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Chapter 17
“Oy…”
Dwayne pressed a hand to his forehead as if struck by a migraine.
The only consolation was that most of the nobles whose names were on the list were bottom-feeders—people whose sudden deaths wouldn’t surprise anyone.
“Please deal with the trash only once a day!”
Dwayne, the Grand Duke’s aide, was grumbling and lamenting his life when it happened.
The Grand Duke looked down at Aria, who was staring up at him.
“…”
“What is it?”
She rummaged through her bag, took out a card, and wrote:
[Father, thank you.]
“…”
Thank you—for killing someone?
Watching this unfold, Dwayne reached the only possible conclusion.
She is perfectly suited to be the Grand Duchess of Valentine.
I’m the only sane person in this entire castle.
Dwayne suddenly felt the urge to cry.
The Grand Duke, who read the card, found himself thinking the same thing as his aide for once:
Is that something to be thanked for?
He had expected her to finally break down crying after this incident. Her reaction was completely unexpected.
Perhaps this is what they call… endearing?
Before he realized it, he placed a hand atop her head.
Aria blinked, startled, then grabbed his hand. His strength was so overwhelming she could barely lift her head under the weight.
Why am I pressing down on a child’s head?
The Grand Duke stroked his chin, tilting his head lazily.
Aria’s eyes were wide open, her face clearly saying, ‘What are you doing?’
“Hm.”
He withdrew his hand.
Later, even he couldn’t explain why he had done that.
Aria continued visiting the Grand Duke every single day.
As her stay grew longer, the once barren office slowly filled with new things—starting with a child-sized sofa, then flowers, books, toys, dolls… the list never seemed to end.
Why did I buy all of that?
Tristan Valentine, the Grand Duke, genuinely didn’t understand it.
At first, he had only noticed how uncomfortable she looked, sleeping among the wolves.
They may be fluffy, but wolves have big bones and dense muscles.
So he bought her a soft, plush sofa she could melt into the moment she sat.
[Father, thank you.]
She gave him a bright smile, leaving behind another handwritten card. He didn’t forget to keep it.
Then he noticed she spent an awful lot of time staring blankly into space.
She looks bored.
All she did in the office was pet wolves, stare out the window, and fall asleep.
Once he noticed that, the rest happened quickly.
“The young lady seems to like flowers quite a bit,”
the head maid had hinted. So he bought some potted plants.
[Father, you’re the best!]
Aria spent the entire day staring at them, delighted.
Staring at plants… staring out the window… what difference is there?
He granted her library access so she could at least read something.
Her reaction exceeded every expectation.
[Father, you’re the coolest person in the world!]
She clutched the card with both hands, beaming as she bounced around.
This was the same child who remained calm even when her own father tried to sell her as a sacrifice.
It was the first time she had ever looked that happy.
From then on, Aria chose a book each day from the library and read quietly in his office.
Now she reads all day.
Window, plants, books—he had merely shifted her obsession each time.
But to Tristan, it still looked like something was missing.
Which is how he ended up buying the most popular toy shop in the capital.
I’ve clearly gone mad.
And yet…
She doesn’t even seem to like them that much.
He glared at a giant teddy bear occupying half the office—until Aria toddled over and leaned against it with contentment.
Maybe buying the shop wasn’t a mistake after all.
But still—
“Something is missing.”
“Sir? What more could possibly be missing?”
Is this a ducal office or a children’s playground?
Dwayne’s face screamed the question.
Tristan ignored him.
“Light this.”
He brought a cigarette to his lips and gestured for Dwayne to light it—then froze, glancing toward Aria.
“No. Don’t.”
He kept the cigarette unlit.
Their eyes met. Aria, half-asleep, blinked wide awake. She rummaged through her things and brought back a glass bottle filled with colorful sugar crystals.
[I’ll give you this.]
Her pink-sapphire eyes sparkled as she looked up at him.
A gift?
“What is this?”
[Star candy.]
“Candy? You eat tiny things like this?”
He eyed both bottle and child skeptically, the same expression one shows when a stray cat proudly presents a dead mouse.
“You expect me to eat it?”
Aria nodded.
Tristan tossed the cigarette aside and dumped the star candies into his mouth.
It was just sugar.
What’s supposed to be enjoyable about this?
Then he realized it was the same bottle Aria always carried with her.
She had given him something she precious enough to bring every day.
Hmph. Kids like sweets…
He finally understood what was missing.
With strange satisfaction, he took the card and the bottle, intending to order the kitchen to prepare different desserts each day.
But before he could—
“The young lady… aside from soup, she can hardly eat anything,” the chef confessed anxiously.
“She can’t eat desserts either—except for a few drinks or candies…”
Tristan’s expression hardened.
“So.”
The Grand Duke tilted his head lazily, cigarette between his lips.
“Speak. I’ll listen.”
“Your Grace, the young lady is indeed malnourished, but she has no physical disorders. Her body rejects food because, in most cases…”
“The point.”
The summoned physician flinched, sweating as he rushed his explanation.
“It is psychological, Your Grace.”
“Psychological?”
Cure, Aria’s assigned physician, felt wronged.
The Valentine estate had more than ten resident doctors—but all specialized in treating physical trauma.
It made sense. Every Valentine had numb nerves and terrifying personalities. They simply removed anything that bothered them—object or person—then erased it from memory.
The young lady, however… her heart hurts.
Cure knew emotional wounds were a completely different field.
“There is no formal concept of ‘psychotherapy’ yet, but there is research—using conversation to promote psychological growth—”
But Aria refused to talk. She avoided anything that revealed herself.
“Patients who cannot swallow food often swallow something else instead.”
“What?”
“Emotion. Joy, sorrow, anger, irritation…”
The Grand Duke tapped ash onto the carpet, looking unimpressed.
He was a monster unmatched in every field—except empathy, where he failed miserably.
“When resentment fills them up, there’s no room for food.”
“Speak plainly.”
“She doesn’t laugh when she wants to laugh, nor cry when she wants to cry.”
Cure continued, “Unless she expresses everything piled inside, she cannot recover.”
“You know quite a bit.”
“T-Theoretically, yes—”
“And yet you’ve failed to cure her?”
“…Pardon?”
Cure’s pupils trembled violently. He collapsed to his knees, shaking like a leaf.
The Grand Duke crushed the lit cigarette against Cure’s white coat.
Ssssst—
The burning fabric hissed. Cure’s face turned deathly pale.
He couldn’t feel pain—Valentines never did—but the sheer terror was enough to make him faint.
The Grand Duke leaned back lazily.
“Dispose of him.”
“Your Grace! Please spare me!”
Black Hawks—elite assassins—stepped forward and dragged the doctor away. His screams echoed as he disappeared.
Watching, Dwayne leaned in and whispered:
“Your Grace.”
“What.”
“That physician is the only one who discovered the cause of the young lady’s eating issues.”
“So?”
“This field is still unknown. If you kill him, treatment may become impossible.”
“…”
Tristan fell silent.
Finally, after lighting a new cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke, he muttered:
“…Bring him back.”
The Hawks obediently dragged the trembling physician back.
“And although he failed,” Dwayne continued, “Your Grace might be able to heal the young lady’s heart.”
Me?
Everyone stared at Dwayne as though he’d gone mad. Even the Grand Duke himself asked:
“Me?”
“Yes. The young lady has opened her heart to you—she even gave you her cherished star candy.”
“Hm…”
“She has nowhere safe to settle. Why not provide that place, Your Grace?”
It made sense.
Tristan remembered the cards Aria had given him—calling him the best father, the coolest person in the world…
She said being beside me makes her feel safe.
She was relying on him emotionally.
“It’s almost time for the brat to come.”
He stood, as though his work here was finished, and strolled out of the basement.
Cure, barely alive, watched his departing figure and collapsed in relief.
