IJNSTH 03

03 – The Savior

Vivienne Mergoville.

She was said to be the future daughter-in-law of the Chairman of the Nobles’ Council, who also served as Chief Justice. She was the only lead in the legal cartel’s investigation into corruption—relentlessly denying ties with the underworld. In other words, she was the kind of informant that even the Empire’s Prime Minister—his own father—would take a keen interest in.

Thus, the brilliant plan by His Excellency the Prime Minister to create a double of his only son was a clever move. Since the real son’s temperament was unpredictable, they could use the Intelligence Bureau’s technology to craft a disguised mask for a lookalike, assign him the task, and have him approach her.

It was clever—but not satisfactory.

First, it meant that he, the real son, would be barred from stepping into the city for a time.

Fortunately, the target was starved for love, treated by her family as nothing more than a living asset, and coldly regarded by her fiancé. So the double’s mission would likely finish quickly.

Yet, the two aforementioned points troubled him. Either way, they introduced variables that could disrupt his otherwise smooth operations.

So he had the double captured on his own terms and impersonated the agent his father had created.

Neither the Intelligence Bureau operative assigned to impersonate him nor the woman could uncover the truth about the underworld–legal cartel corruption. Because the leader the Prime Minister sought to track down? That was him.

Right now, nothing was more unnecessary than noise in his life. Bloodline, once a privilege, was now a burdensome constraint.

“Am I intruding where I shouldn’t?”

Edmund Colt spoke, gazing at where the police car had vanished.

“No.”

The voice answering him had deepened by a tone. The woman on the terrace, who would tilt her lips and appraise people with a society lady’s gaze whenever she spoke, was nowhere in sight.

Her slumped shoulders looked pitiful in some way.

“You’re a bit late with introductions. You’re the Prime Minister’s son, right?”

Her tone still condescending. Even in a situation of overwhelming disadvantage, she showed no hint of subservience.

Conscious that his gaze lingered on her swollen cheeks and tear marks, Vivienne passed him and walked forward. Her long, straight hair swayed in the biting wind.

“Count Edmund Colt.”

She turned to look back when it seemed he wasn’t following. Her face was the only pure white in the snowless street.

When he didn’t respond, she lifted her chin slightly and squinted her eyes, a habit she seemed unaware of.

“You knew my name.”

“Yes. Thanks to your misstep on the terrace, my fiancé kindly informed me.”

“Did I put you in an awkward situation that day?”

Vivienne’s departure wasn’t a simple matter of romance. Yet she asked anyway, hoping that if the woman revealed any security gaps early, it would save time.

“Yes, you did.”

The matter would be dealt with swiftly and simply. Her eyes fell on him as he walked beside her.

“Not now.”

“Did your fiancé raise a hand at you because of that?”

“You’re blunt. Most wouldn’t ask that way.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault you were born into a position that doesn’t require tact.”

“…”

“This is my parents’ doing. It’s a different matter I was scolded for, so no need to worry. What about you?”

Changing the subject, perhaps. Any reason, Vivienne thought, was welcome. Once she handled the woman, there’d be no noise. Even her father’s magnificent double could be dismissed for now.

“Excuse me?”

“The Mergoville family ball is a sight to behold. I’m asking why you weren’t there.”

“I had business at the hall… but disappeared.”

“Usually, people just say they had no business.”

“I disappeared, too, apparently.”

The aristocratic lady who had looked at him in disbelief didn’t linger with her expression.

“Sometimes you vanish right before someone’s eyes, and they have to look for you themselves.”

“You make following someone sound so elegant.”

“Not at all.”

At that moment, a lone classic saloon approached, standing out on the affluent street.

“I simply remembered a face that seemed in need and appeared when the time was right.”

She didn’t wholly believe him, but she didn’t guard herself either. That meant she wanted to hear those words.

Realizing this, he felt a sudden urge to tease her—purely out of curiosity.

“If you’re out here at this hour, you must have a destination. Tell me, and I’ll take you there.”

He wanted this proud young lady to beg him to take her home.

Vivienne hesitated before giving an address—not his house, not her fiancé’s hotel, nor her mansion.

A boarding house on the outskirts of the city, in a working-class district. The address seemed to have been thought over for a long time, flowing naturally from her lips.

“It’s my friend’s birthday, and I wanted to give congratulations.”

“…”

“I wasn’t invited today.”

Her face was pensive.

❖ ❖ ❖

Darkness had descended so heavily that even the streetlights seemed swallowed. No snow fell, and the air was colder than ever.

Vivienne stood at one of the city’s few public phone booths, gripping the receiver and looking at the man outside.

He had one hand in his pocket, smoking a cigar. When her breath fogged the booth glass, he vanished behind the opaque surface.

Tracing the glass with her bare hand, the scenery of 86 Maybryum Street emerged through the winter gloom. Her fingers remained chilled, so she blew warm air onto them.

“-This is the telephone office. Where would you like to connect?”

She hesitated, then spoke.

“Maybry… no, 86 Maybryum Street, please.”

The blue door of a nearby house appeared, the number 86 embossed in gold. The phone rang inside, audible despite the thin walls.

Click. As the ringing stopped, Vivienne quickly hung up. She had known before coming that her childhood friend Madison wouldn’t answer. She had just confirmed it with her own eyes.

Startled by the clinking of coins from the phone, she wiped the receiver with a handkerchief and stepped outside.

“Can’t someone come pick you up?”

The man, standing at a distance, tapped the cigar in his hand. Naturally, he meant her family—who should have been the ones she called.

“You hung up the phone pretty hard.”

He pointed to the blue booth behind her, unaware she hadn’t even made a real call.

Vivienne silently hoped the ringing hadn’t given away her awkward position. She had fabricated the call.

“…You must be angry I slipped out of the party without a word. My parents aren’t fond of me spending time with Madison.”

Half-truths. Half-lies.

“Your friend at the boarding house is named Madison?”

“Yes. She’s abroad now, so she’s not there.”

“False alarm, then.”

“…Sorry.”

Vivienne rubbed her arms. An evening gown alone did little against the biting cold.

She knew she had to return home to escape the chill.

“Going back to Mergoville Manor from here would take a while. And to your Excellency’s residence even longer.”

A subtle acknowledgment that he was the Prime Minister’s son.

“That’s fine. I don’t live at the residence anyway.”

“…”

“I’ll contact the police. There’s no point in taking you to the manor.”

“No.”

Her urgent tone raised one of Edmund’s eyebrows. Vivienne averted her gaze.

“…I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

His voice lowered slightly. She couldn’t answer.

“Didn’t you say your fiancé doesn’t like seeing you with other men?”

A coincidental repetition of her first words upon meeting him.

“I’m cold.”

A jacket was draped over her shoulders, warming her. His breath brushed her neck. She clutched the lapels.

“Is your house nearby?”

Had her mother seen this, she would have fainted. But right now, the only lifeline was this man, and what she had learned while observing him.

He had the appearance of the Prime Minister’s son, could stand against her fiancé, and would not harm her target.

“He’ll take you to a nearby hotel. Better than staying at my place, I think.”

“…”

“You can keep the jacket.”

His gaze never left her. Amid the unfamiliar tension, the faint background sharpened.

Vivienne realized he had reached her without losing his way—a feat impossible for the real Prime Minister’s son, whose stays in the city were brief and limited.

Curiosity arose. The man, with an accent from Mirabolta Street, was clearly a low-ranking, fake Prime Minister’s son.

“…All of this seems too unreal to be true.”

Better to leave it unresolved than be corrected.

Her tension eased as she looked up at him. The word unreal lingered on her tongue. Though she didn’t know how to act, she felt safe speaking her mind.

“Did I make a mistake?”

“No.”

He replied firmly, adjusting her jacket around her before stepping back.

“Usually, people say it feels like a dream, don’t they?”

He asked casually. She exhaled quietly.

“Sometimes, the man in front of you seems like a mirage.”

“…”

“Or a fake.”

He hesitated. A vein briefly showed on his hand. Their eyes met for a moment. She clutched the oversized lapel with one hand, trying to appear pitiful.

“You must be cold, so I’ll take you to my house as you said.”

If her suspicion was correct, he would naturally wonder about her meaning.

“Thank you.”

Given permission to follow, she moved toward the rear car door, glancing at him.

He had already opened the front, sitting in the driver’s seat, giving her a low laugh. When he opened the rear door, she blushed.

Passing him, she opened the passenger side and closed the door noisily. The car moved, Edmund beside her.

She bristled at him calling her “your ladyship” instead of “lady.”

The silence stretched, landscapes changing outside the window. The city’s night, bathed in lights, seemed endless.

Even with one companion, the cold, miserable escape felt warmer.

Vivienne leaned toward the window, watching a lamplighter pass. The street—affluent, exclusive—blended light and color in a masterful display.

Edmund’s eyes briefly caught her flushed face, pale and tear-streaked, reflecting on the dark glass.

The car stopped. She looked up, worried, as he exited briefly, then returned to open the door.

In her lap lay a shopping bag from the priciest store in the area—a surprise that defied her worst expectations.

She paused, feeling the chill from the box inside, brushing the ribbon aside. Edmund waited patiently as she opened it.

The scarf was immediately draped around her neck. As she turned to thank him, his scent enveloped her. His rough hand adjusted the scarf. Even without his hat, her face was shielded. She draped the remaining shawl over herself and leaned into the passenger seat.

“You said I didn’t need to return this, but have you changed your mind?”

She gestured at the jacket in her lap.

“If you want to keep it as a birthday present, lady, it’s yours.”

He started the car at that moment.

“Birthday present.” That word struck clearly.

“Th-thank you…”

“Do you usually sit in the back seat when riding in someone else’s car?”

Her thanks was interrupted by his emotionless comment. A faint blush appeared on her face, visible under the scarf.

“Why do you ask?”

“I thought you weren’t used to leaving the manor.”

True. She turned her head, realizing he had hit the nail on the head.

“I didn’t think I could last three days alone.”

Her past fear resurfaced. She studied the man, realizing that even if he were the real Prime Minister’s son, things wouldn’t be much different.

“You speak as if you’re not like me at all.”

She emphasized “Count” deliberately.

“Laughing at me as if I were a pristine, untainted person who never stepped into high society.”

“I understand enough.”

The double—assumedly—had lied audaciously. Fine, he had wealth, status, blue blood. Yet now, he wanted to act superior alone.

“…I just thought it was boring.”

Vivienne laughed softly. A fake, yet here he was, pretending to look down on all of high society.

She met her reflection in the window, separate from the man driving. Her cheek tingled.

“Boring, huh.”

They shared a small, strange commonality—beautiful dress, shawl, scarf, this sharp little pain. The clock tower chimed three in the morning, a reminder of the birthday.

He remained silent until they reached their destination. The quiet didn’t bother her.

Gas lamps gave way to sparse, cold electric lights, eventually swallowed by darkness—a mini panorama of sunrise and sunset.

From one edge of the city to another, they crossed the contours of wealth in light.

When Vivienne stepped out, the air had changed. Coughing from factory smoke, she gazed at the building before her.

“I didn’t expect it to be so big… Not flashy, but modern, simple, with many windows.”

Edmund glanced at her, feigning concern. The building, buried in smoke, was indeed large.

Brown brick walls bore signs of age. Without streetlights, it appeared gray. Windows were plain, evenly spaced, with arch decorations above—hardly luxurious.

“Why so many mailboxes for one person?”

“Sharp observation. Lady, your room is exactly there.”

He pointed to a single second-floor window. Vivienne’s shock was clear. Not a building, but a single room? That amused Edmund.

“If you want, I can still call the police to take you back to the manor.”

He could have treated her like an imperial princess or demolished the building at will. Yet he wanted to see why she, and no one else, could read this.

Vivienne Mergoville—what did she see in him?

“You’re a fake, aren’t you?”

She entered his view.

“If it’s not suitable for you to stay, I understand.”

Funny. Did she think he’d be afraid?

Vivienne pulled her shawl tighter and walked ahead. Edmund watched her retreating figure.

The saloon, the grand seat, her subtle surprise at the gift, and the fleeting emotion on her refined face.

One day, all of this would crumble, with or without his intervention. But how would he look at her then?

The edge of the glass, with its faint red marks, drew his gaze.

Fake.

The Prime Minister’s son double—assumed—was on the second floor. Contrary to first impressions, the interior was neat, monochromatic—a surprise to Vivienne, who had expected ugly patterned wallpaper.

The faint light from the window illuminated two armchairs…