TMIAP Chapter 21

At that moment, the man stepped forward again.

"Miss Mollette, I'll handle this."

"No, sir. This woman is—"

Liella drew a breath. Her face was a canvas of humiliation and fury as she looked up at the man, then continued after a long pause.

"She's a servant in our household."

"I'm sorry, Miss Liella. I only came here to rest for a moment. I truly didn't know you were both here."

Monica apologized repeatedly, but to no avail. Liella looked at her again and drew a deep breath. Monica instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. Then—

"No, Miss Mollette. I think it would be better if I handle this."

"Sir."

The man stepped in front of Liella once more. Only then did his face, which had been obscured by the backlight throughout, become visible.

It was a face Monica knew well. Beautiful golden hair and blue eyes. But— Monica felt confused. It was a face she knew, yet also a face she didn't know.

He blocked Liella, paying no attention whatsoever to someone like Monica.

"This is a conversation ripe for misunderstanding. In situations like this, it's better for a third party to clear up the confusion and ensure nothing of this sort happens again, rather than those directly involved."

The man spoke rapidly, almost urgently.

Despite this, he was imposing.

His manner of speaking contained an arrogance that suggested he had never experienced anyone disobeying his words.

He was even drawing some sort of line with Liella. A third party, not someone involved. Though he had been conversing with Liella just moments ago, the man was referring to himself as an outsider.

Even Monica was momentarily bewildered, wondering if this man hadn't been present here at all but had come from somewhere else.

Liella looked up at the man with uncomprehending eyes. But she seemed to decide to accept his words. The look she directed at Monica was filled with anger.

"Very well, Lord Solivén."

Monica's mouth fell open.

'Solivén? Not Berfeil?'

Solivén. It was a name Monica knew. She had heard it in conversations between Liella and Madame Mollette, and had become aware of it through the maids whispering and giggling about Liella several times.

'The son of one of the kingdom's most distinguished families.'

Suddenly she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Liella glared at Monica, then raised her chin haughtily. You little nothing. That expression literally pierced Monica's soul with pain.

"Let's continue our conversation another time."

"...Though there will be nothing to continue."

"You will continue it."

After speaking thus, Liella turned and strode toward Monica.

Monica stiffened involuntarily, but soon realized Liella was merely turning to return to the ballroom.

Liella swept past her. Not a hair touched Monica, yet cold seemed to radiate from her in waves.

And then, only the two remained.

Monica looked at the man hesitantly. He had been watching her from before, so their eyes met naturally. But the man said nothing. Monica finally broke the silence.

"So Luis didn't tell me your surname..."

"..."

"You were Lord Solivén all along?"

But something was strange. Monica vaguely recalled hearing the maids prattle about Lord Solivén. The Lord Solivén's name she had heard wasn't that...

"Garcia Solivén?"

It was an odd combination no matter how she considered it. The name Garcia had far too much of a southern flavor. She had heard the Solivén family's territory was in the north of the kingdom...

As Monica pondered this, examining the man, the corners of his mouth twitched with irritation.

"Luis, Garcia. Those names... How do you know them?"

Monica frowned.

"How do I know? You called me—"

The man cut her off.

"I am not Garcia."

Her eyes widened.

"You're not?"

"No, I am not."

Monica was flustered. His towering height, his picture-perfect appearance that anyone would admire as exquisitely beautiful. In contrast to the beauty of his face, his shoulders were solidly built and firmly set.

The blue eyes staring at her held none of the ruthless innocence typically possessed by noble young gentlemen.

It was certainly a face she knew, yet he was denying it.

"You're saying you're not Garcia."

She asked again slowly. And observed the man carefully. Unlike the person Monica knew, the man was dressed in expensive clothing. But—

"How many times must I tell you. That is not my name."

It was cold. It wasn't a modifier typically applied to a person, but the atmosphere of the man answering was certainly thus. Monica frowned.

'Is he really someone else?'

His atmosphere was completely different from the person she knew.

Garcia—that is, the barbarian Monica was grinding her teeth over—had certainly been violent and seemed devoid of any warmth, but looking closely at the man before her, she could tell. If Luis was spring and Garcia was summer, this man was winter.

It wasn't impossible. Monica had actually experienced the same thing twice recently. Moreover, similar to this man...

'...Wait.'

The man was still watching her. He seemed to be observing her.

'This situation feels too familiar.'

She felt a sense of déjà vu. It was the same feeling she'd had when meeting Luis, when meeting Garcia. Monica spoke before organizing her thoughts.

"Don't tell me you're going to say your name is Luis now."

"Ha."

A smile curved the cold man's lips. It was on an entirely different dimension from Luis's warm, sunny smile, yet the face was too similar. And the man denied her words by producing a new name.

"My name is Enrique Solivén."

"...Pardon?"

"Enrique Solivén."

"..."

Monica pressed her lips together. It was unbelievable.

And for good reason—this was the third man with an identical face she had met in La Spezia alone.

And the third happened to be the fiancé of Liella Mollette, whom she so disliked!

All three of them had the same face, yet were supposedly different people?

Absurd.

"You're lying... This is a lie."

Enrique's mouth twisted. It was a smile that suggested he was watching something quite amusing.

"I've heard those words quite often in my life, but this is the first time I've heard them immediately after introducing myself."

"..."

"This is rather refreshing in its own way."

The man's blue eyes swept up and down, observing the confused Monica. A gaze that clearly looked down on her.

Ordinarily Monica would have thought the man truly rude. But at that moment, Monica felt a strange familiarity. Different from the déjà vu she'd felt with Luis or Garcia.

'What is this? It feels like I should remember...'

However, the man seemed to have no intention of waiting for her.

"Miss Orphen, was it?"

"..."

"According to Miss Mollette, you appear to be a servant in this household. I think eavesdropping on others' conversations may be a virtue for rats, but hardly a virtue for servants, wouldn't you say?"

It was an outrageous insult. Even Garcia, whom Monica called a barbarian, would be appalled at this level.

Garcia might have behaved like a badly-raised teenage boy, but he hadn't degraded others in such a manner.

Monica looked at the man properly for the first time in her confusion. The man asked with a thoroughly intimidating attitude.

"What do you know?"

"...Pardon?"

She wondered what this meant.

But Monica's questioning response seemed to serve as some kind of answer to the man called Enrique. The man smiled thinly.

"Never mind. I asked an unnecessary question."

Monica's eyes widened. When he smiled that slight smile, the man's right cheek twitched briefly as if spasming.

And in that moment, a small scar was revealed near his eye.

The very scar Monica knew well.

"Wait—"

"I've wasted time on a rat."

The man turned immediately. His steps showed no hesitation, as if shaking off something filthy.

But Monica couldn't let him go.

No matter how similar people might be, there couldn't exist three people with identical scars, could there?

"Wait!"

Monica's hand touched the hem of the man's clothing. Though she knew it was rude. The man turned with a frown. At that moment—

BOOM!

The man who had been about to rebuke her froze instantly.

An enormous bang and light burst from the direction of the ballroom. Monica too was startled by the light spreading behind the man and stood rooted to the spot.

Red and blue colored fire. The acrid smell of gunpowder and tremendous smoke.

The Mollette family's fireworks.

Ohhhhh...

The sounds of people's admiration carried on the night breeze to the garden where the two stood.

The Mollette family, who possessed one of La Spezia's most notable estates, had bought up all the surplus gunpowder after the war's end and used it for fireworks displays.

Everyone cursed it as money burned into thin air, yet it was also something they craned their necks to anticipate.

The explosions continued after that.

Bang, boom...

Beautiful fireworks decorated the sky, enough to make even Monica gaze up, momentarily entranced.

When the Mollette family was incorporated into the kingdom, they had presented their most prized pyrotechnician to the king for his birthday. From that day forward, beautiful fireworks displays adorned the capital's sky on every royal birthday. Thus that artisan had been able to evacuate to La Spezia even during the war.

And instead of the king, who suffered financial difficulties due to war reparations, the Mollette family generously colored La Spezia's sky whenever there was cause for celebration. Today appeared to be no different.

<May the beautiful kingdom endure forever...>

The final firework formed words praising the Mollette family and the kingdom. Words embroidered across the sky. She had no idea how it was possible. She could only surmise that the Mollette family's staggeringly vast wealth had made it so.

After that, faint green leaf-shaped embers filled the sky before disappearing.

When even the voices of people exclaiming ahh in disappointment had died down, Monica finally became aware of the hem of clothing her hand was holding.

"I'm sorry, I—"

Monica, who had been about to apologize to the man who had been held captive by her throughout the fireworks display, started.

Enrique Solivén—that utterly rude man—was gripping a tree and not even looking in her direction. More precisely—

"Oh my—"

He was trembling.