CICN 67

Chapter 67

“Hello!”

“…Huh?”

The postal clerk looked around in surprise, trying to find where the sudden voice had come from.

“Um, down here!”

A small hand shot up from below the counter.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t see you.”

The clerk laughed as he stood. There was Ibi, standing below the reception desk.

“Hello, what can I help you with?”

“I heard I can send a package home once a month. But it didn’t say how much I’m allowed to send, so I came to ask!”

“I see. Hold on just a moment.”

The clerk turned around and came back with a large cardboard box. He handed it to Ibi.

“As long as it fits inside this box, you can send whatever you want. Anything larger than this requires special permission.”

“Um… do I have to pay for the box?”

“No. This one’s free too.”

At that, Ibi’s face lit up.

“Then can I take this one?”

“Of course. Pack it well and bring it back. Then we’ll process the shipment.”

“Yes!”

Hugging the box tightly, Ibi walked out of the post office.

It wasn’t particularly large, but for Ibi, holding it in front of her blocked her view entirely. In the end, she lifted it over her head and carried it that way, heading toward a professor’s office—naturally, Professor Sian’s.

Climbing the quiet stairs to Room 408, Ibi knocked on the door.

After a brief silence, she opened it and called out,

“Excuse me!”

She knew no one was inside, but Ibi always knocked and greeted, both when entering and when leaving.

She placed the box she had received on the floor and walked around the office once.

“Still not here today…”

Her voice was weak, unlike her cheerful greeting at the post office.

It had already been two weeks since she had gone to the seasonal festival with Professor Sian.

Since then, Ibi had stopped by every day. But as Dean Seraphina had said, Sian had gone on a long trip. There was no trace of him visiting since.

Still, new things appeared in the office every day, as if he had ordered them in advance.

A plush red sofa, a giant bear and rabbit doll, more books.

That was why Ibi’s heart always beat fast before she knocked—

They weren’t her things, but watching them accumulate somehow made her happy.

‘Irene couldn’t come with me though.’

At first, she thought about bringing Irene along, but then she remembered they hadn’t yet received permission from Professor Sian.

When she hesitated, Irene backed down surprisingly easily.

“My sister said I’m too nosy, always wanting to know everything. She told me that’s not good… so, well, it’s not urgent. I’ll just meet your guardian later.”

Besides, Irene had signed up for more classes than Ibi, since she was older.

That meant she had to study much harder for the midterms. Naturally, Ibi ended up spending more time alone.

So this office had become like her secret hideout.

Ibi sat down in front of the bookshelf. The shelves weren’t yet full, and the lower compartments were still empty.

She placed the box there, then emptied her schoolbag into it.

She closed the lid and shook the box.

Though she had packed quite a lot, there was still plenty of empty space inside—it rattled when shaken.

One day, she thought, she would fill it so completely that she could send the whole box off.

Smiling at the thought, she shoved the box deep into the bottom shelf and pulled some books forward to cover it.

Satisfied that it was hidden perfectly, she went to the small desk where a notepad and pen were waiting.

“To Professor Sian Roshen…”

She wrote him a letter in her small, careful handwriting.

On the way back, she would give it to Dean Seraphina, who would pass it along to Professor Sian.

* * *

The sound of pages rustling and a pen scratching echoed through the imperial office.

Clois sat at his desk, his hand moving busily.

Just then, a knock came at the door, and the chief attendant entered with a tray of tea.

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should rest a little.”

“There’s no time for that.”

Though he knew the words were sincere, his reply came out curt. He closed the document he’d been reading and rubbed his face with one hand.

“Forgive me. I suppose I’m a bit irritable.”

“To receive an apology from His Imperial Majesty—it is an honor,” the attendant joked lightly, smiling as he poured the tea.

Fragrant steam filled the room. Clois lifted the cup and took a sip.

The tea was the perfect temperature, and its warmth spread lazily through his body. He slowly opened and closed his eyes.

Perhaps it was because he had been working all day—his stiff neck and shoulders creaked like broken machinery.

It wasn’t supposed to be this busy.

But two weeks ago, just as he had returned to his residence, an urgent message had arrived.

On the southern border of the Empire, near the Kingdom of Rumbard—

There, someone had reportedly spotted Siren, the former right-hand man of the First Prince.

Siren, a baron’s son, had quickly won the prince’s trust with his sharp mind and eloquent tongue. He became the prince’s chief advisor.

He constantly whispered to the prince:

“You are the rightful heir. Do not let the throne be stolen by Clois.”

But in the end, Clois became crown prince.

Later, when Clois renounced succession and retired to an estate with Lillian, the title of crown prince passed back to the First Prince.

Siren had gotten what he wanted. Clois thought he’d never have to see him again.

He was wrong.

The First Prince became emperor, but paranoia consumed him. Convinced his younger brothers coveted his throne, he followed Siren’s advice and assassinated the Second Prince.

The remaining princes fled and rallied their supporters, forced to rebel in order to survive.

The Empire plunged into bloody civil war. And the last one standing was Clois.

He had captured nearly everyone responsible for the tragedy—but Siren alone escaped.

For seven years, Clois had pursued him.

That man must die.

The Empire was at peace now, and no one foolish enough remained to rally behind Siren.

But Clois’s instincts told him otherwise. Someday, Siren would rise again as a grave threat.

So whenever news of Siren arose, Clois always handled it personally.

This time too, he had gone himself to the border.

Normally, he would have thought only of Siren during the journey. But not this time.

“Would a blue sofa have been better? That’s what children like these days.”

“Did Seraphina deliver the hairpin and toy I sent?”

He had left so suddenly he hadn’t even said goodbye.

Until he reached the border, his thoughts had been full of Ibi.

In the end, his journey was fruitless. Siren had slipped away again.

But they did find proof he was alive: testimony, and scraps of paper in his handwriting.

Most of it was unremarkable—except for one note that caught Clois’s eye.

[Royal Insignia]

Few in the world knew of its existence. But Siren, as the First Prince’s confidant, would have.

Why write it down now, over and over again? Clois couldn’t guess.

He set his teacup down and picked up his pen again. He had mountains of paperwork piled up from his absence.

The sooner he finished, the sooner he could go see Ibi…

Just then—

“Your Majesty!”

Seraphina’s voice came from outside. Clois’s grip on his pen tightened.

“Your Majesty, it’s me!”

Today, he had no time to indulge her whining. He was about to tell her to leave at once—

“I’ve brought a letter from Ibi Alden!”

“Come in.”

Clois wiped away all other thoughts and welcomed her with a radiant smile.