Chapter 44
Serge ducked into a café on First Avenue, hoping the warmth and quiet might soothe his frayed nerves.
Seeing his father again had dredged up a torrent of old memories—especially the ones he'd tried hardest to forget. The scolding, the pressure, the constant judgment he and his siblings had grown up under. They had all obeyed their father’s strict commands, delivered the outcomes he demanded, and lived their lives carefully, afraid of the scorn—or worse—that awaited failure.
Serge, however, had been forcibly knocked from that predetermined path after an injury. It had been an accident, but his father hadn’t cared. David had scolded him coldly, dismissing it as “carelessness.”
(There’s no such thing as "absolute" in this world, and yet… Father imposes his own absolutes on everyone. No room for misfortune, no tolerance for circumstance. That’s why our family always ends up falling apart.)
Serge clenched his teeth.
It was Alban II’s folly to begin with—his call to expel foreign peoples and spark a war of invasion. That reckless decision had placed Serge in the line of Sarana artillery fire, leaving him gravely wounded.
Josée, too, had been a victim of that war. A former nomad, she had lost her family in the bloodshed and, according to Clovis, was eventually sold into a brothel.
(That was six years ago… she must’ve been around ten.)
A massacre. A ten-year-old girl caught in the chaos of war. From that hell to life in a brothel—how many horrors had she endured just to survive?
(That girl is strong. So strong that… sometimes it hurts to watch her.)
She had to be. In the world she lived in, weakness meant being devoured.
Serge had told Josée he was a former soldier but had kept the details vague—never revealing which war he fought in or what he’d done. In recent years, there had been at least three conflicts. If she ever learned which one he belonged to, she might stop relying on him entirely.
(So just a little longer… for as long as I can, I want to stay by her side. Watch over her… together—)
Was that urge born from guilt?
Or was it something else entirely—?
As those tangled thoughts swirled in his head, Serge bit angrily into a piece of bread. That’s when a voice called out from behind him.
"Um..."
Startled, he turned. A boy stood there—young, familiar.
"Y-you’re… from Josée’s castle!"
"Yes. My name is Marc. I saw your carriage, Serge-sama, and followed you here."
"You need something?"
"Yes. Actually, I’ve been entrusted with a letter for you from Josée-sama. Here."
The boy held out an envelope. The handwriting was elegant—aristocratic. On the front: “To Serge.”
Serge stared at the name for a moment, then took the envelope.
"Thanks. You can go now."
"...Serge-sama."
"Hm?"
"It’s actually a simple message, so… would you mind giving your reply now?"
"...!"
Something about the boy’s tone—like he already knew what the letter said—put Serge on alert. He turned away and quickly opened it.
The contents made his eyes widen.
"...Josée’s been invited to Alban II’s underworld gathering?"
"Yes. And Josée-sama has asked you to accompany her, Serge-sama. She’s never been to the palace before, so she’s feeling a bit uneasy. She’d like you to give her some etiquette lessons beforehand."
When Serge first read the letter, his body tensed. But after he tucked it away, a soft smile played on his lips.
"Of course I’ll go. Tell her, 'thank you for the invitation.'"
"Understood. When will you be able to meet with Josée-sama?"
"I’ll come to the brothel in the afternoon on the 3rd. We can talk about it then."
"I’ll be sure to let her know."
With that, Marc departed.
Serge ran a finger over the graceful handwriting once more, and thinking of all she had endured, quietly sniffled.
* * *
The 3rd arrived.
Josée was dressed in her best outing clothes, waiting for Serge. If he had advice for her, she planned to go accessory shopping afterward.
As noon neared, the door creaked open.
Serge stepped inside.
"Oh, you’re early. It’s not even noon yet."
He smiled warmly. "Do you have time? Let’s grab something to eat and talk things over."
Josée blinked in surprise.
"My, how rare. Is this a date invitation?"
"You can take it that way if you like," he said with a chuckle. "Still, I’m surprised you got an invitation to the underworld gathering so soon."
At last, that infamous “underworld” they’d spoken of when they first met had opened its doors to her.
"You’ve been to a social gathering before, right, Serge?"
"Yeah, I have."
"Hmm. Who was the woman you went with back then?"
He hesitated for a moment.
"...My fiancée, I suppose."
"Oh?"
"But it got called off. Her parents weren’t too thrilled that I left the military without notice."
"Oh dear... Life really does throw curveballs, doesn’t it?"
Serge gave a sheepish smile, as if trying to laugh it off, then stepped aside and swung the door open wide.
"Let’s take my carriage. How does a nice café downtown sound?"
"It’s been so long since I’ve gone out to eat! I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t had the chance at all."
Like a gentleman escorting a lady to a ball, Serge offered her his arm.
Josée giggled and accepted it.
The first time she wrapped her hand around his arm, she noticed a faint tremble.
"...Serge, are you shaking?"
"My left arm doesn’t move too well."
"Oh, that’s right! You got hurt badly in the war."
Clinging to his arm, Josée walked alongside him into the city.