looking back at the stern knights following behind in the distance, the servant grabbed Rude urgently.

“The head of the family ordered us to bring you, young master! Do you know why he gave such an order?”

“Merche.”

Regardless of what the servant was rambling about, Rude still looked at Merche.

Pushing away the servant’s hand that was grabbing him, he approached Merche again and forcibly opened her small, white hand.

The laurel wreath settled on her trembling palm.

“It’s yours.”

“Young master! What on earth is going on, huh?!”

“Don’t ever throw that away, even if you die. Even if it rots and falls apart, you keep it.”

“…Gasp, the knights are here. They’ve arrived, young master−!”

“…Merche.”

Rude, who called her for the last time, was soon grabbed by the newly arrived knights and dragged away.

Don’t throw it away.

Until he was out of sight, Rude kept saying it.

Whether he meant not to throw away the laurel wreath he gave or not to throw him away. It was dizzying, unable to narrow down the meaning to one.

Merche, standing with a face as white as if bleached, stared blankly at the laurel wreath for a long time.

A storm had passed through the head of the family’s office.

According to the servants who tidied up the place, it was such a mess that nothing was left intact.

Rude, who had a private meeting with the head in that chaotic scene, walked out bleeding.

Without even needing to fabricate a lie, he was now in a state where he truly needed recuperation.

With a doctor, the door to his bedroom was firmly locked, and the sun slowly set.

The drowsy slumber scattered bit by bit like a mist.

The moment his senses, sharpened to desperately survive, sensitively caught a presence, Rude woke up, catching the wrist that was about to disappear after lingering near his forehead.

“Who the hell…”

Eup−. The sound of someone suppressing pain with all their might was familiar.

As soon as he confirmed the owner of that slender voice, the force that had been brutish drained away.

“Ah. It’s our capable teacher. But what kind of noble lady sneaks into a room like a thief without the owner’s knowledge?”

“…I apologize. I came because I had something to tell you, but you were in deep sleep. I was just going to leave it and go.”

“Something to tell me?”

Only then did he notice an unfamiliar ointment container placed on the small table.

The appearance with a blue-green herb painted on it looked too luxurious and expensive to suit him.

“…That old bastard ordered you again, didn’t he?”

He had been throwing a fit for half a day, telling the doctor to get rid of whatever medicine he brought. Then it seemed the head of the family had finally resorted to a nasty trick.

He probably thought that if he sent Merche, Rude would obediently apply the medicine and receive treatment.

He felt dirty, as if he had been played by the man he wanted to kill, but undeniably, he was pleased with this intruder.

It was like deliberately stepping into the trap set by the head.

“It’s true that I received permission from the head of the family, but it was my side that first requested a visit. I didn’t come because of the head’s order, so please don’t misunderstand.”

“Yeah. I don’t believe that. If you saw me sleeping, you could have just left. Why did you touch my forehead?”

“…I thought you had a fever, so I tried to check.”

“Of course I’ll have a fever. I was beaten to a pulp.”

“Did the head of the family use excessive force? Where and how badly are you injured?”

Rude scowled at the worrying gaze that was annoyingly ticklish.

She was a woman who had a knack for irritating people.

Why did she keep throwing things at him that he didn’t even wish for?

If you look closely, she was even worse than the underground power brokers.

She would dangle a tempting bait in front of him and gently shake it, but as soon as he bit, she would push him away.

Every time, he was played like a starving fish because she arbitrarily gave him attention that was nothing more than mere pity or sympathy.

He was also the one who habitually bit the bait, but Merche, who threw it as naturally as breathing, was the bigger problem.

Rude sprawled out and gestured with one hand.