The Count’s gaze sharply focused on Ibi.

So Ibi had to feel like a criminal without any guilt.

‘What did I do…?’

Ibi thought, bewildered by the sudden glare.

The reason why the Count, whom I met for the first time today, is glaring at me so fiercely.

‘Because I’m the sister of Duke Laurel?’

That was the only thing that came to mind.

Just as Ibi knew about the Count, the Count would know about Ibi.

Ibi was an unprecedented commoner candidate for sainthood, and the conservative Duke Laurel was actively opposed to Ibi’s selection as a saint candidate.

So Ibi and Duke Laurel were not on good terms.

Having thought that far, Ibi looked at the Count with half-belief. She wondered if this renowned hero was picking a childish fight for such a reason.

‘Let’s try greeting him with my eyes.’

After pondering, Ibi nodded her cute face to the Count.

But the Count continued to glare at Ibi without moving a muscle.

‘Ah, what is he trying to do?’

Ibi forced a smile and swallowed her awkwardness.

Meanwhile, other nobles also began to turn and look at Ibi one by one.

The nobles who had been watching the Count’s reactions followed his gaze to discover Ibi, and soon suppressed their fuss and began whispering.

So the pitiful Ibi let out an internal sigh.

She didn’t know what the situation was, but if she just stood still, it seemed she would be misunderstood strangely.

Ibi had no choice but to hide her bewilderment and smile brightly. Then she gathered her skirts and approached the Count.

The nobles made way with interested faces. Having smoothly faced the Count, Ibi greeted him politely.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Count. I am Ibi Ariate from the Manyanya Tower.”

You kept staring at me so I came over. If you have something to say, please speak now.

Ibi bent her knee with roughly this sentiment. But what followed was a heavy silence.

The Count, who had been glaring fiercely at Ibi, did not even acknowledge her greeting.

So Ibi grumbled again while keeping her head bowed.

‘This young master has no manners, he doesn’t even know how to greet.’

It was an embarrassing situation for anyone to see, but Ibi was not particularly shaken.

There had been plenty before. When Ibi first stepped into high society, there were immature nobles who would shame her like this. Compared to then, this level was child’s play.

Ibi trampled down the memories that were vividly surfacing and raised her head.

At that moment, the Count was looking down at Ibi with an expressionless face.

It was an attitude devoid of both goodwill and courtesy, but Ibi smiled kindly, undeterred.

“I thought the Count was calling for me, but it seems I was mistaken in my eagerness. Please forgive me, Count.”

As Ibi lowered herself again, the nobles except for the Count became satisfied.

This was exactly why the Tienda social circles liked Ibi.

Etiquette unbecoming of a commoner, conduct that smoothly packaged any situation, that respectfulness that knew how to elevate superiors.

Moreover, she was greatly blessed by God and full of usefulness, so Ibi was truly a lovely commoner worth keeping around and admiring.

The nobles were once again satisfied with Ibi’s demeanor, and Ibi, knowing this but pretending not to, continued speaking.

“Still, I’m very happy and fortunate to be able to greet you like this. Actually, I’ve always been waiting to meet you because I have something I really wanted to say to you, Count.”

Ibi said this while looking up at the Count with innocent eyes.

Then she anticipated two scenarios.

One was that the Count would ignore Ibi to the end, and the other was that the Count would reluctantly ask back, curious about what Ibi had to say.

Whichever it was, Ibi was confident she could act very prettily.

So as she waited confidently, the Count spoke for the first time.

“What do you want to say?”

The Count’s voice was calmer than expected. At the same time, it was as dry as anticipated.

It was an emotionless voice without a trace of goodwill, but Ibi smiled brightly, satisfied just to hear the Count’s voice. Then she said very innocently:

“You have no manners to match your looks!”

It was the beginning of the curse.

.

.

.

“What I originally intended to say was ‘Thank you for protecting Tiendabis, Count. The world is peaceful today because you are here. May God’s blessing be with you, Count…'”

Ibi muttered with eyes full of regret as she finished recalling.

It was quite a good plan. Expressing gratitude to the hero of Tiendabis in front of everyone – it was an opportunity to subtly act like a saint.

But the suddenly started curse revealed Ibi’s true nature and ruined everything.

Thanks to that, Ibi ended up cursing the Count three times, rambling incoherently before fleeing the banquet hall. Then she cried all night thinking everything was ruined.

In the meantime, what made Ibi come to her senses again was her obsession that she had to become a saint no matter what.

Dies, who now understood the whole story, nodded with an impassive face.

“It’s quite coincidental in many ways. The timing of the curse’s start, and its target.”

“The most coincidental thing is that Count’s mysterious personality.”

“He certainly seems like a strange fellow. Why did he do that?”

“There are three hypotheses for this.”

Ibi held up three fingers in response to Dies’ question. Then she said with a sharp expression:

“First, he fell for me.”

“Oh my.”

“Listen, staring at someone without being able to take your eyes off them is usually what people do when they’re in love.”

“But you said he glared at you harshly. And ignored your greeting.”

“He must have done that because he was shy. He’s a very introverted person.”

Dies’ gaze grew dim at Ibi’s brazen assertion. But Ibi pressed on undaunted and brought up the next hypothesis.

“And second, he has malice towards me.”

“There’s no middle ground.”

“Would a moderate person do something like that?”

“No, I don’t mean the Count…”

“Anyway, it could be that he dislikes me so much. Since I’m the sister of that Duke who’s dying to get at me.”

Ibi was just as confident when talking about dislike rather than like. It was an attitude of fairly considering all possibilities.

Seeing this, Dies folded his arms and asked:

“Then what’s the last one?”

“The third and last is that Sion Laurel is connected to this curse.”

Dies’ brows furrowed as he had been listening calmly. But Ibi remained seriously earnest.

“I think if I cursed someone, I would watch that person. To confirm the results. But yesterday the Count stared at me persistently, and the curse happened to start then, and because of it I ended up in a very difficult situation. Isn’t this suspicious enough?”

“There’s some logic to it, but I don’t think Count Laurel would go so far just to curse you.”

‘Just’ Ibi snorted, folding her arms. Her face still said she was suspicious anyway.

So Dies calmly added:

“And if the Count is the culprit, we’re in even more trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because there are only two ways to break a Noche curse. Either destroy the medium of the curse, or the person who cast the curse dies. And searching the Laurel family home or assassinating the Count are nearly impossible tasks.”

“…Should we cancel the third option then?”

Ibi, who was clear on profit and loss calculations, quickly backed down this time as well. Then she asked in a slightly dejected voice:

“So assuming Count Laurel isn’t the culprit, how long do you think it will take to break this curse?”

“First, I’ll find the Night Clan and confirm when and where the curse formula was opened. It will take about three days just to investigate this, and after that it will depend on the situation.”

Dies explained the upcoming schedule but didn’t give a definitive answer. It meant we’ll have to see how things go.

The future looked bleak, but Ibi didn’t despair. Rather, thinking it was fortunate that Dies knew so much about curses, she nodded.

“I see. Then I’ll leave the curse matter to you. Oh, and this too.”

Ibi handed over the letter on the table.

“It’s a letter to send to Count Laurel. Since it’s difficult to meet right away, I wrote an apology letter first.”

“You’ll need an explanation to apologize.”

“I wrote it roughly. I had a bit too much to drink, it wasn’t my intention, I’m really sorry…”

Ibi forced a smile to swallow her self-loathing.

This is like confessing that I’m a drunkard, but it can’t be helped. In any case, this is better than the curse being discovered.

If the curse is discovered and this deeply rooted pretense is also exposed, there’s no avoiding accusations of being a hypocrite, deceiver, opportunist, and liar.

Thinking that must be prevented at all costs, Ibi added with a resolute face:

“I wrote it packaging it as best I could, so please send it to Laurel Castle. I’ll think more about what to do next.”

Ibi absolutely had to become a saint, and Dies, whose fate was tied to Ibi’s, wanted the same.

So Dies nodded just as resolutely and left Ibi’s room with the letter.

Then he returned in just ten minutes.

“A considerable problem has arisen.”

“…Suddenly?”

We already have more than enough problems, what is this now?

As Ibi looked at him with a face of collapsing, Dies calmly reported as usual:

“Count Laurel has come to the mansion.”

At those words, Ibi nearly spat out her heart.

.

.

.

Why is that person coming to our house!

It seems he came to meet you, Lady Ibi.

What are you saying, I can’t meet anyone right now!

Then should I tell him it’s difficult to meet today?

No, how can we turn away the Count at the door!

…Then what should we do?

At Count Laurel’s royal visit, Ibi scolded Dies in informal speech for the first time in a while. Then she showed moderate symptoms of anxiety, biting her nails and pulling her hair before finally grabbing Dies’ pant leg and clinging to him.

And ten minutes later, Ibi stood in front of the reception room looking elegant as if nothing had happened.

‘It’s okay, I can do this.’

Ibi, who ultimately decided to meet the Count, took a deep breath.

The reason that noble came all the way here was clearly because of yesterday’s incident, and if she hid here, it would incur even greater anger.

Ibi, who had to prevent that with all her heart, resolutely opened the door to the reception room.

The well-lit indoor scenery came into view at once.

Warm spring sunlight filled the space in diagonal lines, and in the center of it was a man.

It was Sion Laurel, sitting at a perfect angle and tilting a teacup.

Ibi was momentarily stunned by the sight of his golden hair mingling with the sunlight. Then she quickly came to her senses upon seeing the letter in his hand.

It was the letter Ibi had entrusted to Dies. He must have intercepted it at the entrance, and it was already unsealed as if he had read it all.

Ibi swallowed her gloomy feelings and greeted the Count.

“It’s an honor to see you again, Count. I’m honored that you came all the way here.”

“Sit down.”

The Count ordered briefly.

Once again her greeting was not acknowledged, but Ibi obediently sat down across from him. Then she watched the Count’s reactions while shrinking her shoulders.

The Count, who had come all the way here, still had a cold and heartless face.

Seeing his appearance that didn’t convey a single grain of goodwill, Ibi waited for the verdict with full preparation.

And finally the Count opened his mouth.

“I only came to talk. There’s no need to be so tense.”

“Pardon…?”

“If it’s because of my attitude, I ask for your understanding. Having stayed at the border for a long time, I’m not accustomed to socializing.”

Ibi blinked blankly at the unexpected words. Perhaps due to the worst first impression, these sensible words were quite unexpected.

‘He’s kinder than I thought…?’

“Or it could be due to my lack of manners.”

‘No, cancel that.’

Ibi, who was about to view the Count differently, quickly closed her mind at his added words.

The Count was still expressionless even at this point, so Ibi had no idea whether he was joking or being sarcastic.

If he’s really doing this because he’s awkward at socializing, he’s the world’s number one blockhead, and if he’s doing this on purpose, he’s quite a nasty fellow.

Thinking this, Ibi cautiously began:

“You came to talk about yesterday’s incident, right…?”

“We should talk about that too. Yesterday’s incident was…”

“I’m truly sorry!”

Ibi hastily interrupted while the Count was still speaking.

As the Count whose words were cut off looked at her, Ibi put on a solemn expression. So the Count resumed speaking.

“I read the letter. According to the letter, yesterday’s incident was…”

“I wrote that it was because I was drunk, it’s too embarrassing but it’s true.”

“Because of alcohol,”

“Even if that’s the case, to commit such a breach of etiquette, I’m truly ashamed.”

“So you apologized by letter,”

“It wasn’t at all intended to substitute. I just wrote the letter first because it seemed difficult to meet you, Count. I’m sorry for making you come all the way here. Please tell me, what should I do to appease your anger…?”

Ibi apologized profusely with a face like the sky was falling, and the Count whose words kept getting cut off finally closed his mouth.

When the Count fell silent, Ibi discreetly observed his expression.

In fact, before coming down to the reception room, Ibi had devised a strategy with Dies.

Since it was obvious that curses would come out first due to the curse if she met the Count like this, they decided it would be better to answer first if the Count seemed like he was going to ask something.

It may sound absurd, but Ibi, who excelled in both acting skills and quick-wittedness, successfully carried out this bold plan quite plausibly.

The only problem was that the atmosphere of the Count, whose words had been repeatedly interrupted, was not good at all.

‘Is he angry?’

It was when Ibi was secretly observing the Count’s expression. The Count, who had been consistently quiet, muttered while lowering his gaze:

“The excuse is too perfunctory.”

That soliloquy was sharp.

“To say you were drunk at such an early hour, should I check how much champagne the servants brought?”

The Count said this while raising his eyes to look at Ibi.

At that moment, the Count’s eyes were as fierce as yesterday, and so Ibi’s poor heart tasted the abyss once again.