Chapter 55

# 55

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Nabia stared at the reply Lark had sent for a long time.

A faint doubt lingered in her red eyes, wondering if this was really true.

'Of course, I can cut hair.'

Lark might not know, but Nabia had learned how to cut hair in the fifth cycle.

In fact, if asked to do it, she could do a decent job. However, this wasn't the kind of position she wanted.

Nabia sighed softly, folded the letter that read only "barber," and put it in the drawer of the side table, muttering to herself.

"The Duke is quite an interesting person."

Minerva, who had just finished treating Nabia and was packing her bag, pushed up her glasses and cautiously asked.

"…Master?"

There's no way!

Nabia placed a new sheet of paper on the table and rubbed her temples.

'I guess I need to send another letter.'

Margaret went down to the kitchen to clear the dishes.

Minerva was the only one left.

"…Minerva, do you know when we'll be going to the Duke?"

"Me, me? I should go up to his room right after I visit mine."

"Ah, really?"

Nabia smiled brightly, looking relieved.

"Could you deliver this letter for me then?"

"O-of course I can…!"

Nabia quickly ran to the table and picked up a pen.

Duke, I appreciate your kind words.

However, I am worried whether I can handle the significant task of being a barber.

I think a more active position would suit me better. What do you think?

I hope I am not asking for too much.

-Nabia

"Thanks for the favor."

Minerva delivered a bottle of anesthetic extract to Lark almost every day.

That's why today, she also brought a box filled with anesthetic and placed the letter inside before taking it to the third floor.

Now, in Lark's bedroom.

Lark opened the box.

"…What is this?"

On top of the neatly arranged black wooden box and black bottles, a white letter was placed.

"T-that, well…"

Minerva's eyes darted around nervously as she trembled at her master's cold expression.

"Aren't you going to take it?"

At Lark's sharp rebuke, Minerva flinched but remained standing still.

After Schleman yesterday, Margaret today, and now Minerva.

Lark closed the box lid and waved his hand dismissively.

"Get out."

"M-master…"

"If you don't leave, I'll burn this letter. Get out now."

Threatened with burning the letter, Minerva was startled and quickly bowed before fleeing the bedroom.

This only made Lark even angrier.

Is she more worried about the letter burning than my bad mood right now!

"Making me this consistently angry is a talent in itself."

Lark unfolded the letter with a fierce expression, as if he were about to tear it to shreds.

But the first line was already a spectacle.

"What? You listened well?"

And the next line about a significant task?

Lark read through the letter and understood Nabia's true intentions.

Nabia had written the letter in a roundabout way, treating the absurd suggestion of being a barber as if she were a clueless child, saying, "Okay, okay, I understand. I'll think about it again."

Lark crumpled the letter mercilessly and threw it away.

"Hmph… How long do I have to play along with this childish game!"

Despite his fierce muttering, he summoned writing tools diligently.

Be grateful for the task of cutting hair, even though you don't know how to do it.

Crack!

When Lark slammed the pen on the table, the pen broke.

He bellowed.

"Minerva!"

"Y-yes!"

Minerva, who had been waiting nervously outside, immediately rushed in, grabbed the letter, and fled the bedroom like she was running away.

Nabia sighed softly as she read the longest reply Lark had ever sent.

'That's right. I'm just an 8-year-old with nothing.'

What can an 8-year-old girl really do?

Nabia had yet to prove what she could do.

"I need to do my best to find something."

"Y-yes…"

Ah…

To Minerva, it only looked like Lark was being spiteful to a child.

Nabia didn't stop there.

"But there's a mistake in this. Cutting hair is a trained skill that not just anyone can do."

Nabia wouldn't have known how difficult these tasks were if she hadn't tried them herself.

'Should I thank Wood for teaching me the realities of life?'

Nabia smiled bitterly as she recalled the fifth cycle.

In the fifth cycle, Nabia was already a seasoned returnee. She had a lot of information, was skilled in etiquette, and had a good grasp of studies.

This irritated Wood.

'He couldn't bear the fact that a mere insect was better than him.'

Wood had been thinking about how to make Nabia insignificant since she was 11 years old.

He made her do things that would be considered beneath a noble lady, like driving a carriage, cooking, and cutting hair.

Nabia managed to do all these tasks, albeit clumsily, driven by her determination to be loved.

But in the end, she was thrown out in the winter and died of frostbite.

'If I had acted more like a slave, I might have lived a bit longer.'

Nabia put on a serious face and gently asked Minerva, who was about to leave.

"Um, Minerva. I'm sorry, but could you deliver one more letter for me?"

Minerva, seeing Nabia's earnest eyes and furrowed brows, forgot her fear of Lark and nodded vigorously.

"Thank you so much."

Nabia's bright smile made Minerva unconsciously place her hand over her heart.

'Miss, you don't even realize this is a beauty trap…'

Nabia handed over the already written letter.

Knock knock.

Minerva entered the room as tense as a herbivore entering a predator's den.

Then, at an unprecedented speed, she placed Nabia's letter on the table and ran out of the bedroom.

Lark pressed his temples with both palms, bowed his head, and tried to calm his anger.

'They must all be trying to get themselves killed.'

There was no other explanation.

However, after a series of these incidents, he read the letter almost out of habit.

Duke Asselred,

After receiving your reply, I realized how unreasonable and foolish my request was.

I am already grateful for being given the task of a barber.

Thank you for reminding me of my shortcomings.

-Nabia

Nabia's letter was filled with humility and regret.

He was just being temperamental, so what exactly did she realize?

"Clearly, she's not in her right mind."

Rustle!

He threw the letter to the floor. This time, he didn't bother to reply.

Lark clicked his tongue, lay down on the sofa, and drew the curtains.

The room was plunged into darkness again.

On the black marble table, the writing tools he had summoned but not returned were still placed.