Chapter 4
Everyone present sucked in a breath.
“So this is how you ‘have fun,’ is it?”
Clarissa showed no sign of stopping.
She could see it clearly—the idiots who’d lost their excuse to interfere tucking their tails between their legs and watching her nervously.
What finally stopped her wasn’t one of them, but the most fragile person in the room: a boy.
“…My lady.”
Aryan gently took hold of Clarissa’s hand.
“Let’s go.”
Clarissa froze.
She turned, shock written all over her face, and looked down at the child clutching her.
A boy barely half a handspan shorter than her—who would believe he was thirteen?
Something hot welled up inside Clarissa. His silver hair, still untainted, shimmered even brighter under the sunlight.
She had never seen an angel with her own eyes, but she thought it would probably look like him.
Without a word, Clarissa tightened her grip on his hand and steadied his unsteady body once more.
Just as they were about to leave—this time with no one in their way—
“Oh, right.”
Clarissa turned her head slightly and shot a warning at Toddga and his cronies, who were still crumpled where they stood.
“If I hear you say my name again, I’ll tear your tongues right out.”
Only after she spat out those razor-sharp words did she notice that Aryan was still trembling.
That was when it hit her.
‘Damn it. I shouldn’t have done that in front of a kid who’s already been hurt…’
It hadn’t been very mature of her.
Granted, Clarissa was only twelve herself—but inside her lived a fully grown adult.
Reflecting on her own actions, Clarissa left the count’s estate with Aryan.
Curious gazes poured down on them from all sides, but she didn’t care.
From a distance, Marie spotted Clarissa and came running.
“Lady Clarissa!”
“Marie, get ready to leave. And bring bandages and ointment while you’re at it.”
“Pardon? Ah… and who is that?”
Marie’s eyes flicked toward Clarissa’s side. Her round blue eyes wavered, unsure where to settle.
Clarissa nodded and tightened her hold on Aryan’s hand.
“He’s coming with us.”
“Ah—yes! I’ll get everything ready right away!”
Marie broke into a smile and hurried off.
Once she was out of sight again, Aryan spoke hesitantly.
“Um, I’m fine—”
“I’m not.”
Clarissa cut him off before he could finish.
Aryan’s head drooped with a soft thud. The crown of his pale head, left exposed, looked painfully pitiful.
“You know… I think I was pretty shaken.”
She chose her words carefully. His fingertips were still cold.
“So….”
Clarissa lowered her head slightly.
Her brilliant eyes met Aryan’s clear ones, reflecting each other.
“Would you stay with me?”
Sky-blue eyes and shimmering silver hair bobbed faintly up and down. It was such a small, almost imperceptible movement—but it was enough.
Clarissa’s large eyes curved into a smile, and her small red lips formed a perfect grin.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Mm….”
Each time the white handkerchief soaked in medical alcohol brushed his scraped knee, Aryan let out a small groan.
‘It’s okay to cry out, you know.’
Watching him endure the pain without complaint made Clarissa feel deeply uneasy.
“Why—”
She’d meant to ask why he hadn’t called for help. But the sight of his slumped shoulders stole the words from her lips.
At the same time, the faces of those who’d hurt him—and had the nerve to look proud afterward—flashed vividly through her mind.
‘I see. Even if he had asked, nothing would’ve changed.’
“…Yes?”
“…No, it’s nothing.”
What Aryan had gone through was far from nothing, but Clarissa couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
She didn’t want to hurt him with careless words.
She set aside the handkerchief she’d used on his knee, took out a fresh one, and poured cool alcohol over it.
Then, even more gently than before, she dabbed at Aryan’s face.
“That must have hurt… a lot.”
At those quiet words, Aryan’s eyes flew open.
As he stared at her as if spellbound, something warm shimmered in Clarissa’s gaze.
His eyes drifted past her golden irises and fell to her cheeks.
Once again, Clarissa saw the pale crown of his head.
His shoulders were trembling—just slightly.
‘This little kid… becomes a duke, and a sword master, one day?’
When that day came, no one would dare treat him so carelessly.
And yet, that was precisely why a small question gnawed at Clarissa.
If it’s for that brilliant, glorious future… does it really not matter that your present is being trampled like this?
Clarissa’s hand gently came to rest atop the back of Aryan’s.
‘So small…’
So very small.
Late at night, darkness settled over everything.
Tonight, the moon—unusually gentle—brushed against the cheek of a boy who looked a lot like Clarissa herself.
“Mmm…”
His sleep-heavy voice tapped softly against the night. His brows briefly knit together, then relaxed.
His once steady breathing began to falter. It stopped for a moment—
Then burst out all at once.
Aryan opened his eyes.
Moonlight seeped into his hazy vision. Clear, watery eyes slowly came into focus.
As he moved out of habit to rub his eyes with the back of his hand, Aryan realized his right arm was trapped by something.
He turned his head—and was met with an unbelievable sight.
“Cla… rissa?”
He murmured her name blankly, then jolted and covered his mouth with his free hand.
“Gasp.”
[Say my name again, and I’ll rip your tongue out.]
The image of Clarissa snapping those sharp words resurfaced in his mind.
Aryan blinked once—twice—but she showed no sign of disappearing.
‘Is this… not a dream?’
Unable even to scream, his eyes rolled helplessly.
Another scene poured into his vision.
Beyond the large window, the moon peered in, and tiny stars embroidered across the black sky spilled their light over his bed.
Soft blankets he’d never felt before, a plush mattress, chocolate-brown curtains draped like a gazebo bed—swaying now and then in the summer breeze that slipped into the room.
A beautiful, spacious bedroom.
And beside him, asleep while holding his hand—his former fiancée.
Aryan thought:
‘It really is a dream.’
Clarissa appearing before him while he was being humiliated. Her warm gaze. The way she’d tended to his wounds.
All of it—
‘A dream.’
His mouth felt dry and rough.
His throat was parched, his head aching.
But none of it could be real.
Just like this sweet dream itself.
Carefully, Aryan pushed himself upright. Even if it was a dream, he didn’t want to let go of the warmth he could feel.
“Clarissa.”
Eyes squeezed shut, he called out to the owner of that warmth.
He threaded his fingers through her soft brown hair. It seemed to carry a sweet scent.
He grasped a small handful of her curls, then loosened his grip, over and over.
Still, Clarissa didn’t open her eyes.
That gave him courage.
His lips trembled as he spoke.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t answer.
Only her long lashes resting beneath closed eyes, her peach-tinted cheeks, gently rising and falling with her breath.
“Thank you.”
For being kind to me—even if it’s only in a dream.
Plop.
A small drop of water darkened the blanket.
Aryan buried his face into it.
Still holding Clarissa’s hand tightly, the boy—who had learned the warmth of another for the first time—offered a desperate prayer beneath the moonlight.
‘Please.’
The quiet space filled with the sound of a child’s sobs. The moon looked on in silence.
‘Please… if this is a dream, don’t let me wake up.’
As though listening closely to the boy’s heartfelt prayer.