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Chapter 9
“No… how could you say something like that…?”
The golden, brilliant eyes staring directly at her, combined with his tightly pressed lips, felt like genuine sincerity.
Flustered, Kalia stared intently at Shaiman, trying to determine whether he was serious or not.
Shaiman paused for a moment, then twisted one corner of his mouth into a smirk.
“I’m joking.”
“…No, that’s not it. I don’t think he’s joking.”
But thinking it over, there was no way Shaiman would start a war just to see her face more often. He wasn’t that idle a person, and he had no reason to do so.
Kalia reluctantly let go of the lingering doubts and smiled at him, replying casually, “Right?”
He stood there like a frivolous young noble from some aristocratic family, his white shirt half-unbuttoned, hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugged.
“But I do feel like I could do it if I wanted to.”
“……”
“At the moment, I feel like smashing something.”
Though he smiled, his voice betrayed an unmistakable irritation.
As Shaiman said, even after meeting after so long, he still didn’t seem in a good mood.
In fact, ever since that day, Shaiman had been in a bad mood… Apparently, what happened that day had never sat right with him.
Kalia felt frustrated because it wasn’t solely her fault, but she could fully understand Shaiman’s anger. After all, a trusted friend had done something so brazenly shameless—how could he not feel utterly devastated?
‘I really am trash,’ she thought, recalling the undeniable past.
But she quickly pulled herself together.
“No. I can’t keep thinking like this. My gloomy thoughts might reach the baby. Focus. My body and mind aren’t mine alone anymore.”
As she clenched her fists tightly, Shaiman, staring sharply at her, finally spoke.
“Were you on your way to see the Crown Prince?”
Kalia lightly nodded in affirmation, hesitated, then spoke.
“I… Shaiman.”
“Say it.”
At his cold tone, Kalia took a deep breath and, with a face as honest as could be, quickly blurted out,
“I’ll say it again, I’m really sorry about that day. And it was my first time, so I didn’t know I’d make you so miserable… That you couldn’t even get out of bed. You know I’m just a strong idiot, right?”
“Wait a second.”
Shaiman quickly raised a hand to stop her.
“Who couldn’t get out of bed because they were miserable?”
His face was pale enough to look almost ghostly, and he ground his teeth in anger.
“…Huh?”
“You… what on earth do you take me for…!”
Yet, contrary to his pale face, Shaiman’s ears were blazing red.
‘His ears are red?’
Shaiman blushing from embarrassment was rare, and Kalia couldn’t hide her confusion.
‘…Why?’
She tilted her head slightly, unsure what to make of it, and held her chin while staring at him closely.
Shaiman, as if calming his anger, ruffled his beautiful silver hair in the moonlight. Stray strands fell over his neat, clear forehead.
He took a deep, chest-heaving breath and said in a restrained voice,
“And please, stop saying ‘sorry,’ Kalia.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t need to feel sorry for me at all, so just stop saying it.”
He muttered harshly through gritted teeth.
While Kalia froze, unsure what to say, Shaiman muttered irritably as if still incredulous,
“Hah! Me? You mean Shaiman Terloanne couldn’t get out of bed just because of the night before?”
“…No, not until the next day.”
“Shut up. That’s not ‘couldn’t get up,’ that’s… enjoying the state…”
Shaiman, frustrated and shouting, bit his lips and stopped mid-sentence.
He exhaled another deep breath he had let out several times before and looked up at the sky.
“…Oh, God.”
A deep sadness laced his voice.
After calming slightly, he spoke again.
“…It’s not that you couldn’t get down, Kalia. You just didn’t get down. Don’t ignore the difference.”
‘Couldn’t get down, didn’t get down… What’s the difference anyway?’
Pouting, Kalia nodded quickly under his fiery gaze.
“Okay, fine. Anyway, I said I’m sorry.”
“…I told you not to, Kalia.”
Shaiman growled roughly again.
If he’s going to get angry, why does he tell me not to apologize? Kalia felt a little annoyed herself; it was all too bothersome. She’d rather spend this time gently rubbing her stomach in peace.
Reading her expression, Shaiman let out a short sigh and, with a softened voice, called her name.
“Kalia.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I got the title of Archmage for no reason?”
‘…Why is he asking that?’
Kalia couldn’t grasp what he meant and tilted her head in thought. Shaiman ruffled his silver hair and explained bitterly,
“I don’t fall for some scroll’s spell that easily.”
Kalia tilted her head, confused.
“But you were excited that day, weren’t you?”
“No, that was—”
“You weren’t in your right mind either. Shaiman, something happened between us. How could that have happened…?”
Kalia realized she had gotten overly excited, took a moment to calm down, then continued,
“Anyway, Derick’s scroll is dangerous—it even turns friendship into desire!”
Shaiman looked at her, dumbfounded and speechless. Then, annoyed by something, his expression twisted.
Unable to contain his rising emotions, he cast a short spell, sending lightning into the center of the royal garden.
A massive bolt of lightning struck behind him.
Crash! Boom!
“…Again. That bastard destroyed another part of the royal garden.”
Thankfully, there was magic to repair the damage.
Seeing Kalia’s stunned expression, Shaiman gritted his teeth and spoke quickly,
“What do you expect me to say now, you blockhead? I’ll explain calmly later. Don’t go anywhere for now. I have to go fix the defensive magic for two weeks. When I come back, I’ll explain everything. Wait, understood?”
‘Two weeks? Hmm…’
Kalia was troubled but nodded after seeing his burning gaze.
Finally satisfied, Shaiman turned away.
Impulsively, Kalia called out as she watched his back.
“Shaiman.”
He turned, as if asking why, and Kalia hesitated briefly. But having called him, she couldn’t retreat.
“Do… you still dislike children?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
Shaiman stared at her, trying to read her hidden intentions. Kalia awkwardly smiled and added,
“You’re starting to talk about marriage soon. You’d think about kids when that happens… I wondered if you still disliked them.”
Shaiman had long disliked children. If Kalia mentioned them, he would physically recoil and avoid the conversation. Whether infants or older children, he’d move her elsewhere.
Yet Kalia wondered—would it be different if it were his own child?
Shaiman stared at her with an inscrutable expression, then fell silent, as if lost in thought.
Finally, he spoke.
“I still dislike them. And I probably always will.”
His firm words froze Kalia, and she stared at him, stunned.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve recently wanted to marry, but that doesn’t mean I want kids. So there’s no need for children.”
‘As I thought.’
Seeing Kalia sigh, Shaiman squinted slightly and said curtly,
“Why bother worrying?”
‘Well, because your child is in my belly, you idiot…’
“Anyway, I’m leaving.”
Kalia watched Shaiman’s departing figure and resolved once more: she wouldn’t speak about children to him.
“…Huff.”
Shaiman paused just before entering the lobby, turning slightly to look at Kalia walking ahead.
Her lemon-colored hair, tied high without a single stray strand, shimmered in the moonlight.
The moonlight cut through the darkness and wrapped around her, like sunlight piercing the night to shine solely on her.
Her posture was perfect, back straight, chin up, face forward—a woman honest to a fault.
Despite her soft hair, her hands were calloused and strong. Her shoulders bore arrow scars, her abdomen bore a long cut from her training, and her right arm showed marks of being torn and reattached.
Shaiman had spent three days and nights using magic to mend her body, yet some traces remained. Scars she would carry for life.
They were her glory, the evidence of her effort, and proof of who she was now.
Unlike other aristocratic ladies, Kalia wasn’t ashamed of her rough, calloused hands.
Foolish nobles had mocked her as “Iron Lady Kalia,” but such words didn’t even touch her.
Shaiman found it fortunate—her lack of concern for gossip and her bluntness meant her heart remained intact despite her scarred body.
“…What a dense woman.”
He found that amusing and chuckled softly.
A small, right-angled box rolled in his palm as he reached into his pocket, reminding him of Kalia’s words:
‘You’re starting to talk about marriage soon. You’d think about kids…’
…If dense Kalia said that, she must be thinking about something.
‘Princess Luina of Eins.’
Shaiman frowned, recalling that morning.
