Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Was it just a coincidence?

Rose lifted her hand and stared at the black ring circling her index finger. The throbbing pain from earlier had completely faded; her finger felt fine now, and the ring—so ominous before—showed no sign of disturbance.

Maybe the pain she’d felt earlier had really been nothing. Or at least, she hoped that was true.

With that fragile sense of reassurance, Rose settled down beneath the covers, her body slowly sinking into the warmth of the bed.

I hope I can finally get a proper night’s sleep tonight…

[The Collapse of Morality and Ethics: The End Times Draw Near]
[A String of Murders with No Known Motive!]
[Dashfield Mayor Issues Official Apology After a Series of Tragedies]
[Copycat Crimes? The Public Grows Uneasy]

“Tch.”

Day after day, the headlines were filled with ominous reports.

James clicked his tongue and swiftly scanned the morning paper spread across the table. Articles denouncing the sudden rise in murder cases across the Kingdom of Endor blurred together until it became impossible to tell where truth ended and rumor began.

At least the company’s transport accident didn’t make the front page. How pathetic—to feel grateful for someone else’s misfortune.

The southern region’s troubles were anything but simple.

Somewhere along the line, the railway timetables had become tangled, resulting in several small but costly accidents. Reports were falsified to make the chaos seem nonexistent, while shipments remained stalled and goods rotted in storage. And with every delay came another lost contract, another chip of trust gone.

Was expanding into the transport business just my own greed?

He forced down a sip of the wretched, bitter coffee—drinking it not for taste, but simply to stay awake.

The Dautryche Company wouldn’t crumble over something like this; he knew that. Still, it was not something he could afford to overlook.

“S-sir, the corrections to the schedule will take another two days.”

“Two days. Two… days, you say.”

The southern branch manager wiped the sweat streaming down his bald head, his voice trembling.

The sound alone grated on James’s nerves. Useless idiot.

When he’d first received the report of this debacle, James had been momentarily speechless—stunned by the sheer incompetence.

He’d put this man in charge to fix problems, not to hide them.

“The culprit.”

“S-sir?”

“The one who tampered with the train schedules. Have you found them?”

“Ah, well—we’ve informed the police, of course, but, uh, we can’t pinpoint when it happened, so…”

James felt his blood pressure spike.

The man overseeing the entire southern branch knew nothing and could do nothing.

“Get out.”

“Pardon?”

“Now.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Worthless fool.

He had trusted the man’s spotless reports for too long, mistaking them for competence. That error would not be repeated. This wasn’t someone he could simply fire—he would be stripped clean of every last ounce of authority and held personally accountable.

“Philip should be sending me the final report from the southern ledgers any moment now…”

James glanced at the clock on the wall, irritation knotting in his chest.

How many days had it been?

What should have taken three, maybe four days, had now dragged into a full week—seven long days without seeing Rose. Seven days in which his unspent magic had built up like static, pricking at his nerves and disrupting his focus.

For heaven’s sake… this is absurd.

He leaned back with a sigh. The chair creaked beneath him, tilting as he stared blankly up at the ceiling fan turning lazily overhead.

Ceiling fan… I wonder if Triden Mansion gets too hot during the day. Rose isn’t good with heat, is she?

They exchanged telegrams every morning and night, but a few lines on a palm-sized sheet of paper could never tell him what he truly wanted to know—how she was really doing.

“‘The duck confit I had for lunch today was delicious. You’re eating properly too, right?’”

“Oh, absolutely. Today’s lunch was a soggy sandwich and shriveled pickles, but I’ll be sure to have a proper dinner,” he muttered dryly.

“‘I’ve asked Miss Iris Brown for a copy of the victims’ association list. She should be visiting soon!’”

“Efficient as ever. I didn’t know she had such diligence in her.”

“‘I toured the greenhouse with Maria today.’”

“No mention of enjoyment. I suppose flowers aren’t her thing.”

“‘All is well. When Miss Iris arrives, please make sure you return to Triden Mansion.’”

“Hm. Not a word about missing me—only that I should hurry back to meet someone else. How cruel.”

James smiled faintly as he reread the stack of telegrams neatly arranged on one corner of the desk. He’d read each one countless times, waiting for the next, reading and rereading them just to imagine her face. It had become his only means of unwinding.

“‘Which handkerchief did you mean? For the record, I still have both.’”

He chuckled softly. Could there be a more endearing reply than that?

His hand drifted to his jacket pocket, where a small, wrinkled handkerchief rested—Rose’s handkerchief, carefully folded and kept as if it were made of gold thread.

May the feeling I hold for you… mean something just as real to you.

Since founding his company, there had never been a challenge he couldn’t bend to his will. Even when things went wrong, he would reshape them until they pleased him. That was his gift.

But this—she—was different.

He had never imagined there would come a day when he’d have to handle something so cautiously, so delicately.

He’d thought their hearts were aligned. Yet every time he took a step closer, she retreated… only to surprise him by drawing near again. The inconsistency left him questioning even his own instincts for the first time in years.

And still, he didn’t hate it.

That uncertain, teasing distance between them—it made his chest ache, but it also made him feel alive.

Until the dangers surrounding her were gone, it was better, perhaps, to leave their relationship undefined.

His hand brushed lightly over the left side of his chest, where the soulmate bond mark was etched deep into his skin.

“May it truly be me,” he murmured quietly, “may I truly be the one fated to be her soulmate.”

May it not be a bond formed by accident or tragedy. May it never be something to undo.

He lingered in that thought for a long while, picturing her face in the dim lamplight, when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

A staff member entered, carrying a small bundle of mail.

“These are the documents from the secretary’s office, sir. And this one…”

James’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the unfamiliar envelope.

“Golden C. Raven, Director of the Institute of Energy Development?”

Strange. He knew that name.

As the head of a major conglomerate, James was no stranger to receiving countless letters—requests for investment, proposals from self-proclaimed inventors, even distant “relatives” asking for funds. But the Dautryche Company’s secretaries screened everything; only correspondence from reputable sources ever reached his desk.

“Apologies, sir. We must have missed that one during screening.”

“No—wait.”

James stopped the employee from clearing it away.

“It’s fine. I know who it’s from.”

Even before opening it, he could feel the faint pulse of magic seeping through the seal—one he recognized almost as clearly as Rose’s.

How clever of him, to slip a letter inside an official delivery. So this is what passes for subtlety among magicians.

He’d come to Egard quietly, without informing even his chief secretary, Philip Bonard, but he had left a single hint behind for one man—and that man had found him.

The one person capable of such a maneuver.

“Alphonse Crowley,” James murmured. “Or should I say, Director Crowley.”

He broke the wax seal. Inside lay a neatly written letter, beginning with polite formalities:

To the esteemed Mr. James R. Dautryche,

This is Golden C. Raven, Director of the Institute of Energy Development.

Please forgive the abruptness of this correspondence. I wish to express my gratitude for the insights you previously shared, and to inform you of recent developments and challenges within the Institute.

We have identified both the researchers and the companies responsible for leaking internal data; however, our competitors’ influence and funding far exceed expectations, leaving little time to explain in detail.

I regret my delayed report and the lack of decisive response to this situation. I shall endeavor to keep in closer contact through written correspondence henceforth.

Please also extend my regards to your fiancée.

With respect,
Golden C. Raven, Director of the Institute of Energy Development

P.S. I fear I may soon need to impose upon your generosity once again. I trust you will not forget either me or my Institute when that time comes.