I Start with a Bad Hand!

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He refused my offered hand, stiffly getting up and tousling his bangs before subtly sliding the book he had taken back toward himself. He continued to glance at the pages, slightly turned in my direction.

In the narrow space filled with the scent of old books, the only sound was the turning of pages. The only thing bothering me was my loose sleeve flapping with each movement.

‘How annoying.’

I hastily pushed up my sleeve, and Icarus shifted slightly away. After a moment of hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was the cuff button he had claimed to have picked up a few days ago, still wrapped carefully in a handkerchief with its blue gem softly glistening.

“This….”

Before I could say more, Icarus spoke hurriedly.

“I brought it thinking of you.”

While I struggled to find words, he added, almost as an excuse, nervously ruffling his hair.

“I didn’t just find it. Don’t worry.”

“…Why?”

He fidgeted with the cuff button, book dust settling on his shoulders with little movement.

“You like neat things.”

He paused briefly.

“So do I.”

I looked at his tightly knotted school tie, his neatly pressed shirt, and the jacket that smelled of sunlight.

“I like neat things, too… so I thought you’d be uncomfortable with your sleeve undone.”

That’s why I wanted to give it to you. Icarus spoke matter-of-factly.

“And besides…”

He stopped, squinting his eyes and failing to hide a playful smile.

“I can give it to you. I thought we were kind of friends by now.”

“Please don’t make that face. I’ll try not to make it either.”

He laughed softly.

I should refuse. I don’t want to form a relationship here that I can’t handle. Yet, I kept staring at the cuff button he held out until I finally took it. It felt warm, as if he’d been holding it for a long time.

“Thank you. Uh… but I don’t have a needle, so I can’t sew it on right now,”

However, before I could finish speaking, he rummaged through his pocket again and pulled out a small, flat sewing kit. This time, his face was genuinely embarrassed.

‘Seriously, even a noblewoman wouldn’t carry thread and needles in her pocket. What is he, a peddler?’

Icarus extended his hand, as if to say, “Give me your wrist.” Unable to hide my bewilderment, I held out my wrist to him and asked,

“Do you always carry a sewing kit around?”

He grabbed the end of my loose sleeve. His hand stiffened.

“…I thought it might come in handy someday.”

“For a sewing kit?”

You don’t even carry a bag. Concentrating on my words, his hand slipped, the needle missing its target.

“I thought it might come in handy. Like now.”

At what point had he started carrying around a cuff button and a sewing kit for some unknown future use? I had no idea. But I didn’t question his final remark.

After a few stitches, the once flapping sleeve was neatly mended. The other sleeve too. His hand, carefully holding my sleeve, trembled slightly.

“Can’t have you walking around mismatched.”

Now, the neat, dark blue cuff button replaced the original button. My sleeve no longer fluttered.

“Thank you.”

“For just this little thing.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not just this. Showing me this bookshelf, and all the other things.”

He lightly scratched the back of his neck. His golden hair lifted slightly, then fell back down.

“I’m leaving.”

“Sorry?”

“I have a class.”

I looked up and saw the tips of his ears turning red. I decided not to say anything else and let him go. Ugh, he stood up awkwardly, his legs stiff from squatting for so long. He looked at me still crouching and extended his hand, as if to shake hands, inviting me to get up.

Giving a cuff button as a gift, sewing it on the spot, extending a hand to help me stand up.

Are these things friends do? Could I do the same for Agnes and Irene?

Yes, it was something I could do. I took Icarus’s hand.

After that day, reading books from the Kingdom of Lucero became part of my new routine.

Before the closing time of the library, I planned to borrow yet another book. As I scanned the shelves, my eyes stopped on a particular spine. It was a sleekly bound book, devoid of a title or author. Such a pristine book was rare in the old library, making it stand out even more.

‘How did I not notice this book before?’

I casually flipped through it, and it seemed similar to a script, structured with characters and dialogue. As I hurriedly turned the pages, my gaze was suddenly caught by a familiar word. The speaker was simply labeled as “I” (ich) without a name.

I (ich):

‘Could this be the novel I know?’

What did it say? I squinted and traced the line with my finger, reading each word carefully.

‘I wish…’

I: I wish you would just die. Roxanne Elexion. No, Danae.

What am I reading?

It couldn’t be a coincidence that two names I knew appeared in such a short sentence. With trembling hands, I turned to the very first page of the book.

Droit Degoph: Aren’t you cold?

That single line sparked an instinctive intuition within me. This book contained something significant. So, I knew exactly what I had to do next.

“To the temple, please!”

Inside the jolting carriage, I slowly read through what I presumed to be the record of Dietrich’s life.

‘I can’t be sure yet…’

No matter how much I thought about it, there were many parts where the “I” in the book resembled the original character of Dietrich that I remembered. Being adopted into the ducal house, only to be revealed as not the true duchess and thus disowned, breaking her leg after being newly taken in by a barony.

‘But does this make any sense? Who wrote this and placed it in the library?’

Half of me thought this book might contain an unknown account of Dietrich’s life, while the other half found it logically implausible. The confusion made me feel even more nauseous.

Eventually, I closed the book and reflected. Once again, I noticed the book’s structure resembled that of a play script. It contained no descriptions of expressions or emotions, just the actions and dialogues of the characters.

The main difference was that it lacked soliloquies or asides, giving no insight into Dietrich’s inner thoughts. It seemed Dietrich wasn’t a particularly talkative child either. There were only a few lines of dialogue attributed to Dietrich.

However, it wasn’t entirely unproductive. The book provided an explanation that I had never been able to accept—why Dietrich ended up with Logan.

Logan Usher: You are a beautiful person.

Logan Usher: It’s true.  

Logan Usher: I want to cherish you for the rest of my life.  

Logan Usher: So, don’t cry. (He kisses her.)  

‘F*ck…’

Even knowing the whole story didn’t make it any easier to understand. However, I tried to accept that words which seemed manipulative to me might have resonated differently with Dietrich.

The part that truly frustrated me was different. Without Logan’s words, I would have no way of knowing whether Dietrich smiled, cried, or turned her head in embarrassment at that moment. Even in the book, presumed to be about her, I could only learn about Dietrich through the words of others.

The carriage soon arrived at the temple. Practically crawling, I hurried to meet the priest.

“I heard you broke the ribs of the second son of the Elexion Ducal House. How do you manage to break the ribs of someone who’s drowning?”

The greeting was unexpected, but the priest quickly calmed the confusion. After brushing the cover once, the priest answered simply.

“The aura that makes up this book matches the flow of the soul remaining in your body. It seems to be derived from the same soul.”

The priest then opened the book I handed over and began to read. After a moment, he looked up in surprise and asked,

“You speak Lucero?”

“Just a little. Anyway, that’s not important right now. I wanted to ask if there’s any chance the contents of this book are fake?”

“Fake?”

“Could the contents be fabricated or… perhaps biased from Dietrich’s perspective?”

Although biased might not be the right word. My hesitant tone prompted the priest to carefully read through the book before speaking again.

“I don’t think so. Look here.”

The priest opened the book to a random page.

“As you can see, this book lacks elements that could introduce subjective judgment. It consists only of dialogue and very simple actions. It’s more like a snapshot of the moment experienced by the person. It hasn’t been reconstructed from their perspective.”

I believe it’s trustworthy. The priest, flipping through the pages, looked at me as if to reassure me. His gaze felt comforting.