Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Ever since becoming aware of sharing mana with Rose, James had been consciously holding back, carefully controlling the magic flowing into her. Even so, it felt like it was threatening to spill over, roiling inside him.

He wanted to grab her and flood her with everything in him.

‘I’m turning into an animal.’

Even James could admit he’d been extremely irrational lately. Granted, that irrationality was confined to his private life—he could still claim to have kept his head in business.

And the cause of all these impulsive choices, which were unlike James Dautryche at all, sat right there in front of him: Rose Taylor.

So he’d broken his own rule about not touching virgins even when playing the rake—was that really such an unforgivable sin?

It wasn’t as if he’d forced her; they had both agreed to spend that night together.

There had been no reason at all to go hunting her down with marriage paperwork in hand.

Yet James had done so without a second thought.

And he hadn’t stopped there—he’d jumped headlong into every ensuing complication, even following her all the way to her family’s home on Hilsey Island.

Why?

Was he afraid of gossip in high society? Or worried that Minister Crowley might refuse his contract?

If he’d really cared about reputation and management, he’d have locked himself away in his company and never left.

‘And I wouldn’t have stolen the business from my father that way, either.’

He could offer endless excuses.

To be a gentleman and take responsibility. To discover the meaning behind the mysterious mark etched onto his skin. To investigate any possible criminal connections.

‘To avoid making the same mistakes as my father.’

James thought of his father. Then his mother’s memory followed, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

But if he set his parents aside?

He watched Rose, who was devouring her meal with innocent delight.

Not the haughty, enigmatic Olga Blavatsky, but the true Rose Taylor was… how to put it…

“A rabbit.”

“A rabbit?”

“Just talking to myself.”

Her wide eyes were round and shining, like a newborn bunny—adorable, helpless.

And her soft, innocent looks were like the plushest fur, conjuring the image of a vulnerable prey animal at the bottom of the food chain.

Yet the Rose Taylor he had come to know was no harmless herbivore.

What about when something blocked her path? She was hot-tempered and impulsive—a furious rabbit through and through.

When angry, she’d stomp her feet, gnaw at iron bars, throw her water bowl, even bite until she drew blood.

Both front and back paws, all in, a fiercely combative rabbit.

‘God. I actually find this charming?’

They said exhaustion could warp your senses; maybe this was exactly that.

He suddenly remembered a children’s story he’d read long ago.

About a protagonist chasing a talking white rabbit and falling down its burrow into a strange world.

James felt like he was that protagonist.

Hadn’t he literally chased this Rose Taylor rabbit straight into the absurd world of “wizards” and magic?

“Rose. May I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Since Mythosi use magic, would it be accurate to call you a… witch?”

Rose’s large eyes shook violently at the question.

“Good heavens. Mr. Dautryche. That’s an incredibly offensive thing to say…”

She set her spoon down with an audible clack, her expression going grave.

“‘Witch’ is a slur. It’s discriminatory language.”

James frowned slightly.

“I see. I didn’t realize—it was rude of me. Rose, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you just this once since you really don’t know the customs here. But never use that word with a Mythos woman again.”

She pointedly scolded him with that earnest frown.

James gave a small nod.

“Then what should I call someone like you?”

“Me? Nothing special. I’m just Mythos. It’s not a big deal. A person’s a person.”

Her words struck James with a quiet shock.

“I see… a person is a person.”

It sounded like the moral at the end of a fairytale.

That all those strange happenings were just a dream reflecting reality.

That all the weird creatures in the bizarre land had been ordinary people all along.

This world, divided into Mythosi and Logosi, was still hard for him to accept—even after sleeping on it.

But in the end, that division seemed almost laughable. Mythosi, Logosi, even Revis—they were all people.

People who ate, slept, and obeyed for a single gold coin.

His thoughts settled, and James rose from his chair.

“I have something to prepare. Please excuse me.”

“Prepare?”

“I need to send instructions ahead to Romberton about our… cohabitation.”

Rose’s spoon clattered loudly to the floor at his casual use of that word.

But James didn’t care. He just walked briskly out of the dining room, calling over his shoulder:

“I’ll borrow the phone before the rain gets any worse.”

It was a loud night, rain pelting the windows in heavy sheets.

Back in her childhood room for the first time in five years, Rose lay in bed, trying to sleep.

After ten futile minutes, she gave up and sat up with a sigh.

Lighting the oil lamp, she went to the stack of books she’d set aside to take to Romberton.

‘If I read something boring, maybe I’ll get sleepy.’

She flipped through everything from Elementary Magical Theory—which she’d mastered before age ten—to various dictionaries and reference texts.

Rose picked up the thick volume on top: Advanced Magical Theory—Applied Edition.

Most Mythosi finished that one before twenty, but she had run away at seventeen, so she’d never even opened it.

“Ugh. These applied formulas are insane…”

Five years away from study had left a bigger gap than she’d expected.

She sighed, realizing she’d have to start from the elementary textbooks again when she got back to Romberton, and kept turning pages.

Flap.

Something fell out from between the pages onto the floor.

A photograph.

“…It’s me?”

In the palm-sized picture, she looked about six or seven years old, smiling brightly while hugging a rabbit doll.

‘To our beloved Rose. Happy seventh birthday! —Mother and Father.’

The gold-ink message on the photo felt foreign.

In fact, everything about the picture felt unfamiliar.

‘When did I ever take this? Did I really have that doll? Why was this stuck in such an advanced textbook?’

She strained to remember, but everything about that birthday more than ten years ago was a blur.

“Ugh!”

A stabbing headache hit her suddenly.

Rose pressed her fingers to her temple, grimacing.

‘Is it just the rain?’

She chewed and swallowed a pinch of herb from her desk with mild pain-relieving properties.

‘Who remembers everything from when they were that little?’

She turned the photo over and tucked it into her red notebook.

Then she gently stroked the notebook’s cover with aching affection.

“Father.”

The ring on her right hand glinted in the lamp’s flickering light.

“Mother.”

She couldn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t remember, but… thank you for letting me find these memories.”

Clutching the notebook to her chest, she sobbed quietly.

‘To our beloved Rosie. We hope you’ll one day understand that this was a decision made so you could live without fear. That no matter the result, we never wanted you to lose your love for this world.’

‘Even if the worst happens and we can’t stay by your side, know this, our beloved daughter: though it may be hard to believe, we will always be with you. Please, believe that.’

A world where she could live without fear.

Her parents had sacrificed themselves to make that world.

Yet in her previous life, she hadn’t understood that. She’d become the key to its destruction, summoning Ahadpessera, the demon of ruin.

“But this time is different. The world won’t end. I’ll make sure of it… definitely…”

She had to.

She had even spent the night with James Dautryche for that.

By dawn, the storm had vanished as though it had never been. Brilliant sunlight streamed down from the early morning sky.

Colors seemed to leap back to life; the mansion’s gardens, so gloomy the day before, now shone with a lush, fresh green.

After soothing a weeping Annis, Rose finally stepped outside.

At the front entrance, the butler George and the few remaining staff were all lined up to see her off.

“Good morning, Rose.”

Waiting beside the carriage was James, immaculate as ever.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Thanks to you, I got some rest.”

He said it politely enough, though it wasn’t exactly true.

“Mr. Dautryche. May I have a word with you?”

Because late that night, the butler George had come knocking on his door.