“Could it be that the fortune-teller uncle is Count Laurel?”

Ibi’s small voice tore Sion’s heart to shreds.

An overwhelming emotion, felt only as pain, mercilessly clawed and tore at his heart.

In that vivid agony, Sion unknowingly opened his mouth to speak to Ibi.

But a familiar sensation suppressed him.

‘Why?’

His mouth wouldn’t open. No voice came out. He couldn’t change even a single expression.

The concealment curse placed on Sion was binding him again.

‘Why can’t I speak?’

Sion was bewildered. But he couldn’t even show that bewilderment.

So in Ibi’s dark eyes, his appearance remained as cold as ever.

“Ah, is this not right…?”

Ibi, observing Sion’s reaction, muttered in a shrinking voice.

Sion wanted to speak to Ibi like that. He wanted to convey even a tiny bit of the truth.

But the living curse stubbornly blocked everything.

In the end, all Sion could do was ask for evidence in a dry voice, without revealing any truth or emotion.

“…Why did you think that?”

“Well, because uncle met the Count. He can enter the eastern border and Tardes Hall, knows the Grand Duke’s secrets, and there are few people in the world who would side with the Count over the Grand Duke’s family.”

At Ibi’s answer, Sion realized what had gone wrong.

But he couldn’t even show that, and Ibi, thinking she had completely missed the mark, added as if making excuses.

“And I vaguely remember hearing something when I was young. When uncle came to find me, the sound of lightning striking nearby. That sound was almost identical to the sound of the Count summoning lightning. So I thought uncle might be the previous Count Laurel, but…”

The previous Count Laurel.

Sion felt deflated at this subtle error. But he couldn’t show this either, and Ibi ultimately thought she was wrong.

“I guess I was mistaken after all.”

Ibi glanced at Sion, looking dejected.

If only he could give her any answer – yes, no, close, almost – to Ibi like that.

The curse controlling Sion concealed his secret with devilish cleverness. It controlled and isolated him, preventing even the slightest clue from slipping out.

It was a familiar and loathsome sensation for Sion.

So normally he would have felt disgust at all of this, but today was a little different.

Due to the previous shock, his heart, which usually maintained a monotonous rhythm, was beating fiercely.

Sion couldn’t remember the last time he had been this surprised, even feeling as if someone else’s heart had come to sit in his chest.

Sion wanted to pull Ibi’s hand and place it on this heartbeat. He felt that then Ibi would realize everything.

But that too was impossible. The curse never let go of Sion.

The silence he unwillingly created ultimately made Ibi pass by the truth.

“Seeing as you’re not saying anything, I guess this isn’t it. Hmm, then is uncle my father? The age is a bit ambiguous, but it’s still possible, right?”

Ibi started rambling, seemingly embarrassed.

“If not father, then elder brother? Uncle? Cousin? …Unexpectedly mother? You’re a noble, right? When we lived together, I noticed you had a bit of a fastidious side while pretending not to. Ah, that’s prejudice. If not that, then maybe a guardian, or perhaps the person who did fortune-telling at the hall?”

“…Do you think twenty questions will work?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.”

Ibi, who had been spouting nonsense, closed her mouth and covered both her cheeks with her hands.

At that moment, Ibi’s cheeks were unusually flushed. She seemed quite embarrassed.

Usually so brazenly shameless, yet getting this flustered over something so trivial.

Sion unknowingly let out a chuckle at the sight.

But because of the Count’s previously cold attitude, to Ibi that sound came across as a sigh of disappointment.

“I’ve been thinking about what the Count’s secret might be. I came up with a few ideas, but there’s no point in listing them if I’m not sure, right?”

Ibi spoke as if making excuses, having grown anxious.

“So I tried to guess about uncle first. He’s the only person both you and I know, and we have a fairly deep connection.”

“It was a decent approach.”

Sion calmly replied to Ibi’s words. Though he meant it sincerely, Ibi somehow seemed to be gauging his reaction. Then, in an even smaller voice, she asked.

“Can I see your hand for a moment?”

At Ibi’s request, Sion extended his hand onto the table.

Ibi looked at that large hand with the palm facing up, then hesitantly turned it over.

This revealed a back of the hand full of scars. Scars that seemed to have accumulated over a long period, looking almost too difficult to have been created deliberately.

“These scars are from blocking Amanecere at the border, right?”

“Yes.”

Ibi stared at Sion’s scars for a long while, not daring to touch them.

And Sion watched as Ibi focused on his hand while biting her lip.

Ibi looked like she couldn’t understand why her guess was wrong when even the Count and the fortune-teller’s scars were so similar.

“…You’re not pretending it’s not true when it actually is, are you?”

Ibi glanced at Sion and muttered in a sulky voice.

Sion laughed at the absurdity, then seeing the seriousness in Ibi’s eyes, wiped the smile from his face.

Sion thought Ibi had been walking well but had just stumbled slightly. It was a shame, but inevitable and not a big deal.

But inside Ibi’s head, things were much more complicated.

Ibi had built a hypothesis that the fortune-teller was the previous Count Laurel, and had stacked many stories on top of that like a tower. But now that it had all collapsed, her mind was in complete disarray.

In the midst of this, she was frantically searching for something else to offer, afraid the Count would think her useless.

So Sion recalled how Ibi had been strolling under the wisteria earlier.

Amidst clusters of purple flowers, Ibi had smiled sweetly like a sugar doll while secretly keeping her senses alert.

Having observed Ibi all morning, Sion easily noticed that she was still in that state.

“I didn’t expect you to figure it out all at once anyway.”

So Sion said casually.

“So think about it slowly. Don’t go too far though.”

Then he added the best words he could manage.

He wondered if she would understand this, but sure enough, Ibi blinked and asked back.

“…Should I understand that to mean I should find out more about uncle?”

Truly sharp-witted Ibi Ariate.

Sion couldn’t answer, but Ibi already looked certain.

Ibi started thinking busily again. Then she suddenly asked Sion.

“Have you seen uncle’s face, by any chance?”

Sion nodded.

“What does he look like?”

Unpleasant…

Though this was his honest feeling, he held back his words.

But explaining in detail would obviously make the curse embedded in his mind gag him, so after some deliberation, Sion evaded.

“Good… looking?”

“So he’s handsome. I didn’t know until now.”

As the Count acted uncharacteristically foolish, Ibi didn’t miss the chance to treat him like an idiot.

Then, regardless of whether the Count glared at her, she smiled, satisfied at having rightfully teased him.

“I really didn’t know. No matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t show his face. Why did he hide that handsome face only from me?”

Ibi complained in a voice mixed with laughter. Though it was a casual remark in passing, Sion once again sensed Ibi’s feelings.

“Are you upset?”

“I feel pathetic.”

“…Is there really a need to feel pathetic?”

“There is. Because I even thought about marriage.”

Ibi answered without thinking, then looked at Sion with an ‘oops’ expression.

But somehow Sion’s face looked more surprised than Ibi’s.

So as Ibi gradually became horrified, Sion belatedly muttered in a wary voice.

“So that’s why you were so interested in blood relations…”

“It’s not like that!”

Ibi unknowingly shouted, cutting off Sion’s words.

“It’s just a childhood story, everyone does that when they’re young! Because they’re young!”

Ibi strongly asserted that children’s first loves are typically like that, and that she had simply followed a very common process.

Sion just stared at her as if to say ‘who said what?’, and Ibi, overcome with unbearable embarrassment, bit her lip as her face turned bright red.

Watching this, Sion covered his mouth with his hand, finding it difficult to hold back his laughter.

Half of it was a chuckle directed at the adorable Ibi, and the other half was a sneer at the vile fortune-teller.

To think she had even considered marriage on her own.

Of course, it must have been a fleeting feeling that would change with the wind, but Sion still found it quite amusing that this Ibi Ariate had once harbored such an innocent and transient dream.

On the other hand, he couldn’t help but sneer at how good of a person the fortune-teller must have pretended to be in front of Ibi for her to harbor such feelings.

Sion laughed for a long time watching the embarrassed Ibi, and Ibi only raised her head again after quite a while.

Then, with her face still rosy, she spoke, trying to appear calm.

“A-Anyway, I seem to have guessed wrong about uncle, so I’ll think about it again. By tonight, including what I couldn’t do properly just now.”

“Tonight might be a bit tight with the evening schedule.”

“Even if it’s tight, I have to do what needs to be done.”

Ibi said resolutely. So Sion felt all the more that there was no need.

Unlike Ibi, who was pressed for time due to the saint selection, Sion had plenty of time. So in fact, it would have been fine even if it took a few months.

But Ibi considered this an urgent matter, and even interpreted Sion’s puzzled gaze as urging, nodding even more vigorously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely accomplish as much as you’ve done for me!”

Ibi assured Sion as if trying to give him confidence.

So Sion looked at Ibi with feigned bewilderment.

Though Ibi spoke as if asking to be trusted, what Sion actually felt from those words was Ibi’s complete distrust.

For some reason, Ibi firmly believed that if she didn’t fulfill her usefulness, Sion would abandon her and leave.

Ibi’s trust in Sion was as thin as paper touching the ground, and so she was carefully on edge, trying not to make mistakes like she had earlier in the dining hall.

Of course, considering Sion’s previous arbitrary and arrogant actions, it’s natural for Ibi to be so withdrawn.

However, Ibi had been smiling easily while looking at Sion without showing any signs, so Sion had momentarily forgotten his position.

But with Sion’s trivial realization, reality arrived.

Though Sion had already reached the point of being enraged over Ibi’s situation, Ibi herself was keeping her heart tightly closed without room for even a sheet of paper to enter, distrusting Sion and keeping her distance even more than she would with a complete stranger.

The moment he realized this considerable imbalance, an unidentifiable ominous feeling came over him.

So when Sion looked at Ibi with a hardened face, Ibi felt awkward for a moment, then smiled brightly as if trying to hide it.

And so even the Count, who disliked wasteful emotions, had no choice but to realize that things had gone quite wrong.