Chapter 147: A Meaningless Day
“Damian, do you have any plans today?”
The sudden question caught Damian off guard as he was eating. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and shook his head.
“Nothing in particular.”
“Really? Then don’t step a foot out of your study today.”
“…Pardon?”
Damian stared at Aracila, his expression a mix of bewilderment and disbelief at the abrupt request. But she merely chewed her bread nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just issued an odd command.
“Why the sudden order?” he asked.
“Because if you stay home, I can roam around freely outside.”
“…Where are you going that requires such secrecy? If it’s somewhere dangerous, I’ll come with you.”
“No way.”
Aracila’s rejection was instantaneous, not a moment’s hesitation in her voice. Damian’s lips twitched. A wave of confusion and a pang of hurt washed over him.
Why not? He was her husband, wasn’t he? He thought he had at least the right—or at least the privilege—to accompany his wife on her outings. But Aracila was resolute, her tone cool and unyielding.
“I’ll tell Albert to make sure you stay in your study and are well attended to today.”
“…And if I refuse to comply?”
“Then consider it the price for not telling me about your birthday in advance.”
Her firm response silenced the retort Damian had been preparing. The penalty for not mentioning his birthday was this steep? His mouth closed, and a sullen mood settled over him. Aracila, seemingly unbothered by his dejection, finished her meal and rose with a bright, cheerful expression.
“See you later, then.”
“…Yes, alright.”
With a lively farewell, she headed upstairs to prepare for her outing.
The calendar had turned, and the early whispers of winter brought a chill to the air. Aracila, who could handle heat but was sensitive to cold, draped a coat over her velvet dress. Rudy followed close behind, carrying her bag. Damian, lingering in the dining hall, watched the two depart with a bitter look in his eyes.
Where is she going? The curiosity gnawed at him, but he knew trailing her would only spark her anger. Reluctantly, he resigned himself to staying put and retreated to his study.
Meanwhile, Aracila and Rudy arrived at a bustling jeweler’s shop in the heart of the city.
“Welcome to Marigold Jewelers,” the shopkeeper greeted.
“I’d like to commission a custom piece, and I need it within five days.”
“What would you like to have made?”
At Aracila’s subtle nod, Rudy pulled a rolled-up sheet of paper from the bag. It bore a detailed sketch of Aracila’s staff.
“I want a brooch shaped like this and a pair of cufflinks engraved with camellias.”
“Hmm, both require intricate craftsmanship, so the timeline might be tight,” the jeweler said, a hint of concern in his voice.
“I’ll pay double,” Aracila replied without missing a beat.
“Five days it is!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, his eyes gleaming as his demeanor shifted to an eager grin. Aracila, satisfied, paid half the amount upfront.
“For the cufflinks, use rubies. For the brooch, diamonds, gold, and sapphires.”
“Understood. Where should we deliver the finished pieces?”
Aracila hesitated briefly before jotting down the address of the Magic Tower’s research lab. Sending them to the house risked Damian seeing the gifts prematurely.
With the order swiftly placed, she headed to a nearby coffeehouse. As she stepped inside, someone stood abruptly and greeted her.
“Good day, my lady.”
“It’s been a while, Sir Wind.”
The man Aracila had come to meet was none other than Isaac. Despite it being his day off, he was impeccably dressed in the crisp uniform of the Red Hawk Knights, a nod to meeting his commander’s wife.
“What’s the occasion for this meeting?” he asked.
“You know Damian’s birthday is coming up, right? I’d like to invite the knights to a party.”
“Oh, right! The commander’s birthday is early winter, isn’t it?”
Damian had always been so indifferent about his birthday that even Isaac occasionally forgot the date.
Aracila reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of carefully prepared invitations, handing them to him.
“Could you pass these along to the knights for me?”
“Of course, my lady! To think I’d get to attend the commander’s birthday party—it’s a first,” Isaac said, his voice tinged with genuine emotion. His words struck Aracila, hinting that he’d never been to one of Damian’s celebrations before. It made her wonder. Even if the ducal household overlooked it, the Red Hawk Knights, who admired and respected Damian, surely would have marked the occasion.
“Has the knight order never celebrated Damian’s birthday?” she asked.
“No, my lady. The commander doesn’t care much for his birthday, and he’s not fond of others making a fuss over it either. It took me two years of serving him to even learn when it was. He never told us before then.”
“I see.”
If the man himself refused to acknowledge it, there was little anyone else could do. Especially since Damian was their superior; the knights likely hesitated to go against his wishes.
“So, seeing you take such care to celebrate his birthday now… it’s truly touching,” Isaac said, his eyes shining with sincerity. He couldn’t help but think his commander had married well. There was a time he’d doubted their match, but watching how they navigated hardships together had changed his mind.
“Thank you, Sir Wind.”
“No, thank you, my lady. If you ever need anything, just say the word. I’ll serve the commander loyally.”
Aracila gazed at Isaac’s earnest smile and nodded with a soft chuckle. His words, spoken out of care for Damian, warmed her heart. They shared a comfortable silence, lifting their teacups. After a sip, Isaac spoke up as if struck by a sudden thought.
“Will your acquaintances be attending as well, my lady?”
“Yes, family and friends will be there.”
“Hmm, does that include other mages?”
Aracila set her teacup down and shook her head. There wasn’t a single mage close to Damian besides herself. Sally and Rudy were acquainted with him, but it wouldn’t do to casually invite her junior colleagues to someone else’s birthday party. They might feel uncomfortable.
“I didn’t invite my colleagues from the Magic Tower,” she said.
“Oh… I see,” Isaac replied, his face betraying a faint trace of disappointment.
Noticing the subtle shift in his expression, Aracila tilted her head slightly. “Is there someone among our mages you were hoping to meet?”
“No, no, not at all,” Isaac said quickly.
“It doesn’t seem like ‘not at all’ to me. Come on, just be honest. I want to help you for Damian’s sake.”
Isaac scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. “Well… I was wondering how Rudy’s doing.”
“Rudy? He’s doing great. He’s been diligently helping clear my name, and, as usual, bickering with Sally.”
“That’s good to hear,” Isaac said, visibly relieved.
“Why is that good news for you?” Aracila’s eyes narrowed, a playful suspicion lacing her tone. Why would Isaac care so much about Rudy’s well-being?
Her voice took on a teasing edge. “Don’t tell me you have some personal feelings for Rudy…?”
“What? No! Absolutely not!” Isaac waved his hands frantically, his face flushing with alarm. Despite the early winter chill, a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. “It’s just that Rudy reminds me of my younger brother.”
“Hmm,” Aracila hummed, unconvinced.
“Really! My brother takes after our mother, so he looks nothing like me, but his demeanor is a lot like Rudy’s.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed again, her tone still skeptical.
“Please, my lady, don’t misunderstand!” Isaac pleaded, his expression almost comically distressed as he clasped his hands together.
Aracila burst into a soft laugh. “Relax, I was just teasing.”
Isaac let out a groan. “Does the commander have to endure this kind of teasing too?”
“Oh, Damian’s been through it plenty of times.”
“I see,” Isaac muttered, slumping in his chair. If the commander can handle it, I suppose I must too. The brief moment of tension had left his shoulders stiff, and he massaged them lightly. As if to change the subject, he asked casually, “How’s Sally doing?”
“Our Sally’s as spirited as ever,” Aracila replied with a smile.
A faint smile flickered across Isaac’s lips before vanishing, unnoticed by Aracila, who was sipping her tea.
* * *
Damian closed the book he’d been reading. For some reason, it wasn’t holding his interest. Was it because Aracila had left him behind?
He slipped his hands into his pockets and stood by the window, gazing out toward the front gate, clearly visible from where he stood.
When will she be back?
His eyes, heavy with boredom and indifference, lingered on the iron gate and beyond. He’d already pieced together that Aracila’s secretive outing was likely to prepare for his birthday. A pang of guilt tugged at him for burdening her with such a task, but at the same time, the thought of her bustling about for his sake warmed his heart.
Yet that was all it was.
Gifts, parties—I don’t really need any of it.
Even though he was facing his grandest birthday celebration in years, Damian felt no joy. At its core, he couldn’t grasp the purpose or value of the occasion.
To him, a birthday was truly a meaningless day.
Even when his mother was alive, Damian had never found joy in his birthday.
“I’m sorry, Damian,” she would say. “It seems your father won’t be able to make it this year either. I’m so sorry…”
The Duke, ever mindful of Sophie, who would later become the second Duchess, never once celebrated Damian’s birthday.
Damian hated sitting at a table laden with cake and sumptuous dishes, watching his mother grow sadder as they waited for a father who never came.
“Young Master, with my lady’s position growing precarious, you must make a good impression,” the retainers would say. “You need to show the world that you are the true heir of the Vandermir Duchy. Days like today are especially important. The real purpose of a birthday party is to prove your influence. It’s the only way for both you and my lady to survive. Don’t forget that.”
He despised how his vassals treated his birthday as a stage to evaluate his worth.
“Hmm, so that’s the child born to the first wife?” the guests would whisper. “I hear he’s not much loved by his father.”
“I came to see for myself, but I’m not sure he’s fit to be the next Duke.”
“He’ll need to try harder than that. If he doesn’t inherit the title, his future is as good as doomed.”
Damian resented having to curry favor with guests who attended solely to gauge whether he was worthy of being the heir.
Oscar’s birthdays, in contrast, only deepened his frustration. Orchestrated by the Duke himself, they were lavish affairs, several times grander than Damian’s, resembling the joyful celebrations of a child from a warm, loving family. Everyone offered heartfelt congratulations, and Oscar, holding his parents’ hands, would beam with innocent delight.
It would be a lie to say Damian had never envied that scene.
The comparison to his half-brother stung deeply. So, on the eve of his sixth birthday, young Damian had thrown a tantrum to his mother.
“Mother, I want a grand, splendid birthday party like Oscar’s, where lots of people celebrate me!”
“…Is that so? If that’s what my boy wants, I’ll do my best. Just wait and see.”
Monica had offered a faint smile, her face pale. Back then, Damian hadn’t understood the self-reproach and sorrow hidden behind that smile.
She went to great lengths, gathering people and preparing gifts, pouring her heart into what would be Damian’s sixth—and final—birthday party.
But in the midst of what should have been a joyful occasion, Monica suffered a sudden breakdown.
“Don’t touch me! Get away! All of you, get out!” she screamed, her voice unhinged, her breathing ragged, her body trembling uncontrollably. No one understood why.
“My lady, please, don’t do this!”
“Someone fetch a doctor, now!”
“My lady, you must calm down!”
“Mother, please, calm down. Please!”
Damian, too, was caught in the chaos, desperately trying to soothe her alongside the others, though he was just as clueless.
Looking back now, he realized Monica had been unusually sensitive around that time. It might have been a prelude to her eventual, tragic choice.
In the end, she collapsed in the middle of the party. Damian vividly remembered the whispers that rippled through the crowd.
“So, the rumors about the Duchess losing her mind are true.”
“Goodness, with a mother like that, can the Vandermir heir possibly be sane?”
“No wonder there’s talk her position as Duchess is shaky. Tsk, tsk.”
As a child, he hadn’t known how to counter those cruel words. His cold, distant father, who should have been her protector, wasn’t even there.
His sixth birthday ended in disaster.
That public breakdown further eroded Monica’s standing. Damian regretted ever begging for the party. If I hadn’t been so greedy, none of this would have happened.
A few months later, Monica passed away, and the chance to make amends for that disastrous birthday never came. Damian vowed never again to yearn for a warm, joyful celebration.
Now, eighteen years later, he was facing a birthday celebration again—this time, one planned by his wife, not his mother.
It’s a meaningless day anyway. I wish she wouldn’t go to all this trouble.
Damian didn’t want Aracila to exhaust herself over his birthday. What mattered to him wasn’t a party but her swift return home. If she suddenly decided the preparations were too much and canceled the whole thing, he wouldn’t mind. He could let the day pass quietly, as he always had.
As the winter sun began to sink, painting the earth in a mesmerizing red glow, a carriage emerged through the sunset’s haze. It was the one carrying Aracila, the one Damian had been waiting for.
He descended the stairs with unhurried steps.
As Aracila stepped out of the carriage, Damian reached the front door. Smiling, he extended his hand.
“Did you enjoy your outing?” he asked.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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