MTO C88

Chapter 88

“Haa… I laughed so much my stomach hurts. Does laughing count as exercise, Saint?”

“Hmm, I’m sure it does.”

“Then I’ll just have to laugh even more! Hahaha!”

Miss Bever laughed heartily again until tears welled up at the corners of her eyes, which she dabbed with a handkerchief.

“Oh, this is so much fun. When I took the Duke’s measurements, I was honestly terrified.”

“Yes, it was scary—but thrilling too! I can’t believe I got to make clothes for such a handsome man!”

“But do you think the rumor’s true—that the Duke’s impotent? With such an impressive—”

“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!”

Lawrence, who had been silent all this while, cleared his throat so violently it sounded like thunder. His sharp gaze alone was enough to send a warning. The Bever siblings instantly snapped their mouths shut, though they couldn’t help exchanging mischievous glances and snickering.

Watching them, Michel suddenly recalled what he’d heard at the butcher’s shop—the butcher, too, had said that the new lord was impotent.

How in the world had such a rumor spread?

He had no idea of its origin, yet it seemed to be widely known. Back then, he’d been too busy with the chaos before him to think about it, but now that he had the time, the rumor didn’t sound entirely implausible.

Perhaps that was even why Kaidan had adopted Heart.

In The Demon Knight, there had been no mention of a Duchess or Heart’s half-siblings, which meant Kaidan had likely never married. And the reason he hadn’t… well, it was probably that.

With that thought, the idea of finding new families for the children didn’t seem impossible anymore. Surely there were many couples like Kaidan—people who longed for children but couldn’t have them.

If only he could encourage such people to consider adoption. But how could he change the public’s perception of orphaned children and spread awareness of the adoption process?

Just as Michel’s mind firmly concluded that Kaidan’s condition was a certainty, the Bever siblings draped colorful fabrics over his shoulders.

“Your skin’s as white as snow, so dark tones suit you well. What about purple—to match your eye color?”

“No, blue would be better. That way, it’ll match the Duke’s attire!”

The siblings spoke in riddles only they understood, layering fabric after fabric on his shoulders until Michel looked like a snowman made of cloth. Carefully raising his hand so the piles wouldn’t fall, he asked cautiously,

“Um… what exactly are we doing right now?”

“Huh? We have to pick out fabrics to make your outfit, of course!”

“But… don’t you only need fabric if you’re making a new one? I thought we were just doing alterations.”

“What?”

The Bever siblings and Michel blinked at each other in confusion. The one to clarify was Lawrence.

“They are preparing to make a new suit for you, Saint—one for the upcoming banquet.”

“Banquet?”

“Yes. Soon, the Eglence Castle will host the Spring Banquet—a celebration to mark the new season and introduce you to the northern nobility. Had no one informed you?”

Now that he thought about it… someone had mentioned it. Actually, several people had. Wasn’t that the very reason David had been drilling him in etiquette lessons?

Oh no. He had completely forgotten.

Sweat began to bead at Michel’s temples as he tried, and failed, to recall the list of prominent northern nobles David had recited to him like a lullaby. Truth be told, he had never really memorized it to begin with.

“Will there be many people attending?”

“It is the first banquet since His Grace’s investiture. Nearly every notable figure in the North will attend—and who would pass up the chance to meet the Saint?”

Michel had hoped for a small, quiet event, but Lawrence’s response crushed that hope entirely.

“Though we had to cut costs after the fire incident,” Lawrence continued solemnly, “I, Lawrence, will ensure that Eglence’s name shines without shame. It will be the grandest banquet yet. Every guest shall leave satisfied, expressing their utmost admiration for His Grace and the Saint alike.”

He spoke not like a butler, but like a man preparing for a festival. Despite only recently recovering from illness, Lawrence seemed more vigorous than ever.

If Michel made even one mistake at that banquet, it wouldn’t be Kaidan who’d scold him—it would be Lawrence himself. The very thought made Michel’s blood run cold, though the Bever siblings, unbothered, grew even more excited.

“For such a party, your outfit needs to be absolutely dazzling!”

“You’ll need at least three different ensembles! So, Saint, what do you want to wear? A vest? A cloak? A doublet? Just name it—the Bever siblings can make anything!”

“Well, uh… I don’t really know much about clothes. As long as it’s comfortable, that’s fine.”

Naturally, clothing in this world was nothing like that of 21st-century Korea. Jung-oh had once lived in his martial arts uniform, while Michel’s current wardrobe consisted mostly of flowing priestly robes.

Even when training here, he wore loose tunics and cotton trousers, but since they weren’t made for movement, one sharp kick was enough to rip them apart.

If only I had a proper dobok (taekwondo uniform)…

“Hmm.”

“Ah, I know that look! You’ve just thought of something!”

“What is it? Don’t hold back—tell us!”

At Michel’s small murmur, the siblings’ eyes sparkled with curiosity. After a moment’s hesitation, he confessed,

“Well, there is one kind of outfit I’d really like. It’s got a triangular neckline, like this…”

Michel began describing it verbally, but eventually resorted to sketching it out—a classic taekwondo uniform. The siblings, who had been all laughter until now, grew uncharacteristically serious as they examined the drawing.

“It looks simple enough to make…”

“But don’t you think it’s a bit too plain for a banquet?”

“So plain it might actually look bold.”

“Then how about we add lace to the collar?”

“Oh! And we could pleat the waist to accentuate the line!”

“N-no, that’s not—!”

Michel frantically waved his hands before they could turn his dobok into a dress.

“This outfit isn’t for the banquet—it’s for training. I want it loose and durable, with thick fabric that won’t tear easily—but not so heavy that it restricts movement. It needs to be light and flexible.”

“Our Saint wants a magical outfit, huh?”

“Is it too difficult?”

“Ha! How could you insult the Bever siblings like that? Of course it’s possible! We could make it with our eyes closed!”

Michel’s face lit up with relief. He had endured the uncomfortable clothing of this world for far too long—finally, something practical!

Mr. Bever then asked,

“And what about your banquet attire?”

“Oh, I’ll leave that entirely up to you.”

“Really? Wonderful! You won’t regret those words—we’ll make you the finest outfit you’ve ever seen!”

“Lace! Lots of lace! And embroidery! And buttons—tons of them!”

Watching the two sketch furiously in midair, Michel began to feel a creeping dread about what sort of garment might come out of this. Still, since he knew nothing about fashion, there wasn’t much he could say. He could only pray that they would remember he was a priest and make something at least somewhat modest.

“Oh, right—could you also make clothes for the children?”

If they could sew his training clothes, perhaps they could make smaller versions for the kids as well. Their clothes wore out even faster than his, and lately, Michel had been wanting to introduce them to the concept of colored belts.

“Of course! There’s no outfit the Bever siblings can’t make! Should we make formal wear for the children too?”

“Not formal wear, but…”

Michel stopped mid-sentence, struck by a sudden, brilliant idea.

“That’s it!”

“My goodness!”

He seized both their hands at once, and the Bever siblings flushed bright red to their ears.

That night, under a sky without even moonlight, the Eglence family’s physician paid a visit to the Duke’s bedchamber.

“Your Grace, I was told you requested my presence…”

“Yes. Come in—have a seat.”

Kaidan gestured to the chair before his bed. The dimly lit room, illuminated by only a few candles, carried a somber air. The doctor swallowed nervously.

“Forgive me for calling you at such a late hour,” Kaidan said quietly. “If Lawrence found out, he’d only make unnecessary fuss.”

“What seems to be the issue, my lord?”

“Nothing grave. I only want you to check my condition.”

“Are you unwell?”

“Hmm, not seriously. It’s just that…”

Kaidan hesitated before speaking again.

“Lately, my heart… has been hurting.”

“…Pardon?”

Though Kaidan tried to sound casual, the doctor’s expression instantly darkened. Heart pain was no small matter—it could mean death.

Without brothers or heirs, Kaidan’s death would cause chaos across the North. That was why he had summoned the doctor in secrecy. If word spread that the Duke of Eglence was ill, it would send waves of anxiety through his vassals.

At first, he’d dismissed the pain as an illusion—but it had grown sharper and more frequent by the day. Unlike a sword wound that could be bound and treated, this pain came from somewhere unseen, leaving him restless and uneasy.

The doctor adjusted his glasses.

“Could you describe the symptoms in more detail, my lord? When does the pain usually occur?”

“Well…”

Kaidan tried to recall the moments when that stabbing pain had struck. Instantly, an image surfaced in his mind—a pale face tinged with the faintest rose hue, white as snow beneath candlelight.

And right on cue, his chest throbbed again. His hand pressed instinctively to his heart, and the doctor jumped in alarm.

“Your Grace!”

“I’m fine… Yes. I see now. I’ve realized exactly when it happens—it strikes whenever I meet a certain person.”

“…A person, you say?”

“Lately, even thinking of them brings the same pain.”

For some reason, Kaidan couldn’t bring himself to say that the “certain person” was the Saint. He didn’t know why—but it felt as though it was something he had to hide.

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