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Chapter : 12
A Reunion, Someday
A massive shadow fell over her from the crown of her head. Even after all this time, the smooth, threatening face bore a crooked smile. Startled by that peculiar impression, Alferil took a step back and spoke.
“Starting tomorrow, could you please stop calling me ‘young master’?”
Yet when she tried to move her tongue, she couldn’t think of a suitable form of address. Sir wouldn’t do—he probably didn’t even hold a knightly title.
Young lord? Wouldn’t that sound like mockery toward a man who was an illegitimate son of a ducal house? After hesitating for quite a while, Alferil looked up at Terencio and said,
“Good… evening, Master.”
It seemed like a reasonably wise response. Quietly praising herself for her quick thinking, Alferil carefully gauged his mood.
Terencio was staring at her with an expression of rare disgust.
The young master lightly furrowed his clean forehead, glanced off into the distance for a moment, then faced her again and let out a low breath. His long right arm extended toward her.
“You’re giving me a headache. Support me.”
Without giving Alferil even a moment to hesitate, the man seized her hand, placed it atop his palm—easily twice the size of hers—and clasped it. Every movement was carried out with disconcerting nonchalance.
“What is all this about?”
“Good question. What is it about?”
Maintaining the utmost politeness and composure, Alferil asked a question that technically violated etiquette. The young master, as if such things didn’t concern him, led her toward his room. Catching sight of the strange look on her face, he added an excuse.
“I might collapse. So hold on.”
The awkward distance that had lingered for days vanished in an instant with his sudden behavior. Dragged along to match his stride, Alferil struggled to steady her clumsy steps and asked,
“Young master?”
“Mm.”
Terencio replied as though exhaling a held breath. The shadows beneath his eyes were deep again today. Thinking that prodding a sick person wouldn’t change anything, Alferil endured his persistent gaze.
His eyes—clearly attempting something far beyond mere support—lingered over every part of her face. The last time he had told her to grab him, he’d shown open displeasure; now, since morning, he was initiating inexplicable contact?
Suspicion crept in. Terencio looked at her eyes and fingers as though he were reminding himself that Alferil was really here.
He suddenly slowed to a stop. Still gripping her hand tightly, he seemed lost in thought. His face, devoid of irritation or sharpness, looked almost boyish.
“Are you drunk?”
Unable to endure the uncomfortable air any longer, Alferil asked. Her ears burned with the desire to pull free of his touch. Terencio answered with an unreadable expression.
“I was last time. Today, I’m perfectly fine.”
Before she could argue further, the young master released her hand. His retreating back looked more energetic than before. A lingering warmth drifted in her palm.
He dragged over a chair that looked as though it had been sitting in that corner for ages and tilted his head, signaling her to sit. His vivid crimson hair caught the fading sunset.
“Sit. Since I composed this piece thanks to you, you should be the first to hear it.”
“I… pardon? What did you just say?”
Alferil doubted her ears. Terencio, seemingly uninterested in answering, quietly lifted his chest once, then placed his hands on the open piano.
He gazed at the keys as though he might begin playing at any moment. His straight, elegant posture resembled a large wild dog.
Frowning faintly, Alferil smacked her lips as she replayed what felt like a hallucination, then sharpened her focus again. Terencio’s uncharacteristic hesitation and concentration made her tense along with him.
He seemed the embodiment of the phrase eccentric genius. There was undeniably something about him that drew in people’s gazes. In front of the young master, she always felt stiff down to her toes.
The situation was sudden, but not entirely frightening. Since her first day at the estate, Alferil had avoided the upper floors, forced to steal only fragments of sound muffled by walls rather than hear a proper performance.
Forgetting the shocking words she’d just heard, anticipation bloomed on her face as she focused. The precarious tension built, as though music were about to break the silence—
“Damn it. No, this won’t do.”
Cursing irritably, Terencio kicked back his chair and stood. As he dragged a hand over his shadowed face, Alferil’s expression briefly collapsed behind him.
“Is there a problem?”
“The final second movement… it’s not finished yet. I thought I could do it now.”
To hide the faint disappointment that must have shown on her face, Alferil glanced sideways toward where he sat.
The handwriting scrawled across the scattered sheet music was chaotic. He’d said he hadn’t been drinking, yet the young master—who’d been muttering strange things earlier—now had reddened ears, as though he were quite drunk after all.
“At least you didn’t throw the chair this time.”
She joked lightly, trying to lift the mood. Judging from experience, he seemed like the sort of noble who couldn’t control his violence.
“Someone might step on the broken pieces.”
Terencio replied offhandedly. Alferil, feeling an inexplicable awkwardness, avoided his eyes.
“Um… is there some reason you need to finish the piece in such a hurry? This might be presumptuous, but sometimes letting go instead of rushing can help efficiency.”
Setting aside her regret, Alferil picked up the tray she’d left on the table.
Most of the dishes by the door were clean. Now that she looked again, Terencio’s gaunt face seemed to have regained a hint of color. Relieved that her effort hadn’t been entirely useless, she said,
“Thank you, young master. Then I’ll be going now—”
“Where are you going?”
Was calling her here merely a passing whim? As Alferil tried to gauge his unfathomable thoughts and rose to her feet, the man lowered the hand that had been rubbing his forehead and looked at her.
“To do my work…”
“What work do you have?”
With long strides, he closed the distance between them in an instant. Suddenly, Terencio’s brows knit together. His gaze settled on the small wound on the hand protruding from the tray.
“What happened to this?”
It was an injury she’d gotten days ago when she tripped carrying laundry. Alferil hid her pale hand behind her back.
“It’s nothing.”
“Alfe, don’t try to hide it. How is this ‘nothing’?”
Lifting his gaze, he clung stubbornly to her words. Loosening his grip slightly, Terencio seized her wrist. A thin scar crossed her palm.
“It’s not serious. Not something you need to worry about, young master.”
Despite the intimidation of his large frame, perhaps because of his oddly clumsy behavior, Alferil realized she had stopped trembling in front of him without even noticing. Compared to the former duke or Lord Leopold, he was relatively less frightening.
Still, no matter who it was, being pressed like this inevitably caused tension.
The man’s gaze shifted toward the open doorway. In the next moment, Terencio released her wrist and walked into the corridor. Taking in the noticeably tidier interior, he let out a baffled scoff.
“I’m pretty sure I told you not to make a fuss.”
“I was careful not to make noise, just as you said.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you doing hard labor like a maid of this estate?”
Startled by the young master’s inexplicable protectiveness, Alferil replied with confused eyes. If she wasn’t even a maid, then under what status was she staying here?
“I’m a serf bound to the House of Heron. A woman of even lower status than a maid.”
Terencio shot her an irritated look, then let out a heavy sigh.
“Either way, stop it immediately. Once a week is enough—you can call the servants from the annex.”
“There’s no need to trouble yourself like that. It’s not work that’s beyond me.”
She’d almost mistaken his brusque tone, but in the end, he was telling her to sweat less for his sake. At that incomprehensible reaction, the words that had risen to her throat returned to the tip of her tongue.
“Young master. Earlier, you said you completed a piece of music thanks to me.”
It was a question asked without thinking. Regaining her breath, surprised even at herself, Alferil slowly pressed on. Despite the impossible question, the man stared at her with an unreadable expression.
“Please answer me. I didn’t mishear you, did I?”
That expression again. You’ve done nothing wrong. Then why were you angry? The silence that had answered her timid question before—silence that had seemed to pierce her to the bone.
But this was a different question entirely. Alferil did not retreat.
“Have we… met before?”
