IJNSTH 05

05

The Borderline

“Does it really take three days for a reply to a letter? Are you sure it was urgent?”

Three days later, Cynthia held her father’s arm and hurried to keep up with him.

Her voice was lower than usual because she found the boys’ gazes outside the wide school windows irritating.

As they said, it truly was an all-boys school—there wasn’t a single girl.

“The person you requested a meeting with is the principal of the prestigious Hamilton School. You can’t just see him whenever you want.”

“Even so, Father, there’s a reason we requested this meeting. That shameless villain is posing as the Prime Minister’s son and misleading my dear friend. If we want to return our Vivienne to her fiancé, we need to find out the truth as quickly as possible.”

“Our Cynthia is really kind. It’s not easy to step up like this for a friend.”

“She is the daughter of Your Excellency Mergoville, your friend. How could I remain indifferent?”

Cynthia smiled gently at her father as she walked.

Since returning to the mansion three days ago, she had recalled the moment her fear had turned her hair white. A sudden thought flashed through her mind:

‘So he resembles…!’

The man she had seen on the street that day looked exactly like the current Prime Minister’s son. He wasn’t a famous public figure, but she knew he had occasionally drawn attention for his looks.

By reputation alone, he seemed even more convincingly real than the “real” person people spoke of.

‘Hah, seeing how confident he is, he probably lied to Vivienne about his identity.’

Something was off. Why had Vivienne fled in the middle of the night? How had that man lured her to his home?

Was the story Vivienne told entirely true?

Edmund Colt had been Vivienne Mergoville’s secret lover.

Spreading this rumor would only serve to reinforce her deception.

People wouldn’t care about trivial details—they would only fixate on the fact that the great Miss Mergoville’s companion was rumored to be the most handsome man in the Empire.

If Cynthia’s guess was correct, confronting Vivienne directly about the truth would be worthwhile—but only if her assumptions were right.

Now, Cynthia was at Edmund Colt’s old school. Perhaps by flipping through the graduation album, she might see his face. His appearances in tabloids weren’t enough—he could have been disguised.

If she failed here, she’d have to go all the way down to Alfred Imperial University, near Duke Senowick’s estate.

Cynthia didn’t want to deal with that hassle. She just wanted to uncover the truth she had been so eager to know.

“Thank you for your time, Principal. I realize this request is sudden and perhaps rude, but my daughter claimed that a man resembling the Prime Minister’s only son was carrying a firearm on the outskirts of the city.”

The meeting began at the words of Senator Eastwell. The principal replied politely.

“A man resembling him? That seems unlikely.”

It seemed impossible for there to be two men exactly like Edmund Colt. The reason became clear immediately.

“During his time here, Count Edmund Colt was never anything but the top student. He had excellent relationships and excelled in sports. When everyone heard he had been accepted to Alfred Imperial University, it was expected. Of course, the Prime Minister considered sending his son to a military academy… but the student himself was very stubborn.”

In other words, there couldn’t easily be another student of such caliber in the Empire. Senator Eastwell quickly steered the conversation back to the original topic.

“Of course, of course. But it’s hard to believe my daughter would lie. If someone is impersonating the Prime Minister’s son and tarnishing that great name, immediate action is necessary.”

Senator Eastwell glanced at his daughter. A staff member from Hamilton School was turning the pages of the graduation album for her.

Though he didn’t want to get entangled with the Prime Minister’s side trying to undermine the Senate, he also couldn’t ignore his daughter’s friend associating with a shady man.

His duty was simply to verify the facts and inform the Central Police Department. That would end this uncomfortable situation.

His daughter’s hand sped through the album until it stopped at a page—she had found what she was looking for.

The heavy album fell to the floor as Senator Eastwell rose. Their gazes met in midair.

“…It’s him.”

Cynthia whispered.

“There’s no doubt—it’s the same person…”

Senator Eastwell fell silent.

Right. Three days ago, Chairman Rex had made inquiries about a man who appeared at the Mergoville mansion’s New Year party.

‘I asked the Callahill staff whether the man at the ball was the Prime Minister’s son.’

There couldn’t be three men with such remarkable looks in the Empire. The man at the ball and the man Cynthia spoke of were undoubtedly the same person.

Considering that Miss Mergoville had disappeared after the New Year’s Eve party, this claim became even more plausible. And that “fake” supposedly looked exactly like the real person.

Even Cynthia could recognize the truth, yet the police claimed the man at the ball was not the Prime Minister’s son.

‘It wouldn’t be my daughter lying—it must be them.’

Was there some huge secret about Vivienne Mergoville being with that shady man, something they had to cover up together?

‘I’ll have to refer this to the Crime Intelligence Bureau.’

Since the bureau was directly under the Prime Minister, it would ensure the Prime Minister couldn’t suppress the matter while also providing answers to conflicting testimonies.

The day was cold, and the villa’s fireplace was useless.

Vivienne, having changed into her neatly folded day dress, draped the shawl the man had given her for her birthday over her shoulders and walked into the living room.

Cold seeped through her slippers. The man hadn’t been in the “house” for three days, but he had left a pistol and some money on the table, allowing Vivienne to buy simple provisions.

She had only eaten bread and canned goods, but it was enough. By conserving, she saved far more than he had left her.

Though a note labeled “Price of Life” was tucked among the bills, Vivienne wasn’t used to relying on others’ kindness—and perhaps didn’t want to.

A few seconds after thinking that, she saw him standing by the balcony in the living room, and she felt an unexplainable sense of relief.

The balcony door was open, and Edmund was smoking while looking outside.

The radio, which she remembered being turned off after yesterday’s meal, now broadcast Dartro news live.

Uncertain how to greet him, Vivienne sat in the armchair. Since the last time they had spent time in the park together, he had felt increasingly uncomfortable to her.

“Not cold?” she asked.

He turned to her.

“You’re awake?”

Caught off guard, Vivienne quickly looked away.

“As you can see.”

The conversation faltered. Being in the same space as the man after three days was uncomfortable, but also a little welcome. She quickly shifted the topic.

“Sorry for not putting away the cans. I tried, but the water was too cold… I meant to throw them out all at once someday.”

She had tucked them into a paper bag in a corner. Winter made them odorless. She glanced at the corner.

“…They’re gone now. Thank you.”

He nodded and turned back. A snowflake drifted in. As silence threatened to settle, Vivienne rose cautiously and walked toward Edmund.

It was the first snow. She wanted to see if it would cover the streets.

When he glanced at her, she tucked her long hair behind her ear.

Being near him was still frightening, but somehow, he felt different. Strange. Ever since the day they listened to the radio together, it had felt that way.

“This is your responsibility, right? I thought it was all my business,” she murmured, touching the cold balcony railing.

“You’ve been busy.”

“Were you waiting?”

“For whom?”

She met his blue eyes rebelliously, then let them drop to his face. The scars on his cheek had mostly healed; faint bruises remained from their encounter on the street.

Instead of speaking, she carefully touched his cheek.

“This hasn’t healed yet.”

“Just a small scratch on the way here.”

“Let me see.”

Ignoring the thumping in her chest, Vivienne moved closer.

‘A small scratch on the way here?’

What if he had already been chased by Don Beckarone’s men? She couldn’t help worrying about him getting hurt because of her.

“It’s from the hunt not going smoothly,” Edmund said, pulling her hand away.

“You needn’t worry, Lady.”

Vivienne watched his warm hand leave hers. Despite her hands being buried under blankets, his large, masculine hands had withdrawn.

“You said you were hunted,” she said, interpreting his words freely.

“…Do you regret getting involved with me? That’s why you’ve been like this for three days…”

It was clear that the “hunt” wasn’t a classical hunt, but rather an assassination attempt on the streets.

“If you answer my first question, I’ll consider answering yours.”

“You mean… did I miss you?”

“Yes.”

Brazen. Vivienne watched a few faint snowflakes vanish on the cold street.

“Why do you want to know?”

“…Couldn’t help it?”

She could feel affection as a friend, patience as a partner—but saying it made her feel oddly ticklish inside.

Even walking to the grocery store alone, or considering going to throw away the bag late at night, she had felt it. Even sitting in front of the unlit fireplace, she had thought of him—not returning forever.

“Now it’s your turn to speak.”

“Regret is irrelevant in work.”

“……”

“Work is just work, whether one likes it or not.”

“Yes.”

Vivienne spoke without looking at him, making an effort not to let her tone droop.

After three days apart, he was still cold. The chill she felt in her feet wasn’t only from the sudden wind.

‘He’s always been like this.’

When they first arrived by saloon, when he had mocked her nobility—Vivienne returned a perfect smile, speaking more comfortably than usual.

“Let’s go to the pharmacy today.”

“……”

“You’re still helping me with what I want, right?”

If Vivienne’s guess was correct, he had nearly died being involved in her affairs. Yet he now acted as if settling this emotional debt was the priority.

“Sorry about your cheek,” she said, turning and walking. No childish antics—she couldn’t act toward him as she did toward her parents.

She still wondered what she had expected from him during those three days.

Footsteps followed—he could reach her anytime, accomplish his goal, and abandon her. That was the extent of their agreement.

Then his wrist lightly caught hers. She could have pulled away; the warmth was the same as before. Her heart raced. She bit her lower lip to hide it.

His hand slid down and grasped hers fully. His rough fingers pressed gently beneath her thumb. Interlaced, she felt a strange sensation between her fingers.

Her heart pounded violently. Could he hear it? She closed her eyes. The hands separated; she turned away.

“…I haven’t put on my gloves yet.”

Unable to look at him, she fixed her gaze at her eye level.

“Can I hold your hand then?”

He tilted his head and teased her in his usual dry tone, but she found him awkward.

“I’d rather you not.”

“Indeed. There’s no need, is there?”

His indifferent voice felt unfair.

“No unnecessary sentiment in work.”

“……”

“If you don’t throw in unnecessary mischief, I can treat you just as kindly.”

She returned to the room, placing her gloves on a small side table, recalling his cold tone.

Handsome, and yet—such a price.