Side Story 7. Lingering Regret

2024.04.18.

Yuan Pelliese warmly welcomed Eugene Kimfri and led him into the reception room.

Recently decorated to fully reflect Yuan’s personal taste, the reception room—adorned with fresh green tones and golden ornaments, and freshly arranged each morning by gardeners with floral decorations—was the most spring-like space in the entire mansion.

Yuan proudly showed Eugene around the reception room, as if displaying her refined taste.

Though the man’s once rigid face had softened somewhat and now carried a faint shadow of gloom, he still calmly surveyed each spot Yuan pointed out, offering brief, thoughtful remarks.

“Kimfri, I hope this place pleases you too. This is the first time I’ve ever received a guest here.”

“Yuan.”

“?”

“Isn’t it time you started calling me ‘Eugene’?”

“Oh.”

Yuan nodded with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Yes, Eugene. It still feels unfamiliar, but I’ll gradually get used to it.”

His amber eyes shimmered faintly, then sank into deep stillness.

It was impossible not to feel both happy and melancholic at the sight of Yuan, so evidently content.

With a short sigh, Eugene pulled something from his coat.

“I came not merely to inquire after your well-being—but because of this.”

Before even settling properly into the newly purchased, luxurious armchair, Yuan awkwardly rose to accept the document envelope he extended.

Glancing inside, she found the National Academy recommendation letter Noel had promised to send soon.

“It seems you’ve grown quite fond of life here. But please don’t forget, Madam—you still have many choices ahead.”

Yuan stared at the letter for a long moment, then lifted her head.

Eugene Kimfri, his expression calm, was gazing directly at her—still standing, not yet seated.

“Not everyone gets a second life. I believe it would be good for you to experience things you were never able to choose before.”

“…That’s very wise advice.”

“Whether it’s study, work… or love. Don’t fear failure.”

At his meaningful words, Yuan stared intently back—and Eugene whispered, as if confessing his final lingering regret:

“I respect your current choice. But also… the East still remains open to you.”

His voice was calm and low.

His eyes, conveying his feelings with absolute clarity, were resolute.

For a moment, Yuan’s face flushed crimson, and she coughed awkwardly.

It was true—during her brush with death, her return home, and recovery, she had momentarily forgotten Eugene’s feelings.

She had assumed his affection for her stemmed from pity or sympathy, and hoped it had simply faded away.

But apparently, Eugene’s feelings were neither fleeting nor shallow.

Yuan briefly lost herself in thought—about not fearing failure, about embracing a second life to finally experience what she’d missed—then slowly curved her lips into a gentle smile.

“Eugene. Are you living that way yourself?”

Caught off guard by her unexpected reply, Eugene momentarily stopped blinking.

“I heard a voice at the brink of life and death—a voice offering to grant my lingering regret. I cried out, begging it to save the one I loved, to make her happy. But the voice asked me—was that truly ‘my’ regret?”

“What did you answer?”

Eugene, listening intently, asked in a hoarse voice. Yuan beamed brightly.

“I said I wanted to live like everyone else.”

Eugene’s deeply sunken eyes began to sparkle with interest.

“If I’m not overstepping… how about I become that voice for you?”

“What do you mean…?”

“Are you truly certain that I’m the only lingering regret left in the rest of your life?”

It was a question aimed at Eugene—the man whose guilt-ridden father and elder brother had taken their own lives, forcing him, against his will, to become the heir.

He swallowed hard, unsure whether it was the dazzling knight’s uniform choking him—or her gentle voice tightly gripping his soul.

Yuan smiled tenderly at Eugene, who stood frozen, speechless.

“In the East, you once granted me another wish—and told me to use it carefully. My wish is…”

Yuan reached her hand toward Eugene.

Eugene, staring blankly at her, looked not at her outstretched hand—but at her face.

“That you answer this question for yourself.”

It was a gentle, beautiful refusal—her voice cleanly severing his messy, clinging regret, assuring him that surely, she could not be the only regret left in his remaining life.

Eugene lowered his gaze, his expression bitterly tender, barely managing to steady his trembling lips before slowly extending his own trembling hand.

Just as their hands met and gently clasped—

A rough breath and a sharp voice sliced between them.

“Long time no see.”

It was Clade Euphris, who had flung open the reception room door.

He must have run here from somewhere—his previously neatly combed bangs were slightly tousled as he strode forward, breathing heavily.

Then, deliberately placing himself between Eugene and Yuan as if shielding her, he extended his hand.

After a brief, silent bow, Eugene merely looked at the offered hand and replied:

“Yes. My business here is concluded—I was just about to leave.”

“There’s something I want to make absolutely clear.”

The hand extended for a handshake suddenly clamped firmly onto Eugene’s shoulder.

Clade’s large hand gripped the solid shoulder, then—like a master gently tapping a student—patted it lightly.

“I suspect you’ve forgotten that the order I once gave you ended in your failure to complete your duty.”

“…”

“I’d prefer if you stayed out of my sight from now on. I have no desire to keep an incompetent person nearby.”

“Clade.”

Yuan gasped and stepped forward.

Clade leaned close, whispering into Eugene Kimfri’s ear:

“Isn’t it pathetic for a knight to loiter before the person he failed to protect? If you intend to talk about friendship with that look in your eyes—just drop it.”

A cold silence fell after his fierce words.

Eugene, staring fixedly at Clade’s face inches away, smiled bitterly and lowered his eyes.

His long eyelashes cast long shadows across his cheeks.

“Your point is valid. But my current liege is now His Imperial Majesty.”

His amber eyes, now sharply lifted, stared directly into Clade’s.

“I understand the Duke’s command was given only once—and will never be repeated. I’ll pretend I never heard it.”

Then, as if he’d never drawn a blade, Eugene bowed deeply and politely once more before leaving the reception room.

“Fine then. Next time we meet, it’ll be at our wedding. I’ll make sure to invite you.”

Clade called coldly after him.

***

The storm named Eugene Kimfri had swept through the mansion and vanished.

Clade wanted to say something about his own rudeness toward Eugene—but held back, instead quietly noting how Yuan was trying to hide the envelope Eugene had given her.

The sight—of that impeccably dignified man handing something to Yuan in the reception room she’d so lovingly decorated—had been enough to turn his insides upside down.

He’d seen it before—Eugene Kimfri, earnest-faced, handing something to Yuan when he himself was absent.

On the day Eugene had sworn to kill Igor at the cost of his own life, all for Yuan’s sake.

The image of the victorious man and woman exchanging laurel crowns had burned itself into his chest like a brand.

Truthfully, what bothered him more than the envelope Eugene had handed her was the small hand hastily hiding it—still conspicuously missing the ring.

Deliberately pushing away dark thoughts, Clade pretended not to notice as she hurriedly stashed the envelope in her room before coming back down—and simply smiled.

“Want to go on a date?”

He couldn’t ignore how visibly relieved Yuan looked.

But he was suddenly terrified—terrified she might say she missed the capital, or missed her friends.

Terrified she might say this mansion—or Clade himself—wasn’t enough to make her completely happy.

They rode through Central Euphris in a carriage emblazoned with the Euphris ducal crest.

Among brunch-goers, they savored gently toasted pancakes topped with halved bananas, cherry jam and fresh cream, thick sausages made from venison and pork, drizzled with fresh tomato sauce—chewing slowly, savoring and evaluating each bite.

At [Euphris Objet], where an old woman still remembered them, they selected decorative objets to gift each other’s rooms. Then, standing before the对面 tailor shop’s discount stall selling last winter’s fur hats, they tried on various hats, laughing as they modeled them.

A faint smile bloomed at the corners of Yuan’s lips, momentarily forgetting her melancholy. Each time he took her out and saw her light up like a child, he was seized by the impulse to turn all of Euphris into one vast, private paradise just for her.

“I’ve never worn a hat like this before.”

“You look beautiful.”

Yuan laughed purely, wearing a ridiculously long fur hat nearly the size of three adult heads.

Every time his wife said “I’ve never done this before,” a tender ache bloomed in his chest.

The fact that he was present for Yuan’s “firsts” gently illuminated a shadowed corner of his heart.

Noticing the crowd drifting away, distracted by a puppet show in the square, Clade impulsively kissed Yuan’s cheek as she lowered the fur hat.

Startled into wide-eyed rabbit-like surprise, her eyes soon softened into a gentle curve.

Her faint unease quickly melted away, dissolving like warm butter.

***

After enjoying an elegant dinner at the famous seafood restaurant that recently opened a branch in Central Euphris, they returned home—only to find an unexpected gift waiting.

It had arrived from the Western Celestina Ducal House.

The enclosed card bore a brief note labeled “For Yuan,” along with greetings.

At Yuan’s suggestion that they open it together after bathing, Clade washed quickly and went to her room.

But there she stood—awkwardly alone in the dimly lit room, the lights not properly turned on.

“Why aren’t you turning on the lights? What are you doing?”

Clade lit the lamp on the side table. Then his gaze shifted to Yuan—and froze, unmoving.

Yuan stood there, wearing a shimmering garment that seemed crafted only from underwear and fairy wings, exposing her slender waist and abdomen entirely.

He stared blankly for a moment, then—barely managing a choked, breathless groan—forced out a voice:

“What… what is this?”

“It’s a dress sent by the Duchess…”

It was the kind of dress desert women wore on their wedding evenings, dancing with their new grooms.

Curious about the utterly unfamiliar garment, Yuan had thought to quickly try it on before Clade arrived—and then take it off again. But struggling to remove it alone, she’d ended up standing there awkwardly.

Bathed only in the faint glow of a small lamp, Yuan in the center of the dark room looked like a fairy dropped straight from the desert.

Her face, flushed from wearing something so new and strange, glanced shyly at Clade, embarrassment flickering in her eyes.

He merely gaped like a dumbstruck fish. The forgotten anxiety surged violently, soaring to the heavens.

How could he possibly let this woman step outside?

Suddenly, he was seized by the urge to punch Eugene Kimfri—whose face had stirred up the mansion this very morning—square in the jaw.

“D, does it look strange?”

Though her damp black hair partially veiled her exposed skin, the sight was dazzling—almost unbearable.

Gritting his teeth as if trying to suppress a throbbing vein, he abruptly stood and strode toward Yuan.

Her uniquely clean, pure scent—found only on her—only made his head spin more.

“Take it off. Quickly.”

“What?”

Though slightly awkward, Yuan didn’t actually dislike this exotic outfit.

She had to lightly wrap her arms around herself against the lingering chill—but she thought the shimmering gem decorations, swaying with each movement and catching the light against her dark hair, were quite beautiful.

“Is it really… that strange?”

Clade, who had called even that ridiculous fur hat “beautiful,” was now gritting his teeth—making her pout slightly.

She thought he could at least say something like “it suits you”—then they could smile at each other and she’d happily change. Did he really have to say it like that?

“I’m telling you to take it off—because I’m the one who’s going to look strange.”

At his hoarse, feverish voice—like an old man rising after a night of flu—Yuan jerked her head up.

Clade, standing with the light behind him, gazed at her with eyes burning quietly, steadily.