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Judging by the man's expression, it was clear that he didn't particularly like the word "avoid."
This country was unnecessarily bellicose. Who on earth was calling whom hot-tempered? Rose couldn't understand it.
“Orturan acted that way toward us and claimed we would disappear from the map, but we survived.”
“And so you are isolated.”
“And so we have few war casualties. Young people held pencils instead of guns. Those children grew up safely and now sustain the nation of Bolton.”
When a sudden silence fell over the bedroom because Ray didn't answer, Rose realized how close they had become.
His body was leaning toward her just as it had when she wiped his forehead with a handkerchief on the academy grounds.
It was the same for Rose; they were so close that their breaths could have touched at any moment. The man's quiet eyes and his body, which blocked her view, were far too near.
She thought she wasn't particularly excited, but it seemed they had both been too immersed in the argument.
Startled to see her hand, which was bracing against the bed, was right in front of his lower body, Rose quickly pulled her hand back. However, Ray seemed completely unaware that they had become so close.
For his gaze refused to leave her face.
It was difficult to read whether the meaning behind that look was condemnation or agreement.
“You might call us cowards, but we chose the best method to build our lives.”
Feeling burdened by the distance, Rose murmured as she leaned back slightly.
“Stop thinking about Ladan or honor, and think about yourself. And your father.”
As soon as her father was mentioned, the man's sunken gaze instantly sharpened.
“I heard he passed away due to the aftereffects of wounds sustained in war.”
Seeing the look in his eyes as if he were gauging how much she knew, Rose quickly added,
“Was it a war worth that price?”
Ray remained silent, but for Rose, that was answer enough.
He was a man she had never considered the same kind of human as herself since their marriage, but today was different.
When he left the hospital after seeing patients, when he stood in silence before the soldiers' gravestones before departing, and when he consistently voiced his opposition to war—in those moments, he did not smile at all.
When a man who claimed that a smile was the basic standard of courtesy lost his smile, Rose could tell that he was human.
At the very least, she could empathize with his desire to prevent war.
“And above all, Antaka doesn't want war either. The same likely goes for Planto. If they are all just watching each other to see who will reject Ladan first, then Orturan should just do it.”
“Who told you that Antaka doesn't want it?”
“The Ambassador's wife told me. That the Governor of Antaka doesn't particularly desire war.”
“Did she say that so explicitly?”
Ray asked with a face full of suspicion.
“Of course, she didn't say it outright. But there's such a thing as nuance.”
At his gaze, which seemed to demand further explanation, Rose sighed and continued.
“I heard the Governor said it's regrettable that war is happening, but what can be done? You know how the word 'regrettable' is used in the Antaka language.”
“That is a common diplomatic expression used by everyone.”
“Have you ever seen Antakans say they are 'regrettable' when someone dies?”
Only then did Ray's gaze finally leave Rose. As if recalling the conversations he had with Antakans, the man looked down and sank into thought.
“They use that word when talking about things that should not happen, or things that must not be done. The meaning disappears when translated into Orturan, but the Ambassador's wife spoke to me in Antakan.”
Watching the man still lost in his own thoughts, Rose felt slightly embarrassed.
The person before her was the Foreign Minister. He was someone capable of observing and reading far more signs than the mere nuance of a word.
He would know more than she did, or at the very least, he wouldn't know less.
“I could be wrong. It was just the feeling I got. And the fact that the Ambassador and his wife are close with Mr. Marcel doesn't seem ordinary either.”
“Is there something special about Mr. Garnier?”
“The teacher is someone who is even trying to start a magazine to oppose the war.”
It suddenly occurred to her that the magazine Marcel mentioned might be helpful.
“If you want to change the atmosphere inside Orturan, why not try using artists? Politicians seem strangely reluctant to touch upon this subject.”
Ray let out a short, sudden chuckle, a sound that was almost a sneer.
“Are you telling me to have them sing in the square or paint pictures?”
This man, really.
Rose frowned unconsciously.
“No. They should brandish violins and easels. Only then will Cuetra be scared and run away, right?”
As Rose retorted with equal sarcasm, the man simply laughed again. Since he wasn't a man who laughed often, she wasn't sure if this was another sneer or a genuine laugh.
“I'm serious. There are no anti-war activists better than artists. Couldn't they create public opinion on their own, even if you don't move?”
“Does anyone actually read that magazine?”
The man asked in an extremely polite tone. He was so courteous that it almost felt like he was mocking her.
“Couldn't we just make them read it? If someone like you gave an interview...”
Ray's eyes narrowed as he looked at her.
It was as if he were asking if she was speaking seriously.
“Not you. Someone like you. You know what I mean.”
“I'm afraid I don't. What kind of person am I?”
Is he really asking because he doesn't know? Rose frowned and looked at him, but Ray's face remained nonchalant.
“...A popular person.”
Rose barely managed to answer, feeling as if she were forcing down tasteless food.
Regardless of her dislike for him, he was the most popular man in Orturan.
The corners of the man's mouth seemed to lift slightly as he looked at Rose's reluctant expression, but it was only for a fleeting moment. He fell silent again, his face lost in thought.
Thinking the man would not speak further, Rose turned away and tried to pick up a book from the nightstand.
However, upon seeing the time on the clock on the nightstand, Rose was so surprised that she forgot all about the book.
“My goodness, it's already past two in the morning.”
She hadn't realized time had passed so quickly.
As if it weren't surprising, Ray gave her a brief glance and lifted the duvet without a word. Then, after lying down in bed, he turned off the lamp beside him.
Following her husband who was preparing for bed as if it were nothing, Rose turned off her own lamp and lay on the left side. Staring up at the suddenly darkened ceiling of the bedroom, she tried to tell herself that he wasn't there.
Even though it was the second time, it still felt difficult to have a man who felt like a stranger lying right next to her.
“...I'll think about it.”
Suddenly, a low voice came from beside her. Though those short words were all, Rose realized he was talking about the magazine. She had expected him to ignore it, so this was unexpected.
Turning over, Rose realized that tonight had been very strange.
Since coming to Orturan, this was the first time she had spoken everything in her heart.
Thinking about it, today Rose had a 'conversation' with this man. Not a one-sided monologue, but a dialogue they shared.
She wasn't sure if they had reached an agreement, but regardless, a conversation was a conversation.
The fact that she had exchanged a long conversation with a man with whom she felt she would never communicate even if they spoke the same language made her feel very strange.
For today, even the Orturan language didn't feel frustrating.
For some reason, it seemed sleep would not come easily tonight either.
* * *
<Dear Ray,
I think this is the first time you've ever asked me for a favor? Moreover, to ask for something like this! I can't believe this is happening in my life! I hope there's a day when you absolutely must pay me back for this debt.
Having read the first issue, it's a decent magazine. Honestly, I would have gladly done an interview even without your request. Just boasting about the artworks in the Count's estate would take up over ten pages.
However, I felt the number of artists participating as writers was too small, so I put some effort into that. I recruited quite a few popular novelists in particular.
You've probably already read the magazine, so you know, right? Or not? Maybe you don't? You're so uninterested in these things, Ray. No, you actually ignore them.
But to make a request like this! I'm truly curious about the reason for this change of heart.
I hope that I have been a GREAT help to your lacking self.
Sincerely, Sophia Greenwood.
P.S. Come to think of it, next month is the birthday of our little Greenwood, Cedric.
You might be able to pay back your debt soon. I'll look forward to seeing what kind of gift Uncle Ray brings.
Oh? Wait, Cedric is saying something next to me. Po...ny. I think he's saying pony!>
The green wax seal of the House of Count Greenwood shone atop the letter, which perfectly captured Sophia's lively tone.
Brushing off the ash, Ray glanced at the magazine that came with the letter, titled <Caliburn Art Magazine>.
The magazine's name seemed to be taken from Caliburn Street, where the artists of Orturan lived.
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