CHAPTER 03
Victor’s mother, who had once been confined to a psychiatric hospital, was now living in a convent.
She had been the beloved only daughter of the king, raised with every privilege and affection. Then, after spending a single night with a young nobleman she met at a party, she became pregnant with his child.
At the time, she had been engaged to the Crown Prince of the neighboring kingdom of Bestina.
The engagement was broken, public outrage erupted, and she was expelled from the royal family.
She blamed her fall from grace on the son born from that one-night affair.
“Because of you, I was cast out of the royal family.”
Victor Dumpfelt had grown up hearing those bitter words instead of receiving a mother’s love.
To be acknowledged as a member of the royal family became the sole purpose of his life.
For the sake of that honor, he would do anything.
He never hesitated to risk his life exterminating pirates.
Just as he had planned, his popularity among the people of Salantier soared, and the House of Iren began considering officially recognizing Victor Dumpfelt—the king’s grandson—as royalty.
At last, an investigation into the people around him was launched to determine whether he possessed any moral flaws that would disqualify him from joining the royal family.
Naturally, Scarlet Dumpfelt, Victor’s wife, was among those questioned.
Before the investigation, Victor had warned her to say nothing.
Scarlet had fully intended to do exactly that.
Yet somehow, she had reportedly revealed every one of Victor’s faults.
The fact that she couldn’t remember any of it was driving her mad.
Was something actually wrong with her mind?
For the first time, even she began to wonder.
That made Victor’s threat of sending her to a convent all the more terrifying.
Her face pale with fear, Scarlet pleaded,
“I don’t want to go. Please don’t send me to a convent.”
She knew he had probably spoken in anger.
Even so, the words left her lips with desperate certainty.
After spending the entire conversation dazed and confused, she had suddenly answered with unusual firmness.
Victor stared at her in disbelief.
Then, without another word, he turned around and left the room with the men who had accompanied him.
After he was gone, Scarlet used the last of her strength to push aside the liquor bottles covering the table and spread out the newspaper.
The front page was filled with reasons Victor should never be admitted into the royal family.
On the following page…
…was the written testimony she herself had supposedly given.
It was unmistakably her handwriting.
Her signature was there as well.
After seeing it with her own eyes, Scarlet slowly collapsed to the floor beside the table.
“This… this can’t be…”
Because of the words that had come from her own mouth, Victor would lose his chance to become royalty.
Worse still, he would be branded as the cold-hearted man who had personally confined his own mother to a mental institution.
That accusation would leave a permanent scar on the honor Victor valued more than his own life.
The evidence was right in front of her.
Yet she had absolutely no memory of giving that testimony.
It was enough to drive her insane.
The more pressure she felt, the harder it became to breathe, while her thoughts only grew darker and more confused.
Even the final memory she still possessed—that of drinking tea—gradually faded away until it disappeared completely.
After returning to the estate that evening, the only thing Scarlet could do was apologize every time she saw her husband.
Victor never responded to her apologies.
Nor did he ever bring up the incident again.
Instead, the one who constantly berated her was her father-in-law, Gregory Dumpfelt.
Blaming her for ruining his son’s future, he relentlessly harassed her.
The stress became so severe that Scarlet collapsed several times.
Fortunately, an end-of-year luncheon that had been scheduled long in advance kept her occupied with preparations.
It was originally meant to celebrate Victor becoming a member of the royal family.
Even after everything that had happened, Victor did not cancel it.
On the day of the luncheon, Scarlet emerged from the dressing room wearing an elegant crimson velvet gown.
Before she could leave, however, one of Victor’s subordinates, Parlin Redford, blocked her path.
“You mustn’t go out today.”
Scarlet tilted her head.
“I mustn’t?”
“The captain does not wish for you to attend the luncheon.”
The Rubid, the ship Victor commanded, accepted only the very best among the elite.
Every officer was physically imposing, academically exceptional, and born into distinguished noble families.
Among them, Parlin was said to be second only to Victor in hand-to-hand combat.
Standing before the door with his hands behind his back, Parlin spoke in his usual blunt manner.
Scarlet stood silently for a moment before asking,
“Victor doesn’t want me appearing in front of everyone?”
After thinking briefly, Parlin answered,
“Yes.”
“Because he’s ashamed of me?”
“…Yes.”
For a moment, Parlin’s expression tightened with discomfort before he forced it back under control.
Scarlet looked at him quietly.
Then she nodded.
“I understand.”
“Very well.”
Parlin bowed and reached for the door.
Then he suddenly stopped.
Scarlet was slowly walking toward the chair beside the dressing room window, her expression bitter.
Parlin deliberately hardened his face.
“Please stay away from the window as well.”
“Today… you’re not here.”
Scarlet hadn’t even protested.
Yet guilt washed over Parlin, and he turned his face away.
“I’ll move the chair.”
“…Thank you.”
He immediately carried the chair and small table away from the window and placed them against the wall.
Scarlet walked over, sat down, and rested her upper body on the tabletop.
Seeing her tiny frame slumped there, Parlin felt strangely uneasy.
He removed his jacket and gently draped it over her shoulders.
Then, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, he said,
“I’ll come back after the luncheon.”
As he turned to leave, Scarlet quietly said,
“Please tell Victor…”
“…that I’m sorry.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Parlin bowed once more and left.
After he was gone, Scarlet remained lying there, exhausted, her face buried in her arms.
Eventually she raised her head and muttered absentmindedly,
“That bastard.”
Then she curled forward, shoulders shaking, and began laughing quietly like someone who had lost her mind.
She couldn’t believe she actually resented Victor.
Her betrayal was already an established fact.
Not remembering it was pathetic enough.
But hating her husband simply because she couldn’t remember…
…that weakness in herself disgusted her.
Slowly she stood and walked toward the mirror.
Having only recently turned twenty, even in her exhausted state she still seemed full of youthful vitality.
Rose-colored cheeks…
Rose-red lips…
Soft golden hair…
She looked like spring itself amid the winter.
She gazed silently at her reflection.
Then she lifted a hand and began removing the ornament that held her braided hair in the shape of a flower crown.
She took her time.
Halfway through, the ticking of a nearby clock caught her attention.
“The clock sounds strange.”
The second hand occasionally stopped.
As if entranced, Scarlet reached for the ornate chair Parlin had moved.
The moment she tried lifting it with one hand, she frowned.
“What…? How did he carry this with one hand?”
Giving up, she pushed the upholstered chair beneath the wall clock instead.
Standing on it, she reached up to remove the gilded clock.
Then…
…her father’s voice echoed in her mind.
“With a pendulum clock, remove the pendulum first, Scarlet. Only then should you move the clock. Otherwise you’ll damage the internal parts.”
Her eyes widened like a startled rabbit’s.
Carefully, she removed the pendulum first.
“…I’m remembering the strangest things.”
Muttering to herself, Scarlet carried the clock back to the table Parlin had moved for her.
She laid it face-down.
Even before opening it, she could somehow picture its internal structure in her mind.
“…What’s happening to me?”
Her voice trembled between confusion and fear.
“Did I suddenly become a genius…?”
“…Or have I simply gone insane?”
The clocks created by House Crimson represented the pinnacle of Salantier’s scientific craftsmanship.
But after her parents died young, her uncle, Evil Crimson—who had devoured the family’s entire fortune under the excuse of raising the children—never taught her even the most basic techniques.
Until now…
Scarlet had possessed absolutely no knowledge of clockmaking.
“You need to remove the debris caught between the gears.”
Yet now she could hear her father’s voice as clearly as if he stood beside her.
She remembered him balancing tiny components—so small they were almost invisible—on the tip of his index finger while patiently explaining them to his daughter.
She remembered her mother laughing brightly as she watched her husband teach Scarlet…
…before immediately returning to assembling countless clock components herself.
Even the blueprints that had once covered every wall of their workshop appeared in Scarlet’s mind with photographic clarity.
She had no idea how any of this was possible.
While she was staring at the clock, Candice, a maid worried about her, entered the room.
Approaching with surprise, she asked,
“My lady… why did you bring the clock in here?”
“I’m going to try repairing it.”
Candice blinked.
“That clock has been losing time lately.”
“But… you’re going to repair it yourself?”
“I’m a member of the Crimson family.”
“I might as well try.”
“Oh!”
“So you learned clock repair?”
“I’ll bring your toolbox!”
Since Scarlet was the daughter of the famous Crimson family, Candice found nothing strange about the claim.
She quickly brought over the toolbox Scarlet had brought with her when she married into the Dumpfelt family.
The toolbox had belonged to Scarlet’s mother.
Scarlet inherited it.
Her father’s toolbox had gone to her brother Isaac.
Those two toolboxes were the only inheritance the siblings had ever received.
Pulling her chair close to the table, Scarlet opened the toolbox.
She selected several tools.
Then, with the practiced ease of someone who repaired clocks every day, she opened the back panel.
As she carefully removed each component one by one, Candice—and the other maids who had quietly gathered behind her—could only wonder whether she would ever be able to put it all back together.
Nothing in the Dumpfelt household was ordinary.
And Gregory Dumpfelt, who had spent every day tormenting his daughter-in-law lately, would surely explode with rage if she ruined such a valuable clock.
Scarlet had endured countless hardships growing up.
Because of that, she never took the labor of servants for granted.
Some servants complained that she constantly brought trouble to the household.
But just as many genuinely pitied her.
Candice belonged to the latter group.
Watching Scarlet calmly repair the clock, she smiled with relief.
She was simply glad to see her mistress finally focusing on something other than her sorrow.
Using a blower, Scarlet carefully removed every speck of dust from the intricate parts.
Then, with astonishing precision, she reassembled each piece, perfectly balancing the delicate mechanism.
The gears meshed flawlessly.
The soft, satisfying rhythm of the moving gears gradually drew the nervous maids closer and closer to the table, their earlier anxiety slowly turning into fascination.
