My Insolent Shadow (22 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 9

The path leading away from the ancient, distant manor.

Through the grain of trees carried by the fragrant breath of spring, green leaves began to reveal spring’s full splendor.

Only upon seeing this did I finally feel able to breathe again.

As I took a deep breath, the face of that man from just moments ago surged back into my mind.

He had narrowed his eyes cruelly as he watched me halt before the final sentence—

as if demanding why I wouldn’t read it to the end,

his gaze already knowing that ending all too well.

Surprisingly, the male protagonist I’d thought was nothing but trash… wasn’t trash at all.

He’d pushed away the female lead solely because he feared she’d wait for him, knowing his days were numbered.

Thus, the male protagonist dies slowly over 365 days, consumed by longing and endless waiting,

hidden away in some deep place without her.

Just reading that book had already made it hard to breathe.

Probably because Cassian stood right before my eyes.

Cassian, the young master with a terminal diagnosis, was the spitting image of that doomed male protagonist.

Reciting that protagonist’s tragedy in front of him felt truly cruel—

especially since the ending was all too obvious to someone with a terminal illness.

How long had it been since I vowed never to mix emotions into matters? Yet the moment I saw the young master’s hollow eyes, I collapsed.

Those pages, worn thin from being read again and again, clearly bore Cassian’s traces.

That frail young master must have prepared himself for his own end countless times while reading this.

It suddenly struck me anew—this young master, whom I’d always seen as aloof, was indeed on borrowed time.

Could that same young master, who once seemed destined to live forever with arrogant pride in those tormenting eyes of his, now be counting his final days just like the male protagonist in the book?

At least that protagonist had a woman who’d wait for him eternally.

Cassian had nothing like that.

Ah… would the Blanchets in the capital, so distant from here, even be waiting for him?

Though he was their only heir—so one might assume they would—I couldn’t help but doubt it when I recalled they’d never once shown themselves.

Isn’t it natural for parents to stay by their ailing child’s side?

What could they possibly be doing, having left their son—who already knew his death date—alone in such a faraway place, waiting only for his final day?

Perhaps they were busy dealing with retainers who’d risen up upon hearing the heir was sickly, preparing the new future of House Blanchet.

That’s usually how things went, according to the daily papers chronicling noble politics.

Ever since rumors spread that Blanchet’s heir was in poor health, things had been noisy and chaotic—so they must simply be occupied with handling all that.

But even so… could those matters truly be more important than their own son?

Then again, as a commoner without even a title, how could I possibly understand the affairs of a family representing the empire?

Yet, despite that, the man who had everything—unlike me, who’d always believed myself at rock bottom—suddenly seemed pitiful for just a fleeting moment.

To me, Cassian asked, “Do you pity me?”

In that instant, Yuriciel instinctively answered, “No.”

It wasn’t a lie—but neither was it entirely honest.

I had pitied the young master for just a flicker, but upon reflection, nothing was more absurd than someone in my position feeling pity for him.

It would be just as ridiculous for me to worry about the noble heir of Blanchet.

With deliberate cruelty, the boy declared he needed no pity from someone like me—

adding that even in death, he’d be buried in a far better place than I ever would.

As Cassian spoke of being laid to rest in an extravagantly ornate coffin bedecked with jewels, his eyes looked sorrowful—

even as his lips smiled.

What shattered my foolish compassion was the moment he clicked his lighter on.

Cassian repeatedly flicked the flame on and off with a sharp *click-click*, then snapped his fingers and snatched the book from me.

With a blank expression, he set fire to it.

Staring dryly at the flames roaring to life, Cassian tossed the burning book into the brazier beside his bed.

His nonchalance was so unnerving it crossed over into fear.

It felt utterly shameful how, even for a split second, I’d considered Cassian someone like me—worthy of sympathy.

Yet even that wasn’t enough; he declared he’d summon the author again and force them to rewrite the book,

claiming something about it was wrong.

Behind his dry tone, his gaze—tinged with a faint, unsettling smile—locked onto me,

still impossible to read, as ever.

After all, unlike me, Cassian could command others to do his bidding right up until his death—

exactly as he pleased.

I was merely one of those playthings.

The realization that I’d nearly forgotten my place, even briefly, sent chills down my spine.

That terminally ill young master was, above all, dangerous and cruel—

capable of twisting someone like me without effort.

As the boy himself said, even the coffin he’d be buried in would be twice as splendid and beautiful as the shabby home where my ailing mother and I lived.

It was perilous beyond measure to let my guard down, even for a moment, in front of such a formidable being.

If I showed any weakness, I wouldn’t be able to protect my mother.

I truly needed to shut off my emotions now.

It was time to crush these indulgent feelings and head to my next workplace.

Fortunately, that capricious young master strictly kept to his schedule, so my next job wouldn’t be delayed.

I’d left myself extra time just in case, so for now, I had a brief moment of leisure.

It was close enough to walk from here to Aunt Riddle’s trading house—my next destination—rather than take a carriage.

Of course, I’d need to walk briskly, but saving even a little on fare counted for something.

Hurrying past the fountain and garden, as I crossed the dirt path leading toward what looked like a training ground,

the earth trembled roughly beneath my feet.

I looked up to see a familiar face growing larger as it rapidly approached me—

mounted on horseback.

‘Surely not…’

It couldn’t possibly be the person I knew, yet my eyes kept insisting it was.

‘Could overwork be making me see things?’

The finely groomed, high-bred stallion skidded to a stop just beside me, its coat trembling in an impressively refined manner.

Was this breed called a Holsteiner?

Before that thought even fully passed through my mind, I lifted my head to confirm the rider.

My jaw dropped in shock at the sight of him leaping down so abruptly.

I knew exactly who this was—I’d seen him enough times.

‘Hael.’

He’d been my first love, long ago.

Though now grown much taller with a lean, sculpted frame unmistakably that of an adult, he was undeniably the same boy I remembered.

“Long time no see.”

“Yeah, long time.”

His voice, once a melodious tenor, now rumbled low like earth collapsing into a tunnel—completely different from before.

Yet his wide, beaming smile remained unchanged.

In Alphonse Village—a place practically the countryside—Hael was a rare soul bearing a truly lovely name,

much like my own, Yuriciel.

The difference was that Hael and I were as far apart as sky and earth.

Hael’s family ran the finest horse ranch among Alphonse’s commoners.

His father, younger son of a noble house, hadn’t inherited a title but carried unmistakable noble bearing.

Moreover, thanks to their close bond, Hael’s uncle had granted his father a portion of the family estate.

To the capital nobles, it was just a useless horse ranch—but even that was extraordinary.

After all, in noble families, elder brothers casting out their siblings during succession struggles was routine.

With that money, Hael’s mansion rose proudly above the flat, unremarkable houses of the village.

To my childhood eyes, it was nothing short of a grand palace.

Hael’s father was also remarkably skilled—breeding and selling fine horses, establishing trade with foreign merchants, and importing rare, high-quality stallions to amass wealth.

Gradually, Hael’s mansion kept growing larger.

Back then, I—and every other village child—truly believed Hael’s house was the grandest in the empire.

Children’s worlds are naturally confined to small wells, after all.

Hael’s family was also the only commoners permitted to freely enter the lord’s estate—a place utterly inaccessible to ordinary villagers.

The lord and his lady enjoyed hunting like any noble, and horses were vital for that.

Though the notoriously finicky lord loathed bringing commoners into his home, he made an exception for Hael’s family—

since no one else in the territory owned such exceptional stallions.

Growing up in that environment, Hael naturally knew everything about horses.

It was Hael who taught me about breeds like the Holsteiner—horses I’d never see in my lifetime.

He showed me how to comb a horse’s mane, told me their names, and even the name of that family’s famed black stallion—things I’d never have learned otherwise.

Using that exceptional talent as his stepping stone, Hael soared away—to the capital—

leaving this insignificant Alphonse village behind as if he’d never look back.

His mother had bragged so loudly about it that not a single villager was unaware.

[“Hael’s been chosen for sponsorship by the great House Blanchet themselves! Yes, selected as a scholarship student! We never even trained him, yet he handles horses like a master! There’s no one in the empire like our Hael…”]

The same woman who’d once scolded him for merely following in his father’s footsteps now disappeared the moment he was selected as a scholar.

My mother, who’d once worked under Hael’s mother, would halfheartedly nod along to those boasts,

yet secretly hoped Hael and I would end up together.

After all, she always worried about me being left alone because of her illness.

Having suffered bitterness from a highborn father herself, my mother likely saw Hael as someone acceptable for me to desire.

I didn’t disagree.

He was a commoner, son of a wealthy family, and fond of me.

Hael and Yuriciel—the village folk always said our names suited each other well.

I’d liked him even without those conditions.

Who wouldn’t adore someone with such a radiant smile?

Indeed, many girls besides me had adored him.

But back then, his choice had been me.

And judging by his continued letters—despite my never replying—he still cared for me, unchanged.

I’d expected to feel even more nervous than before upon meeting him again…

Yet strangely, I felt no flutter at all.

He’d always been above me, causing discomfort from the start—but now I felt oddly indifferent, strangely calm.

Perhaps it was because I’d entered a manor even grander than Hael’s house—the one I’d once thought the greatest in the world.

Or perhaps Hael paled next to that sickly young master’s overwhelming presence.

Meeting the mighty Blanchet heir must have warped my sense of reality.

Brushing it off with that vague explanation, I returned Hael’s cheerful greeting.

“You went to the capital and came back looking like a snowman.”

Hael chuckled, then quickly frowned.

“Did you not get my letters?”

“I got them.”

“Then why didn’t you reply even once? Sending dozens without a single answer—that’s too much, don’t you think?”

“I was too busy. I couldn’t help it.”

Hael’s face twisted beautifully in frustration—then he nodded, as if finally understanding.

“Did you… fare well all this time?”

I carefully explained everything that had happened since then,

omitting only my arrival here and that young master’s strange behavior.

I wasn’t sure why I kept it secret—but somehow, it felt wrong to reveal it.

Just as our long-awaited reunion unfolded, Hael’s gaze abruptly fixed on something behind me, unmoving.

Slowly turning, I spotted a man precariously perched by a distant window—

his languid posture eerily reminiscent of a predator stalking prey, freezing my breath even from this distance.

Cassian Di Blanchet.

Our eyes met—and he slowly arched an eyebrow,

one corner of his mouth curling into a crooked smirk.