TINOT 13

Chapter: 13

Although she was grateful that he listened to her, Lysithea wanted to hear what this man truly thought.

“I want to know what color your world is. And I want to know what you meant when you said revenge is for those who must live tomorrow.”

At her urging, Diarmuid smiled awkwardly.

“Revenge is not turning away from the problems that happened to you, but trying to solve them. I think that’s courage. Facing the problem instead of avoiding it.”

There were people whose eyes shone with life, unlike cowardly people like himself.

Those who, even when crushed by life, struggled desperately to keep living.

Diarmuid liked those people.

“That kind of courage can only belong to those who haven’t given up on tomorrow. Because they haven’t given up, they can’t leave the problems inside them alone.”

His gaze narrowed as if dazzled, staring at Lysithea.

“Then what does tomorrow hold for you, Your Majesty?”

Lysithea asked, thinking of the tomorrow that seemed too much for revenge.

“I’m a relic. What kind of tomorrow can remain for something left behind?”

Lysithea finally understood the meaning of this mansion.

This mansion was the tomb of a man who called himself a relic.

A man who was alive but already dead in every way.

He was the complete opposite of the man she knew—who, even while near death, schemed and plotted.

But today’s meeting was not unpleasant.

A man who did not pity harsh misfortune, and who said revenge was for tomorrow, left quite an impression.

He was the first twist in her life—someone who made her dream the same dream twice, yet did not move according to her dream.

Wasn’t it okay for at least one person to step out of the predetermined story and live as they wished?

Lysithea stood up and bowed deeply in respect for the royal family.

“If that is your will, Your Majesty, I will no longer trouble you. Please forgive my rude visit today…”

Her apology was left unfinished.

The sounds around her grew distant, her vision darkened, and her breath became trapped.

The dreadful seizure began.

***

Lysithea regained consciousness with the familiar pain, like her head was being prodded.

She forced her mouth open and a cracked voice she didn’t want to hear came out.

She sensed movement beside her, as if someone realized she had woken.

“If you’re in pain, you should say so. Why do you endure until you faint? That’s foolish.”

His voice was scolding, but filled with concern, making her feel oddly uneasy.

She could laugh off Marie’s fuss, but she didn’t know how to respond to a stranger’s worry.

“…I caused you trouble.”

Lysithea’s answer came out, but he seemed displeased by it, and sighed deeply.

“How can pain be trouble? You can’t even stand up?”

He reached out as if to help her sit up.

“….”

She had no reason to be unable to support her own body; nothing was broken.

Because of his exaggerated concern, she hurriedly sat up and leaned against the headboard.

Seeing her move quickly, he chuckled and reached out.

“Your fever has almost gone down.”

His large, well-shaped hand touched her forehead. The cool sensation made the remaining heat fade away.

Because a couple of shirt strings were loose, Lysithea’s gaze accidentally landed on his chest.

Feeling that she shouldn’t stare, she quickly turned her eyes away.

Then she saw her handbag, scattered among his belongings.

He quickly explained after removing his hand from her forehead.

“Oh, I was searching for your medicine and messed with your things. Sorry.”

“No, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

The bed area showed clear evidence of care: scattered medicine, wet towels, and other items.

Even if she was not the friendliest person, she wasn’t the kind to harshly demand repayment from someone who saved her life.

He seemed too kind to leave a fainted person alone, but she couldn’t understand why he had personally cared for her.

“I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“I didn’t think it was troublesome. I just wasn’t very good at it, so I didn’t help much.”

He groaned and wiped his face.

“No, you helped a lot. I feel much better. It’s unbelievable.”

It was true.

Despite the messy surroundings, Lysithea’s condition had improved significantly—one of the best she’d felt in a long time.

“That’s good then.”

Diarmuid sighed in relief and smiled as if wrinkling his nose.

“It was terrible that no one was here when this happened.”

“I thought you didn’t keep servants.”

“That’s impossible. I can only live alone for a week at most. Even then, I’m just eating what’s already prepared.”

Indeed, it made no sense that a mansion this large had no servants.

So why was no one here today?

He seemed to read her confusion and answered.

“During this time of year, I don’t keep anyone with me for about a week.”

This time of year? Suddenly, something came to Lysithea’s mind.

Ah—

Lysithea unconsciously made a quiet sound.

April 5th, two days from now, was the anniversary of Diarmuid’s mother, Crown Princess Rueira’s death.

“Don’t look like that. It’s just the day that comes every year.”

What kind of expression was she making? Lysithea touched her face.

She felt her face and found it unchanged—still the same cold, blunt expression that made people call her unfriendly.

If anyone saw anything else in that face, it was because they were unusually kind.

His gentle nature allowed him to find softness and pity even in her cold face.

Speaking of his own pain, he continued in a calm voice.

“That’s why I don’t keep anyone with me during this time. Everyone pretends to be fine.”

Diarmuid had learned that some wounds hurt more the more they were shown.

Like holding each other while wrapped in thorns—your wounds stabbing others, and theirs stabbing you.

He no longer wanted to see people pity him, apologize, or hide resentment that made them blame themselves.

He had been alone around his mother’s death anniversary for eight years.

But…

“Do you know what this medicine is?”

He held the painkiller he’d found in Lysithea’s belongings.

Diarmuid’s close aides, who didn’t trust the Emperor, had taught him about medicines and poisons when he was young.

He had continued studying, and had acquired medical knowledge equivalent to a competent doctor.

The painkiller Lysithea had was strong but could damage the digestive system if taken long-term, so it was limited to specific use.

Like relieving the pain of someone who had given up on life.

“…Yes.”

Lysithea knew that fact.

The doctor had explained it to her several times.

“I haven’t heard that you were sick.”

Even if he stayed hidden in this mansion, Diarmuid never neglected social updates.

Among the information he gathered, there was no mention of the Aster Marquis family’s eldest daughter being ill.

“Because I didn’t tell anyone.”

Her face and voice were no different from when she had spoken about the deal with him.

On her dry, resigned face, a young, desperate face appeared—collapsing in despair.

Diarmuid regretted thinking of that face in the first place.

But there was no way to undo it now.

Seeing that she had started taking the medicine, she likely had only about a year left.

If he sent her away now, he would regret it for a long time.

It felt unbearable to refuse the request of someone who was going to die without even hearing her out.

“Earlier, you said you didn’t want me to know why you were trying to hand over the Cullinan Mine. I’m canceling that. Will you tell me the reason?”

Lysithea blinked, startled by his sudden change.

‘He was so decisive earlier… could it be because I’m dying?’

She looked at him, and he smiled as if to reassure her.

As she guessed, this man was indeed one of the most generous people in history.

What works best on a generous person?

Not rational persuasion, not beneficial deals, not harsh threats.

It was pleading for pity.

Perhaps this man was a genius at finding pity even in the uncle who had stolen the crown that rightfully belonged to him.

“Your Majesty, in the end, you take my hand.”

He, who had once let go, now walked into her net.

He was the one who threw away the chance to escape the predetermined story.

“…You don’t need me to explain my situation in detail. You probably already know.”

Like Diarmuid’s tragedy, the circumstances around Lysithea were also well known.

“How will my family remember me when I die? Will they even think of me for even a moment?”

Sometimes Lysithea imagined her own funeral.

It would probably be no different from her mother’s.

As if sadness was a luxury, her mother had ended her life dryly and coldly.

“My death won’t cause them any disturbance. So I want to make sure they never forget it.”

She couldn’t bear the thought that they might gain something from her death.

So Lysithea planned to take the Cullinan Mine away from the Asters forever.

“So that they remember me for a long time—deeply.”

Every time they saw what they lost, they would feel some sadness.

Thinking of that made her wish she could live longer.