HSLF 07

Chapter 07

One day, Robs spoke in a serious tone.

“Dorothy, we’ve got a big problem.”
“Awooooo! What is it this time?”

Robs had a habit of calling even the smallest issues “big problems,” and although Rexa and I were sick and tired of it, we still found ourselves listening.

“So, I heard this thing—apparently there’s a law called the Law of Conservation of Lunatic Mass.”
“The Law of Conservation of Lunatic Mass?”

Robs explained that whenever there’s a group of people, there is always at least one complete lunatic among them. The more I listened, the more plausible it sounded.
My goodness—what a fascinating and terrifying law.

Rexa and I were making a fuss, saying how lucky we were that we hadn’t met such a lunatic yet, when Robs calmly asked:

“So then… which one of the three of us is the lunatic?”
“…?!”

There was a lunatic among the three of us…?
That actually made sense!

From that moment on, we launched an in-depth discussion about who among us was the true lunatic.
Secretly, I’d always thought Robs was the strangest and weirdest of the three, so without hesitation I pointed the finger at him.

But Rexa, who’d been quiet until then, started accusing me of being the lunatic, and right beside us, Robs swore on my book that Rexa was obviously the lunatic.

We spent three days and nights hurling accusations at each other, until we were practically on the verge of throwing punches, before finally reaching a conclusion:

“Anyway, it’s definitely not any of the three of us, so we’re excluded! That must mean all the lunatics are gathered out there in the outside world.”

That hypothesis gained credibility when we met a once-in-a-lifetime, outrageously unfilial lunatic called “Norobin Moven.”

“You’re joking, right?”
“I’m serious.”

Meeting the second lunatic candidate of my life gave our hypothesis even more credibility.
I knew it from the moment I got a bad feeling.

“It’s a chance to meet a duke—doesn’t that sound good?”

Dorothy was dumbfounded as she looked at Lyle, who was acting as if he genuinely intended to introduce her to the duke.
A man she’d known for less than ten minutes had smoothly tried to rope her in by offering to help with her crush, and now he was saying he’d personally arrange a meeting with a duke at the very top of the social pyramid? Yeah, right.

Believe something believable, why don’t you.

“Mr. Lyle, pardon me for asking,”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Are you, by any chance, involved in human trafficking or something?”

Judging by how Lyle’s face crumpled in shock, Dorothy felt oddly satisfied.

“You can’t even proudly state your family name, yet you claim you’ll introduce me to Duke Cameon?”

If she’d really been head over heels for Duke Cameon, so much so that she couldn’t think straight, she might have fallen for it. They say people in love don’t think clearly, after all.

“Did I look naive enough to fall for that kind of lie? I’m offended.”

Besides, she wasn’t even in love.

“That’s not it—”
Lyle tried to explain.

“What exactly isn’t it? Are you a human trafficker, or did you just take me for a complete fool?”
“Neither.”
“Yes. It had better be neither. Because if you thought either of those, I’d report you.”

At Dorothy’s warning, Lyle hesitated. With a genuinely confused expression, he asked her:

“I understand reporting a human trafficker to the guards, but if someone looks down on Miss Dorothy, who would you report them to?”
“To Duke Cameon.”

Lyle asked incredulously,
“You don’t seriously think Duke Cameon is someone who’d accept a complaint from Miss Dorothy, do you?”

“Of course not.”
Dorothy lifted her chin.
“What I’d report is your suspicious behavior—like casually throwing Duke Cameon’s name around, just like you did.”

Of course, Dorothy had no intention of actually tattling to Duke Cameon. Even if the neighbor’s dog from a distant in-law’s family went around using the duke’s name, it would have absolutely nothing to do with her.
But the fact that the man in front of her had tried to trick her, thinking she was an idiot—that was a different matter entirely.

“Have you never considered that I might genuinely know Duke Cameon well?”

Unbelievable. It seemed Lyle intended to keep lying.

“Of course I have. Mr. Lyle, you might want to be careful about talking so lightly about Duke Cameon. When it comes to him, I know more than even Duke Cameon himself.”

“…That’s an interesting claim. That Miss Dorothy knows the duke better than the duke knows himself.”

Dorothy replied confidently,
“It’s true.”

A lie.

“I genuinely know the duke better than he knows himself.”

How could that possibly make sense?
But following Robs’s meticulous script—about how liking someone leaves you half-crazy, swinging between excessive confidence and excessive self-loathing—she ended up saying it anyway.

“That’s a problem.”

Dark green eyes that somehow looked cold were staring straight at Dorothy. Or were they brown? What unusual eyes.
Every time the scattered sunlight touched them, they reflected a slightly different color. But the intensity within them remained unchanged, no matter the shade.

“I think Miss Dorothy doesn’t know the duke very well.”

There was an intimidating pressure in the way Lyle looked at her, as if he could see right through her.

“Is that so?”

But Dorothy wasn’t an easy opponent either. Without blinking even once, she met that scorching gaze head-on.
She had a record of defeating both Rexa and Robs at the same time in a staring contest. She’d won 2-on-1—so 1-on-1 was nothing.

“We’re not likely to see each other again anyway. Does it really matter?”

With a bright smile, Dorothy widened the emotional distance between them.

“I don’t think so,”
Lyle replied with a scoff.

What was with that? Annoying. His looks were refined, and his smile was admittedly attractive, but there was a strange sense that he was looking down on her. Was provoking discomfort another symptom of being a lunatic?

She’d won the staring contest, but she didn’t have the leisure to get into a physical fight with a stranger.
Dorothy decided to put even more distance between herself and Lyle—through actions as well as words. First, she needed to leave. This was absolutely not running away.

“Time’s flown by already. I think I should get going.”

She was about to give a conventional farewell, but suddenly, a completely unintended line slipped from her lips.

“Would you like an autograph?”

Oops.
Startled, Dorothy reflexively smacked her lips. She’d hit them lightly and thought it wouldn’t be noticeable, but judging by how intently Lyle was staring, he’d clearly seen it.

Loose lips, honestly. She’d just said they wouldn’t meet again—so where did an autograph come from?
She’d gotten so used to giving autographs whenever she left a place that offering one had practically become a habit. It just popped out without thinking. Was this an occupational hazard of being a writer?

“If you don’t want one, never mind.”

Contrary to her expectations, Lyle answered before she could hurry past him—laughing, no less.

“I’d appreciate one.”

Was he really that happy to get her autograph?
Dorothy looked at him blankly for a moment, then pulled a crumpled autograph sheet and a fountain pen from her handbag. She unfolded the paper with a few taps, but there was no wall or surface to lean on, making her posture unstable.

Letting out a soft sigh, she said to Lyle,
“Um, Mr. Lyle.”
“Yes?”
“Could I borrow your back?”
“…?”
“I can’t write properly like this.”

Though he stared at her with a look of disbelief at her boldly asking for his back while claiming it was awkward, Lyle obediently turned around.
Good grief—his back was as broad as a ranch. And why was he so tall?

Standing on tiptoe, Dorothy barely managed to place the paper against his back. She held the paper steady with one hand and gripped the fountain pen with the other.
The warmth seeping through her palm and the solid muscle beneath it—everything about it felt like the back of a well-raised horse. Made you want to cling to it.

“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No. I’m done.”

Though the posture was a bit awkward, thanks to the sturdy support, the autograph came out as neatly as if she’d written it on a desk.

“Here you go.”

Lyle accepted the autograph with both hands and asked,
“There’s no name written here.”

“Isn’t it better without one?”
If you’re going to sell it, that is. An autograph with the recipient’s name is usually just for personal keepsakes. Given how little trust he seemed to have in her, she’d half suspected he was an anti-fan.

Seeing Lyle silently staring down at the autograph, Dorothy softened.
He looked so disappointed. Was he actually a real fan? Hard to believe, but if he truly was, he might be a little hurt that his name wasn’t there.

Still, borrowing his back again just to add a name would be awkward.

Ah—if he was a fan, there was something better than a name.

Snatching the autograph back from Lyle, Dorothy asked,
“Shall I give you something better than a name?”
“Something better… like what…?”

I don’t usually offer this kind of service.
But, you know, like giving an extra slice of cake even to someone you dislike—I’m making an exception. He really hit the jackpot today, whether he realizes it or not.

Carefully checking the placement of the autograph, Dorothy lifted the paper to her face and planted a firm kiss right beside the signature.
A vivid lip print, perfectly shaped, bloomed next to the autograph in pink lipstick. Nice—it turned out well.
Admiring the cute kiss mark, Dorothy smiled with satisfaction.

“Here.”
“…”
“Go on.”

Lyle stared back and forth between Dorothy and the kiss mark with a stunned expression.

“…”
What’s the problem?

Dorothy firmly stuffed the autograph into his stiff hand. As she turned to leave, one last thought crossed her mind.
He did say he was a fan, after all. She decided to offer him one piece of advice.

“I’m telling you this just in case you go around lying elsewhere about being close to the duke.”
“?”
“Duke Cameon doesn’t have any friends. Anyway, goodbye.”

With that, Dorothy flashed him a sweet smile and turned her back on Lyle.
She’d said everything she wanted to say, and there was no reason to get tangled up with him anymore. Surely she’d never see that lunatic candidate again. With light steps, Dorothy headed toward the carriage.

However, Dorothy soon had to admit that she’d made a serious miscalculation.
A lunatic was a lunatic for a reason.

“Why do I have to ride in the same carriage as Mr. Lyle?”
Dorothy protested indignantly.

“Because there’s only one carriage,” the coachman had already explained several times.

“Then why,” Dorothy muttered,
“is there only one carriage in the first place?”