Chapter 22
“Sister, sister! The capital’s been feeling a bit tense lately.”
“The Imperial Army is returning victorious—why would it feel tense? Everyone’s in a celebratory mood.”
“Nuh-uh, not that!”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Today too, lovely Rose smiled with flushed cheeks, her lips curling in mischief.
I didn’t know where she’d been or what she’d done, but she had grass stuck to her cheek. I sighed and brushed it off for her.
‘Sigh. Did you roll around in a meadow again?’
“Lyra told me! Someone died again yesterday. Who’s going around killing people for fun?”
“Murder?”
“Yup!”
“Rose, why are you so interested in things like that?”
I didn’t like that she showed any interest in such grim stories.
I tapped her nose playfully but spoke firmly.
“There are crazy people everywhere in the world. Just ignore it. What matters most to us now is your debutante.”
“Tch! That’s so boring, sister.”
Rose puffed out her cheeks and pouted like a fish. Who would ever guess this child was turning twenty this year?
“And it’s shocking, isn’t it? I always thought the Imperial Capital was supposed to be safe!”
“…That’s true.”
A murder case in this sparkling, romantic world? It definitely didn’t fit the tone.
Still, not every single event could be recorded in the novel The Young Lady is Sweet, could it?
So it’s only natural that things not covered in the story might still happen in this world.
Is there a serial killer or something?
I narrowed my eyes, grabbed Rose’s shoulders firmly, and gave her a warning.
My wild, free-spirited little sister.
“You’re right to be cautious, Rose. So don’t go out at night and be careful, okay? You were gone last night too.”
My sister, ever so quick with words, just beamed brightly.
“Okay! I don’t go out at night much anymore. I got caught by Dad and really got scolded, hehe.”
“Haah… What am I going to do with you?”
I still didn’t understand how this child grew up to be so free and carefree.
Sitting on the window ledge with her legs swinging, I watched her smile so cheerfully.
What if she tears her dress at the party because it’s uncomfortable? No, no, she wouldn’t… right?
“Hurry down. You’re not even interested in dresses, are you?”
Not knowing my tangled thoughts, Rose gave an angelic laugh and jumped down.
“Yup! But you’re going to pick one for me anyway. Everything you choose is always pretty. What color is it this time?”
“Rosériel. Color isn’t the only important thing, you know.”
My sister, true to her role as the heroine of this world, really was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her pink hair, tousled this way and that, looked effortlessly natural, and her wide grin revealed even, beautiful teeth full of life.
But it was far from the kind of beauty expected in high society—elegant, aloof, and hiding one’s true emotions behind a veil of decorum.
Rose had certainly changed from how she had been in the original novel. She was still beautiful—just in a different way.
“But hey, sister, you know Gabriel’s coming back this time, right? It’s been years!”
“Ah, yeah. That’s right.”
I forced a weak smile.
Gabriel. The casual way she said his name made something sting deep in my chest.
I remembered him once asking me why I didn’t call him by name.
But why would I call him that?
“Sister, are you okay? You don’t look well.”
I quickly shook my head. Worried I might’ve made a strange face, I turned to the mirror on the wall.
My expression was cold and unreadable, the same as always—and just for today, that brought me relief.
Why do I feel guilty over nothing? I averted my eyes, unable to meet Rose’s shining, innocent gaze.
After chattering with her a while longer, I was finally alone again when her etiquette tutor suddenly arrived and swept her away.
“Gabriel.”
Left alone, I quietly whispered that unfamiliar name.
Then, standing up, I opened the drawer I had sealed shut—almost ceremoniously.
Tearing the wax seal, I saw his elegant handwriting. I skimmed the beautifully drawn letters.
It was strange to think that the blunt boy who used to glare so often could write such flowery phrases.
Perhaps someone else ghostwrote them for him.
A hollow laugh escaped me.
In that case, the person I’m so interested in must be the ghostwriter instead?
I absentmindedly traced the letters with my fingertips. There was nothing special written this time.
No mention of the hardships of war—if someone else read it, they might’ve thought it was from a man on holiday somewhere far away.
‘If it were really hard, he’d at least complain a little.’
At the end, that familiar line appeared again:
‘How was your day, my lady?’
Clumsy.
Despite the graceful handwriting, the letter—minus the flowery phrases—was stiff overall. Surprisingly clumsy. But that’s what drew my attention.
As if the writer was nervous, fumbling through it.
If it had been like other noblemen’s letters—just flashy jewels and empty compliments—I might not have cared at all.
Perhaps he simply didn’t know what to say to the sister of the woman he loved. So he kept it simple.
He wrote about pretty flowers in the region and how he dried them to send to me, or about rare herbs he’d collected.
Sometimes, it felt more like reading a military report. But other times, it made me laugh unexpectedly.
Like a boy in the throes of his first love, struggling to make a good impression, desperate to find the right words.
Of course, it’s all just my imagination.
I folded the letter quietly.
Anyway, he’s coming back.
This time, the letter was especially short—shorter than any before. And the sentence written at the end was different from usual.
It wasn’t:
“How was your day, my lady?”
Instead, it read:
“I will return.”
“Why would he say that… to me…”
That was it.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The guildmaster of the Shadow Auction Guild, Joseph, had always lived like a sewer rat, scurrying and surviving in the filth.
And in these back alleys, the most crucial skill was being able to instantly spot the most valuable goods.
Ironically, the world had granted him exactly that ability.
< To live a tough life like weeds on the street.>
‘To think this was my Blessing—what a joke!’
Astonishingly, Joseph had been born a commoner, yet he possessed a Blessing and an unusual ability. But his ability wasn’t something that could be seen outright.
What he had been given was the instinct to choose correctly at decisive moments—a kind of intuition.
That gift had saved his life many times.
Just then, ding, the bell above the door jingled as a figure in a deep hood stepped into the room.
Though her body was hidden, her small, slender build made it clear she was a woman.
Joseph narrowed his eyes—but instead of driving her out, he greeted her with a familiar smile.
“How many do you have for me today, Lady Hill?”
The woman responded without hesitation, as if it were routine.
“Three. Will that be enough?”
Joseph eagerly rubbed his hands together.
His voice came out with involuntary servility. This woman was one of his most important clients.
“Of course! You know very well how the price skyrockets the moment just one of your pieces is auctioned. But three? The black market’s going to flip!”
The woman was shrouded in mystery.
From under her hood, the only visible feature was a fair and smooth chin—clearly not something you’d see from the people of these streets. It was a mark of noble blood.
‘A high-ranking noble, no doubt.’
But Joseph didn’t care whether this “Lady Hill” was a noble or not.
What mattered were the items she entrusted to him—items she regularly supplied for auction.
“Hehe, then may I expect a similar quantity next time as well?”
“It would be troublesome if it increases suddenly. Just this time.”
“Ah, of course, of course!”
It had been two years since Joseph first met the woman now known as Hill.
When she first opened his door, he’d been about to kick her out on sight.
“Are you Joseph of the Shadow Auction Guild?”
That was what she asked.
Until he heard that voice, he hadn’t taken her seriously.
“How do you know my name?”
He was startled. Since becoming guildmaster, he’d never told anyone his real name.
“There are ways to find out.”
Her voice was cold and composed—arrogant, even. It sent chills down his spine.
“Wh-who are you?”
“I need you. More precisely, I need someone to take my place.”
There was an inexplicable air of authority flowing from her small frame.
Joseph thought, If someone had told him a prince or princess of the empire were standing before him, this is probably what it would feel like.
“It may be hard to believe. But if you agree to sell the items I bring on my behalf, you’ll make quite a handsome profit.”
“Someone like me could never… Wh-why would a noble such as yourself come looking for a lowly man like me?”
The woman’s lips remained cold throughout, but for some reason, her voice briefly felt warm.
“Because I need the Shadow Auction House.”
With her pale, graceful hand, the woman pointed at Joseph. In that instant, it felt like he’d been struck by an arrow.
“I want you to be my substitute.”
That was how the deal had started.
Now, with trembling hands, Joseph accepted the potted plant the woman named Hill had brought.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary herb. But it was anything but ordinary.
“Truly… the more I look at it, the more mysterious it is.”
The small pot, barely the size of a palm, contained what appeared to be a medicinal herb.
Yet the moment one of these went to auction, bidders would rush in, veins bulging with greed.
“A universal cure,” they say.
Amazingly, just one leaf of this plant, placed on the tongue, would ease any ailment.
One noblewoman claimed her skin regained youth and radiance. Another nobleman hinted that a deeply personal affliction had been cured—one too shameful to name.
People whispered that Hill’s collection could even stop time itself.
So of course it sold like wildfire.
Even the imperial palace was said to be searching for this mysterious “Hill.”
But Joseph kept his mouth tightly shut.
No need to slit the belly of the goose that laid golden eggs.
He grinned and rubbed his hands together.
“Well then, we look forward to your next visit, dear customer.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Wearing a deep hood, a plain dress, and walking without a single escort—no one would suspect she was the young lady of House Hillington.
Once she left the dark alleyways and stepped into the brighter streets, she finally let out a sigh of relief.
“Whew. Made it out safely again today.”
Her back was damp with sweat. She always pretended to be calm, but the truth was, she tensed up every time she went there.
Even so, she kept returning—for money.
More precisely:
‘Maybe… I’m preparing to run away.’
A bitter taste rose in her mouth.
If someone close to her discovered what she was doing, they might feel betrayed—or heartbroken.
But she was doing her best.
It had been two years since she adopted the alias “Hill” and began selling the mysterious potted plants with innate powers.
And in that time, she had built up enough wealth to disappear at a moment’s notice.
‘Not that I actually plan to leave…’
But life is unpredictable.
She still felt uneasy about her place—an existence that shouldn’t have been in this world in the first place.
She had just turned to head back toward the duke’s mansion when—
“Aaaaah! Out of the way!”
A sharp neigh rang out behind her.
