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After Rubette left, Leonard Diorus sat there for a long time, blank and silent.
“Just keep living like you always have—so indifferent you don’t even know whether I’m alive or dead.”
His daughter’s words, sharp as a knife, left a sting of guilt.
This man had been barely getting by since his wife died 11 years ago—so worn down he could hardly take care of himself.
Naturally, he had no energy left for his children.
His eldest, 18-year-old Viego, was admirable—already acting as head in his stead and running the ducal house well.
The second, Victor, had a talent for the sword and joined the Imperial Knights three years ago, so they only saw him at home once or twice a year.
And the youngest, his daughter Rubettria—quiet and timid, the spitting image of his late wife.
All three had never once complained to their father, and whenever he did see them, they looked calm. So he thought there were no problems…
“…I’m tired.”
With his head pounding from drink, Leonard pressed his temple and started to tip the heavy bottle—then stopped.
“Could you try drinking less?”
His daughter’s voice rang in his head.
In the end, Leonard set the bottle down and staggered to the bed.
He fell back with a thud and closed his eyes.
How many years had it been since he’d looked at his daughter’s face for this long?
The face that told him, with her whole body, how hurt she was by her father… was—like always—the mirror of his wife.
“…Illusion.”
Leonard softly called his spirit.
A moment later, a spirit with the form of a pale, translucent woman appeared and made a graceful circle in the air.
“You called, contractor?”
The spirit of Illusion.
Leonard’s bonded spirit, with powers to cast visions before your eyes or give you the dream you want.
“The usual dream.”
At the familiar order, Illusion kissed her contractor’s forehead.
Leonard drifted into sleep as if by magic.
Except for brief waking moments, he spent nearly the whole day inside illusions.
His wish was always the same.
His wife is still alive.
Her smiling face, her sulky face, her light movements, her happy voice…
Only in his wife’s arms, just as she’d been in life, was Leonard not in pain.
Eleven years now.
An illusion he couldn’t quit—like a drug.
On my way back to my room after seeing Dad—
“Why didn’t you bring up Molga Diorus?”
Wishit, who’d watched everything beside me, spoke up.
“Hey, Rubettria.”
“…”
“Are you ignoring me?”
Wishit finally planted himself in front of me.
I flinched, stopping.
“The duke clearly felt something when you spoke face-to-face. You could’ve told him the truth—that Molga Diorus has been hurting you—and had her thrown out like that old butler.”
“…”
I didn’t answer.
I glanced around. A few maids were passing by.
Spirits are only visible to their own contractors.
So even if Wishit, wearing the Crown Prince’s face, suddenly popped up in the corridor, I didn’t need to cover it up.
Plenty of spirit summoners look like they’re talking to thin air when chatting with their spirits, anyway.
‘It’s just… my situation’s a little different…’
I ignored Wishit a little longer, hurried to my room, locked the door, and finally said:
“Wishit, please.”
“What?”
“Don’t talk to me when other people are around. What if I slip and answer you? If people find out I actually succeeded in contracting a spirit? And if they find out it’s the Spirit of Wishes?”
“…”
“Rubette risked her life to keep me alive. You don’t want me throwing that away, right?”
Wishit shut his mouth, realizing his slip-up.
There’s a lot of complicated backstory, but the key point is…
I was known as the only ‘half-wit’ in the Diorus house who couldn’t contract a spirit—and I had to keep it that way.
Because Wishit was classified as a “danger-class” spirit.
‘If they learn I’m contracted to a danger-class spirit, I’m as good as dead. That’s why Rubette hid Wishit her whole life.’
After a moment, I added, “If you want to talk to me when people are around, you know what to do—send it to my head.
Use thought-voice.”
Contractors and spirits can talk by telepathy even apart.
When the spirit’s right beside you, you usually don’t bother with telepathy, but because Rubette had to hide Wishit, we used it anytime we weren’t alone.
I patted Wishit’s shoulder now that his bluster had faded.
“Wondering why I didn’t mention Molga?”
“Yeah.”
I went to the table, sat, and started.
“Molga is the real power in this house—and acts like an angel. After Mom died, she looked after us three kids like a mother, since Dad checked out. She abused Rubette, sure, but she fussed over Viego and Victor with all her heart. Right?”
“Right.”
“Viego—basically the acting head—is on Molga’s side. And every single servant in this household is bought by Molga.”
“…”
“So if I suddenly run to Dad, bawl my eyes out, and say, ‘Molga’s tormenting me, please kick her out’? Do you think he’ll pat me and say, ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ and throw Molga out? Or will he scold me for being a brat?”
“…”
“We barely have a father–daughter bond as it is. You think he’d kick out the family elder on just my word? No way. An old hired fox like the head butler is one thing. Molga is another.”
“Still, if you at least say something, won’t he start to doubt that demon woman?”
“Exactly. I didn’t spell it out, but I did make it clear I’m in a messed-up situation. Dad will slowly catch on to how crazy this household is.”
Wishit didn’t seem to like my cautious approach, but he clamped his mouth shut, maybe too tired to argue.
I knew why he was this on edge, so I felt both grateful and sorry.
“You’re worried that once Molga comes back, I’ll get treated like Rubette did?”
“Once you meet that woman yourself, you’re in for… an experience. Not sure you can handle it.”
“How about you worry about handling me. Even if your new contractor turns out to be a mad dog, no running away.”
Wishit stared at my joking smile, then sighed.
“Why did you suddenly borrow money from the duke?”
“Oh, that? I need capital for a business.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“I’m going to make money and move out of this hellhole. I promised to live Rubette’s life happily. And being jobless is not happy.”
“Who calls a noble young lady jobless?”
“Well, by my standards, yeah. ‘Duke Diorus’s daughter’ isn’t a job.”
I jerked my chin at the mountain of fashion magazines on the table—stuff I’d asked Rebecca to bring so I could study local trends.
“Know what my job was in the other world?”
“Actress?”
“Besides that.”
Wishit must’ve watched me side by side with Rubette; he should know.
He blinked, thinking, then said,
“…Boutique owner?”
“…”
We stared at each other for a beat.
Not wrong, but…
“Doesn’t that sound too small? Let’s call it a luxury brand CEO, yeah? That ‘boutique’ you mentioned did 1.2 trillion won in revenue last year.”
“Mm. I don’t fully get it, but…”
He idly dug in his ear, then asked:
“So bottom line—you’re opening a fashion house here too?”
“Yep. I already picked the brand name. It’s from my nickname.”
I propped my chin on both hands and got serious.
“But there’s a problem.”
“What problem?”
“You can’t launch a brand just because you feel like it. You need a few things.”
“What do you need?”
“Money. Seed capital.”
“You just borrowed from the duke.”
“Right. And a designer with taste.”
I snapped my index finger up right under his nose.
“That’ll be me. Don’t worry.”
“And then?”
“A tailor to make the clothes.”
“You’re asking the tailor who’s coming tonight?”
“Right! Sharp as ever. I called him partly to get workout clothes made, too.”
“Then you’re set. What else?”
“Mm. I’m missing the most important thing…”
I covered my face and sighed.
“A model.”
“A model?”
“There are already tons of popular ateliers in the capital, right? If I’m late to the game and want to close the gap fast, I need a super famous coat hanger.”
Do you know why we dress celebrities? To advertise, obviously.
‘I’m living proof of that.’
Everything I wore, every cream I used, every accessory I put on—those kicked off trends.
If I showed up at an official event, by the next day, everything I wore sold out from head to toe.
In short, I was going to use a model’s star power as my marketing strategy.
“Finding people is nothing for you, no?”
“Sure, I could scout pretty, stylish, great-bodied folks if I hustle. But that’s not the priority. I need celebrity status.”
“Celebrity status?”
“I need someone people idolize—a real ‘celebrity.’ At least one female model and one male model before I can relax about launching…”
Just saying it made my chest tight again.
“Luckily, I already have someone in mind for the female model. The problem is—”
“The man?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded and looked at Wishit.
‘The Crown Prince…’
Seeing that handsome Crown Prince’s face he wore made my mouth go dry.
‘Right now, he’s the empire’s number-one heartthrob. He’d be the perfect model.’
Wishit read my eyes and snorted.
“…The Crown Prince?”
“No shot, huh?”
“As if he’d agree to be a promo model.”
“I could talk him into it, but getting a meeting is the hard part. I’ve got zero connection.”
I was practically a regular person—no clout, no network, no guts—besides my family name.
The odds of me meeting the busiest man in the empire one-on-one were basically nil.
Like trying to land a private fan meeting with a top celebrity.
‘Being on the other side of that is… a trip.’
Who would’ve thought the Juliet Karenina would go from top star to ordinary fan overnight?
I sighed, and Wishit shrugged.
“You don’t have any connection. He may not agree to model, but getting a meeting shouldn’t be hard.”
“Me? How?”
“Your second brother. I hear he’s glued to the Crown Prince 24/7.”
“Oh!”
Right. Come to think of it…
Victor Diorus. I do have a second brother, don’t I?
The Imperial Capital of the Decard Empire.
The outdoor training grounds of the Imperial Knights.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Two sharp steel blades flashed and met again and again in midair.
As usual, two men were putting on a dazzling show, drawing admiring gazes from the other knights.
“Man, even the way His Highness the Crown Prince spars is a work of art. Maybe the key to swordsmanship is… the face?”
The Crown Prince, Larc van Rashmach Decard—
“And I hear the vice-captain’s been catching up scary fast. Lady Valet said in the ‘Knight of the Month’ fan vote, the vice-captain only lost by two votes. His Highness always wins by a landslide, though.”
—and the Imperial Knights’ vice-captain, Victor Diorus.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
With their insane good looks, their spar looked almost like a beautiful sword dance.
After a few more exchanges, Larc slipped inside Victor’s guard—his blade stopped at Victor’s neck.
A few strands of Victor’s red hair were sliced clean and drifted in the air.
A clean finish.
Ting—!
Victor tossed his sword to the ground without hesitation.
Then—
“Victory.”
The empire’s current top heartthrob—the Crown Prince Larc van Rashmach Decard, undefeated #1 for 42 straight months in the noble ladies’ unofficial “Knight of the Month” vote—grinned and said:
“That makes it 53 matches: 26 wins, 2 draws, 25 losses.”
