An Ode to Your Survival [Novel] Chapter 37 – Return of the Shadow

Episode 37

The shoe was soaked through with blood. Having devoted the past week entirely to dance practice, my feet were already a torn, raw mess, and spending all evening dancing had pushed them to their limit. Forcing my way through unfamiliar steps had left my ankles and calves swollen thick.

Waving my hand, I stopped Maya as she opened her mouth to shout for the other servants. Once the tension drained away, my entire body throbbed as though I had been beaten black and blue, and I didn't want to move a single muscle.

The reception hadn't gone poorly. In fact, it could even be called a resounding success. Administrator Penu had invited me to a recitation gathering next month on the spot. Mentioning that I was reading ‘Hairund’ had apparently won his favor.

The stinging stares from the women hiding behind their fans hadn't bothered me in the slightest. Their endless, vacuous chatter was nothing more than meaningless noise, entirely unworthy of my attention.

I had drawn more than enough attention from the men as well. Having accomplished everything I set out to do today, I caught my breath and savored a moment of quiet pride.

I had no intention of letting go of this status as a baron's daughter, which had fallen into my hands purely by chance. I was going to protect it with everything I had. To do that, I had to carve out my own usefulness so Kirhin could never cast me aside. This debut had been the stage for that very purpose.

I closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the sharp, throbbing ache in my feet to subside even slightly, when the distinct prickle of a gaze snapped me alert. I froze as I lifted my head. A strange man stood just two paces away.

I hadn't heard a single sign of his approach. I scrutinized his face, but couldn't place him. In truth, there had been far too many people; I had barely managed to commit the direct heirs of the prominent houses to memory.

His plain, neat attire was modest enough to suggest a son from a ruined family, yet his narrow eyes carried an oddly commanding presence that was impossible to overlook. With long, dark brown hair loosely bound, his features evoked the image of a mild-mannered scholar, but a strange chill ran straight down my spine.

A faint smile touched the man's impassive face. Giving a polite nod, he spoke.

When he abruptly stepped forward, I recoiled by pure instinct. He smiled faintly and gestured toward the floor.

The corridor was dim, far too dark for such a faint drop of blood to be caught at a glance. I realized immediately that he had overheard everything between Maya and me. An expression of quiet admiration flickered across his face.

I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his. He wore an easy, nonchalant smile, yet his eyes felt as cold and keen as a whetted blade.

Sensing the guarded edge in my gaze, the man took a leisurely step back.

Before I could utter another word, he offered a crisp bow and turned away. His strides were not particularly long, yet he rounded the corner and vanished in the blink of an eye. His movements were as light as a feather.

Left alone once more, a heavy breath escaped me, and I leaned against the wall to steady my wobbling knees. Though our exchange had lasted only an instant, I felt the kind of exhaustion that usually followed hours of entertaining guests at a grand reception.

His claim of being lost had been a lie. He hadn't hesitated for even a fraction of a second when choosing which way to turn. Those were the movements of someone who knew exactly where every corridor led.

Who was he?

Was he connected to whatever Kirhin and Damian were involved in?

…Where in the world was Damian right now anyway?

I couldn't say whether being a noble was more exhausting than being a servant, but it was certainly far harder than I had ever imagined. Lost in that thought, focusing solely on placing one foot before the other as I turned around sluggishly, every nerve in my body flared like a drawn blade.

The window I had closed before leaving was open. And drifting through that window on the breeze came an unmistakable scent.

As if mocking my doubt, my eyes landed on the figure lounging leisurely on the sofa by the window.

Draped in a cloak as dark as night, he was—unbelievably enough—reading a book. The moonlight and lamplight together carved out his cool, sharp profile in striking clarity. Turning a page, he spoke out of nowhere.

Ah, that voice.

A voice I had recalled so many times, yet had slowly grown hazy with each passing day, came rushing back as vivid as a jewel wiped clean of old dust. Terrified that speaking might cause him to vanish like an illusion, I stood frozen, unable to move. I couldn't believe my eyes.

When the silence stretched on, he furrowed his brow and turned his head. Those languid yet faintly teasing eyes; that high, proud bridge of the nose and the sharp, sculpted contours of his lips carrying an innate grace; and those emerald eyes that made even the rarest gems pale in comparison.

Everything was just as it had been. The sight took my breath away.

He rose effortlessly to his feet. In an instant, it felt as though his presence commanded the entire room. Holding out the book in his hand, he let out a dry chuckle.

It was really him.

Alive.

The man I had no way of knowing was dead or alive through one week, ten days, two whole weeks.

“…Kid.”