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Riina tilted her head toward the Duke’s aide, who bowed with his concise answer.

“It seems His Majesty is personally addressing the epidemic issue.”

At this unexpected remark, the aide quickly raised his head, and Riina nodded slightly toward him.

With the trade agreement period over, wasn’t it obvious what would cause the Bolshevik Duke, His Majesty’s closest confidant, to be summoned so frequently and abruptly by imperial order?

An epidemic was terrifying enough when naturally occurring, but with suspicious foreign groups involved as well…

It was a simple deduction, but one that couldn’t be made without understanding the context of the situation.

While the Duke’s aide was confused about whether this incredibly perceptive person before him could be the same one who had been asking the same question a dozen times just hours ago, mindlessly flipping through the same documents as if in a daze—

“Indeed. You were aware, then.”

He nodded repeatedly, newly impressed by the capabilities of the future Duke he would serve.

“I have some investigations on the matter that I’ll send over. It’s about the origin of the epidemic. Perhaps.”

When Riina paused briefly, the aide stretched his neck at the mention of “the origin of the epidemic.”

But Riina didn’t readily continue, instead falling into thought for a moment.

She had just received and quickly reviewed a report on mushrooms.

Not only the individual mushrooms that the foreign merchant group had asked to collect but also what could be created when they were combined.

Riina had been able to identify something among the mixtures that could cause symptoms resembling an epidemic.

This meant that the “epidemic” currently spreading through the lowest levels of the empire might not be a real epidemic with genuine “contagion,” but rather a misunderstanding arising from people exposed to a “poison.”

Nevertheless, Riina ultimately held back her words.

“We’ll need investigation results for certainty. The conclusion will have to come from His Majesty as well.”

If the Emperor was actively intervening in this matter to the extent of pressing the Bolshevik Duke, no one should carelessly gossip about it behind closed doors.

“The materials should be taken to the Imperial Palace immediately.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Shortly thereafter, a report intended for His Majesty the Emperor arrived, and as the aide took hold of the documents—

“One moment.”

Riina looked down at the documents briefly.

These papers were going to the Imperial Palace anyway.

She herself was about to depart for the palace right now.

So she could simply say, ‘I’ll take these to my father,’ and the aide would gladly step aside.

Yet why did that one sentence feel stuck in her throat, unwilling to come out?

Riina closed her eyes deeply, then opened them, pulling in her chin and straightening her back.

Yes. Things were different now from before her regression.

She wasn’t repeatedly failing and burdening her family, nor was she making things more difficult for her father, who was both Duke and head of the family.

She had confirmed again and again that her “bad luck” could no longer make her a failure.

Though she still couldn’t know what form that “bad luck” would take to make her unhappy.

“Me, a fake.”

How dare they call me a fake.

She believes my Bolshevik is hers?

The only reason she had planned to leave the Bolshevik family in Jane’s care was because she thought Jane would be helpful to the family.

Bolshevik is Bolshevik.

Although she had planned to leave, Riina had never wanted to deny the blood running through her veins from birth until death, not even as much as a dragonfly’s wing.

Her red hair, more vivid than the sun, swayed against her cheek.

“I’ll deliver these documents to my father myself.”

Arriving safely at the Imperial Palace—without the carriage wheel getting stuck or anything else breaking—Riina couldn’t immediately meet the Bolshevik Duke.

“The meeting is running long. Let me show you to the reception room.”

“In that case, could you deliver these materials?”

At Riina’s words, the imperial servant bowed and called someone who could review the documents.

“I appreciate it.”

Eventually, Riina’s materials were brought into the meeting with the Emperor and his close advisors, and she was about to wait in the reception room for the meeting to end when she changed her mind.

With her materials, the meeting would likely run even longer.

“I’ll go to the Youngest Prince’s palace.”

She decided to visit Sierre rather than spend her free time idly.

If she just sat still, useless thoughts would keep rising up.

There would be no funeral for the Youngest Prince.

Nor would she have to see that terribly small and bitter coffin sized for the child’s frame.

Sierre would grow up healthy and be able to do all the things he hadn’t been able to do before.

“We said we’d go on an outing.”

Unlike that day which unexpectedly turned into a mushroom investigation, I should prepare a proper picnic.

Having thought that far, Riina swallowed a hollow laugh.

After all, none of the outings, excursions, or events she had prepared had ever gone smoothly without incident.

Even that day with Einar, the cooking machine had exploded.

I should leave the preparations to Einar.

As she naturally planned an outing with Einar, Riina arrived at the Youngest Prince’s palace and encountered an unexpected figure.

“Your Highness.”

Meeting an unexpected person in an unpredicted place was one thing, but being flustered at such times was beneath her dignity.

Far from being flustered, Riina performed a greeting toward the prince as naturally and plainly as flowing water.

And then she walked straight past him.

Unlike her, who had completed her greeting with flawless elegance, Smith’s cheeks were trembling.

This was because Riina’s attitude was too blatant.

She didn’t hide her intention at all: I’m greeting you out of courtesy because you’re a prince. She was even expressionless.

If she had shown even a fragment of dislike or aversion upon seeing him, he might not have felt so ignored.

Whether Smith trembled or not, Riina entered the palace with familiarity.

In truth, to her now, Smith was nothing more than a roadside stone.

Before her regression, he had been the love of the century to her, but when she was dying in front of him, choking down poison, that love had long since shattered and scattered.

Especially since it was poison he had forced upon her—truly a situation that would instantly cool even a thousand years of love.

She had only made that contract with Einar to remove Smith from her path because her “bad luck” made it highly likely she would keep tripping over that particular stone.

Come to think of it, that’s right.

He had said he would prevent the death her misfortune would bring, and in return, an engagement…

Tap, ta-tap.

At that moment, as the sound of a cane echoed through the corridor, a small, thin child entered Riina’s field of vision.

“Your Highness.”

Riina once again performed a greeting with textbook precision, but the air surrounding her was completely different from when she had faced Smith.

And from behind her, Smith suddenly appeared and, without any greeting, jerked his chin toward Sierre.

“Sierre, should you be up like that?”

To this, Sierre, who was standing on his own legs despite leaning on a cane rather than sitting in a wheelchair, ceremoniously bowed his head toward Smith.

“Yes, brother.”

As Smith was about to speak again, Sierre quickly averted his gaze from him and waved his small hand toward Riina.

“Lady Bolshevik!”

Sierre too smiled broadly at Riina—brighter than the sun—completely unlike when he had faced Smith.

“I apologize for coming without prior appointment each time.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’m just happy you come at all. Please feel free to visit anytime, without any concern.”

In the few days since she had last seen him, color had returned to Sierre’s pale complexion, and his sunken cheeks had filled out a bit. He smiled sweetly and glanced at Riina’s hand.

The child kept looking at her hand and hesitantly, subtly extended his own, and Riina took it without delay.

“Your hand is a little cold.”

“Yes, it gets that way even though I’ve only been walking around inside the palace. Should I try to get some sunlight instead?”

“Going to the garden for a while might be good for you.”

Thus, the two began to walk slowly, chatting pleasantly as if Smith weren’t even there.

Crunch.

Behind them, Smith’s jaw tightened, and the sound of grinding teeth echoed inside his throat.

Unless he had suddenly gone blind or discarded all common sense, he could clearly see how the two people in front of him were treating him.

His patience, which had been twisted and on the verge of snapping since Riina had ignored him and walked past, quickly broke with a snap.

“How dare you both!”

Smith charged toward them almost at a run, and just as Riina stepped in front of Sierre to shield him, he raised his hand toward her.

Rationally, he knew all too well that he should never lay hands on a Bolshevik like her, but he had already struck his aide once and was slightly under the influence of alcohol.

Moreover, seeing not only her but even the Youngest Prince disrespect him made his reason fly away.

“How dare you treat me—!”

And in that moment, Smith was about to strike Riina’s cheek as she looked straight at him, not avoiding his eyes.