IWAPUF 16

“They’re in the training yard, miss. Shall I fetch him for you?”
“No. I’ll go myself.”
I waved Mari off and headed straight toward the yard.
There, Lant was deep in his lesson, sword in hand. His instructor—a retired knight of House
Eliont—had once been one of the top ten swordsmen in the entire empire. The Marquess had
called him back into service when Lant turned ten. Whether he’d already been Lant’s teacher
back then, I couldn’t say. At the time, I’d been too busy tormenting the boy to know anything
about him at all.
Lant swung the blade exactly as instructed, though his slightly furrowed brow betrayed his
frustration. Something wasn’t going right.
I stood at a distance, careful not to interrupt.
Sweat glistened across his forehead as he practiced, blade cutting the air in steady arcs. The knight
watched silently, interjecting only to correct his form. I didn’t know much about swordsmanship,
but even I could see that, for someone his age, Lant was doing remarkably well.
I watched them for a while, quietly pleased.
Eventually, Lant lowered his sword. He turned, bowed neatly to his instructor. As soon as the
knight gave a slight nod of approval, Lant’s head whipped around to face me.
“Noona!”
He ran to me, grinning ear to ear, like a puppy wagging its tail the moment it spots its master.
I lifted a hand to stop him.
He froze in place, looking puzzled, as if he didn’t understand why I’d stopped him.
“You’ve worked hard, Sir Tilt.”
“Hoho, it’s simply my duty, my lady. I’ll take my leave now.”
Sir Tilt chuckled, watching his motionless student with fond exasperation, as though this weren’t
the first time. He gave a respectful bow and turned to leave the training yard.
I approached Lant, who now stood completely still, trying not to fidget as he watched me with
wide, expectant eyes. At twelve, Lant was already much taller than most his age—easily mistaken
for seventeen or eighteen by anyone who didn’t know better. Compared to me, he was a full head
taller.
I crooked my finger at him.
Without hesitation, Lant bowed his head.
I reached out with both hands and tugged at his cheeks. Just like the first time we met, they were
still soft and springy—like freshly made rice cakes.
“I told you not to call me Noona, didn’t I?”
“Huh—h-hold on…”
“Hold on, what? What are you, a gigolo now? You going around charming rich women with your
smooth talk? Hm?”
I gave his cheeks a sharp tug. They stretched easily under my hands, so full and resilient.
“So you’re a little older now, and suddenly you think you don’t have to listen to me? That it?”
Lant caught my hand. His palm covered mine, holding it gently against his cheek. His warmth
wrapped around me like a blanket.
“Your word is law, Noona. I haven’t forgotten.”
His dark brown eyes were full of quiet affection.
“Did something happen at the palace?”
He gently pulled my hand away from his face. I let go of his cheek. It had reddened a little, but not
enough to leave a mark—proof the butler’s herbal ointments had been doing their job.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Got bitten by a mad dog.”
A very large, very royal mad dog.
“Are you hurt?”
Lant immediately began scanning me for injuries. I shook my head. He let out a breath of relief
and, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around me.
Just a year ago, I would’ve been the one embracing him. But now that he’d grown so much, the
roles had reversed.
“You smell like sweat,” I teased.
Still, Lant hugged me back, albeit awkwardly. He smelled like sun-warmed wood and open fields.
“Miss!”
A sharp voice interrupted us.
We both turned. Mari was racing across the grounds, her face pale with panic.
“Miss, it’s urgent!”
She skidded to a halt in front of us, gasping for breath.
“We just received word—Count Pison is critically ill!”
—
Count Pison returned exactly two months after he left.
Whether it was fate or some strange twist of coincidence, he came back on the very same date he
had died in my previous life.
He moved into a new estate, just down the road from House Eliont.
Elberod Street—the most expensive and exclusive neighborhood in the capital, home to only the
highest-ranking nobles. Even with money, a property there was nearly impossible to obtain. Yet
within a mere two months, he had secured a home and renovated it entirely.
It was a testament to his will.
Since returning, he frequently visited both House Pison and House Eliont, always seeking out
opportunities to speak with me. It was as if he were trying to make up for all the time he’d
ignored me in the past. He dedicated nearly every free moment to me.
He was easy to talk to. Like the seasoned merchant he had once been, he had a wealth of
knowledge and the wit to share it. His stories—of foreign customs, far-off places, and curious
encounters—filled our conversations. Occasionally, he would speak of the Marchioness.
He remembered her childhood. Their happiest days together.
And every time he mentioned her, a shadow passed across his face. A subtle grimace, quiet and
grief-stricken.
Her death had wounded him deeply.
He was also the only person who seemed truly shaken by what had happened with Nanny.
He’d returned to the estate shortly after Nanny was dismissed. To him, she was like a daughter—
he’d known her since she was a child. The news that she had done such a thing devastated him.
He apologized to all of us—to the Marquess, to Lant, and to me—taking the blame entirely upon
himself.
He tried to find her, of course. But even with his vast merchant network, she had disappeared
without a trace. That could only mean one thing—Nanny didn’t want to be found.
Eventually, he gave up the search.
Though he didn’t follow the Marchioness into death as he had in my last life, the Count was a
shadow of the man he used to be.
Countess Pison did everything in her power to help him—supplements, rare elixirs, nourishing
meals—but nothing worked. The grief had settled in his body like rot.
He moved less and less as the months passed.
Eventually, he stopped leaving his bed entirely.
We all knew.
The day was coming soon.
Maybe even today.
I told Mari to have the carriage prepared.
She gave a quick nod and rushed off, leaving the training yard. Lant stood beside me, his brow
furrowed with concern.
“Are you… okay?”
Count Pison had been the first person—after regaining my memories—who saw me as me, and
cared. No matter how much I’d braced myself, the moment still hit like a blow to the chest.
“No,” I admitted quietly. “I’d be lying if I said I was.”
Lant wrapped his arms around me without hesitation, pulling me into a firm embrace. His warm
hand swept slowly over my back in quiet comfort. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances. Even he
could sense that today might be the end.
“Should I come with you?”
From the Count’s perspective, Lant had always been… difficult. Perhaps even painful. The child
who, directly or not, had driven his daughter to take her own life. But Count Pison never hated
Lant. He never rejected him, either.
He pitied him.
He saw the hardships that came with being an illegitimate child, and he mourned the boy’s future
more than he blamed him for the past.
Still, it was true—Lant’s arrival at House Eliont had followed swiftly after the Marchioness’s
death.
And that wound had never fully healed.
The Count treated Lant with gentleness, but every time he saw him, a sorrow crept into his eyes.
As if her face lingered behind the boy’s.
Lant, sensitive as he was, made every effort to avoid him whenever the Count came to visit. And I
had never stopped him. They hurt each other just by sharing the same space. Better, sometimes,
not to meet at all.
As much as I’d like his support now, the Pison household did not look kindly upon Lant. They
might not have known the full truth behind the Marchioness’s death, but they remembered the
timing—how quickly Lant had been brought into the manor after she passed.
It wasn’t Lant’s fault. But still, they had never truly accepted him.
Because of Count Pison’s affection for me, they kept their opinions to themselves—but the
tension was always there. And today, with news of the Count’s critical condition, I was certain the
Pison estate would be filled with family, stewing in quiet resentment.
I didn’t want Lant walking into that.
“I’ll be fine.”
“But…”
I slipped gently from his embrace and stepped toward the waiting carriage. Lant followed, his
concern practically clinging to the air between us.
Mari had been quick. The carriage was already waiting near the main building.
The Marquess stood by the open door. When he saw me approaching, he climbed in first.
“Wait here,” I told Lant. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay. Please… be safe.”
Lant embraced me once more. He didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel the worry radiating off
him. Worry that I would be hurt, one way or another.
I patted his back gently. I’ll be fine, I told him, without words.
Time was short. He let go reluctantly.
I climbed into the carriage under his watchful eyes.
The Marquess was already seated. I sat across from him, and the carriage began to roll forward.
It would take just over ten minutes to reach House Pison.
And yet every minute felt unbearably long.
I sat with my head lowered, hands clenched tightly in my lap.
Then—something warm closed over the back of my right hand.
I looked up in surprise.
The Marquess was watching me. Calm. Steady. His blue eyes, always unreadable, felt
unexpectedly grounding.
I managed a small smile.
He didn’t say anything—just tightened his grip around my hand.
And he didn’t let go. Not until the carriage stopped.
—
“Welcome, Marquess.”
“Welcome, my lady.”
The servants of House Pison greeted us as we stepped down from the carriage.
I barely acknowledged them. My steps moved ahead of my thoughts as I entered the estate.
Most noble bedrooms were located on the second floor—for security, to buy time in case of
emergencies. But Count Pison’s room was on the ground floor. The Countess had arranged it that
way, knowing how difficult it had become for him to move.
Inside, the manor was surprisingly quiet. The staff bowed politely as I passed, clearing the way. I
headed toward the Count’s room. I’d visited enough to know it by heart.
“El?”
“Beonne?”
A small voice called out from just outside the Count’s door.
I approached the child standing there.
El—Countess Pison’s daughter.
This time around, she had survived.
But perhaps because she had once been destined to die, her body remained weak and frail.
“What are you doing out here all alone?”
Instead of answering, El raised her arms.
I bent and lifted her into my arms.
Her tiny hand reached up and brushed against my face, slow and searching.
El couldn’t see. Just like her fragile body, her blindness had been present since birth. There was
no cure.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me, trembling.
El was just a child—but even children could read the room. She knew.
“I want to go into Father’s room,” she whispered.
She’d been waiting here for who knew how long, unable to enter.
“Where’s your nanny?”
El didn’t reply. She buried her face into my shoulder.
I could guess what had happened. She’d snuck away.
With the Count nearing the end, no one would want El to see him like this. They would’ve tried to
keep her away.
But the Countess… she would never leave her daughter alone. El must have given her the slip.
“You shouldn’t wander off, El.”
Still, she didn’t speak.
I rubbed her back, holding her a little tighter.
I hesitated. Should I bring her in?
Before I could decide, the door opened.
A young man stepped out—early twenties, by the look of him. He gave a respectful bow to both
me and the Marquess.
“It’s been a long time, Marquess.”
The Marquess returned the greeting with a simple nod.
I’d never seen this man before, but clearly, the Marquess had.
“It’s an honor, Lady Beonne. I’m Evan Li.”
Evan Li Pison.