#24. Just for a Moment Like This.
From inside, the voice of the guild branch manager could be heard, and Angbeu skipped lightly in that direction. A man, who had been staring intently at the soft pink hair brushing past his fingertips in vain, clenched his fist and hid himself in the darkness. Angbeu, who had narrowly escaped his grasp, came face to face with the branch manager.
“Branch manager? Sorry, were you asleep?”
“No, not at all. I’m the one who’s ashamed to greet you in such a state.”
The branch manager, whose cheeks had sunken, adjusted his glasses and bowed his head. At that, Angbeu quickly waved her hand.
“Don’t say that. Everyone knows you’re the one who’s working the hardest.”
Her words, filled only with sincerity, brought moisture to the branch manager’s eyes. He hurriedly dabbed them and let out a hearty laugh.
“As I get older, I find myself moved by the smallest things. How silly of me.”
“You’re doing great. Better than anyone. I know that very well. Just hang in there a little longer.”
In truth, the branch manager’s hardships were far from over until the current incident was resolved. But Angbeu didn’t say that aloud. She also refrained from mentioning that Her Highness the Princess herself was overseeing the matter. She cherished the branch manager but had enough sense not to blurt out sensitive imperial movements just to make him feel better. Though she seemed to live in a bed of flowers, Angbeu was a ‘Taren.’
“Yes. By the way, young lady, here’s the chart you requested.”
“Thanks for the hard work.”
Angbeu’s gaze grew sharp as she examined the chart outlining the flow of goods the branch manager handed her. How much time had passed? Glancing over at the branch manager, who had practically passed out from exhaustion, Angbeu quietly stood and left with the documents in hand. Once outside, she suddenly stopped.
“Huh? You’re…”
Recognizing the man who stood before her, Angbeu smiled brightly.
“How have you been? I’m sure the branch manager appreciates you coming out to help. I do too, of course.”
The man bowed slightly and responded with a kind voice.
“Thanks to you, everything was resolved.”
Though he had lost all the money Angbeu had given him, he had come to understand that people could not be bought with money. In any case, it wasn’t a lie to say her help had been useful.
“Really? That’s a relief.”
A gentle smile spread across the man’s lips as he watched Angbeu beam at him.
“Just hang in there a bit more. There haven’t been any recent disappearances, so soon…”
As Angbeu chattered on with her soft red lips, the man quietly lowered his head, hiding his eyes. One step, then another—he began to approach her. When he had closed the distance to the point where he could reach out and twist her neck—
“Young lady!”
The branch manager suddenly appeared from behind her. He must have rushed out right after waking, as his hair was a mess. But even as she looked at his disheveled appearance, Angbeu simply shook her head, her expression filled with concern.
“You should’ve rested more.”
“No, I couldn’t stay lying down while you’re leaving.”
Despite the dark shadows under his eyes, the branch manager firmly insisted on seeing her off.
“Well, if you insist…”
“Yes. Huh? You, were you working again today?”
When the branch manager adjusted his glasses and looked at the man, he bowed again.
“I just came out in case I might be needed.”
The branch manager, moved once again, approached him with an emotional look, grasping his shoulders tightly.
“I’m really grateful to have someone like you.”
The man looked down at the hands gripping his shoulders and gently stepped away.
“Not at all. As long as I’m helpful, that’s enough. Then, I’ll return to my work.”
Just as he was about to leave, Angbeu called out.
“Ah, wait a second.”
She gestured to the branch manager, who quickly took the hint and pulled a pouch of money from his coat. Angbeu handed it personally to the man with a smile.
“This is for all your hard work and as encouragement to keep working diligently at the guild.”
“But… you already gave me money last time. I couldn’t possibly—”
Before he could finish politely declining, Angbeu cut him off.
“Take it. That’s an order. And keep up the good work.”
Meeting her eyes—filled with nothing but pure kindness—the man lowered his head and accepted the pouch. Angbeu turned and left, the branch manager following behind her. But the man stood frozen in place, staring for a long, long time at the spot where Angbeu had disappeared.
Meanwhile…
Olivia and Cryer had just returned to the palace after spending a pleasant time outside. Facing yet another mountain of paperwork, Olivia took a deep breath to steady her spinning focus.
“Alright. Let’s do this again today.”
As she dove into the paperwork like a warrior into battle, Cryer took his usual seat and opened the book he’d been reading.
Scratch, scratch.
Flip.
Only the sound of pen scratching paper and the occasional turning of a page filled the room. A peaceful silence had become second nature to the two of them. Neither considered it particularly special nor thought much of it anymore.
CLOP.
Finishing a book on Bolsheik’s history—one that spoke of running faster than words—Cryer glanced over at Olivia. Her petite shoulders were moving slightly, and the pen beneath them was flying across the page faster than the eye could see. It was a familiar sight, yet still always remarkable.
How does such strength come from such a small frame?
The way her fiery red hair shimmered with each movement made her look like a quiet blue flame—hotter than any blazing red one. Cryer rested his chin in his hand and watched her quietly, unable to see her striking blue eyes, which were always so focused on him. His gaze followed the crimson strands that danced gently down her cheek.
Bolsheik. Surely they existed in his own time as well. A house that had been around since the beginning of the continent—there must’ve been people with hair like that back then. Perhaps even someone just like her. Perhaps someone he once knew.
It was a curious thought.
He smiled faintly at the absurd notion—but his expression quickly froze. Cryer pressed down on the painful brand on his collarbone. Olivia didn’t miss the motion. She dropped her papers and rushed over.
“What—don’t tell me it hurts again?”
“It does.”
“Pain level? On a scale from 1 to 10?”
Cryer chuckled and pushed back her round forehead that had come too close to his collarbone.
“That depends on how you define 10. There’s no point quantifying it like that.”
“Oh, right. Then 10 would be…”
Before she could finish, Cryer answered.
“It’s just a bit uncomfortable.”
He rolled his neck as he removed his hand from the brand.
“Not enough to interfere with sparring.”
Olivia smacked his arm.
“Sparring’s not the issue! That brand is related to the ancient gods—that’s way more important!”
She wasn’t wrong. But Cryer shook his head.
“It’s not constant pain, doesn’t respond to any clear condition, and it’s not unbearable. So it’s not important right now.”
If there was a condition, it might’ve been Olivia herself—but even that wasn’t clear. If it always hurt when he touched her, that would be one thing. But it didn’t.
“But still…”
Her eyes never left the mark on his skin.
“No. There’s no point dwelling on unsolvable problems. Besides…”
He looked down at his collarbone.
“The brand is just that—a brand. I never thought it had a purpose. If anything, it would be the eyes.”
He tapped beneath his eye, and Olivia instinctively touched her own.
“Eyes?”
“Yes.”
She stared into his crimson eyes.
“What about them? Do they… shoot something?”
“What?”
“I mean, I—”
Realizing how ridiculous it sounded, Olivia trailed off, and Cryer shook his head.
“Nothing shoots from them. They just change when you become a slave to an ancient god.”
“This… crimson color? So it wasn’t your original eye color?”
Her doubt was obvious—how could he know that without any memories?
Cryer shrugged.
“Right. I don’t know what my original eye color was. But the wizard’s daughter said it, and she may be insane, but she doesn’t lie.”
He remembered—shortly after he had been resurrected and branded.
“Cryer. Your eyes are truly beautiful.”
Greta had whispered while brushing his eyes with a look of rapture.
“Only those who serve the ancient gods have eyes like this.”
In his blood-red irises, resentment, rage, despair, and resignation churned endlessly. Yes, those eyes were a shackle, a symbol—just like the brand. Proof that he was a slave of the ancient gods, with no escape. A resurrection he never wanted. A contract he never asked for.
CRACK.
The armrest of the sofa crumbled in his grip like a snowball.
Then—
Olivia gently covered Cryer’s eyes with her hands. From the darkness spread a warmth that didn’t belong there. The tension in Cryer’s hands eased, and the throbbing rage and sorrow settled down in the quiet of her touch.
He slowly reached up and traced her soft but callused fingers—stopping at the hardened joints from years of holding a pen.
“Your High…”
“It was just a reflex. That’s all.”
Before he could speak, Olivia pressed her hands more firmly against him. Silence settled once more between them—warm and uneasy.
Then Cryer placed his hand over hers.
She flinched and tried to pull back.
“…Just for a moment like this.”
His voice, low and hoarse, trembled faintly against her ear. Olivia froze, her expression unreadable, still covering his eyes.
Just as she was about to say something—
KNOCK KNOCK.
A sudden knock jolted her like a fish struck by lightning, and a panicked servant’s voice followed.
“Your Highness, my apologies. A guest has arrived from the Kingdom of Norden.”
