Into the Rose Garden Novel - Chapter 48.2

The shop owner, flustered, returned to the display counter. He put the silk hat back in its box and instead took out a very thick leather-bound book. It was the order book. After flipping through a few thick pages, the owner pointed to a spot and said, “Look here.”

[A. Count Teiwind
Silk Hat – Reorder
Summer Garden Hat – Wide brim, hair-colored.
Prepaid, to be made as quickly as possible.]

Next to it, fabric and thread samples were pinned.

“I never placed such an order.”

“But an employee from the Count’s household came and placed the order.”

The shop owner desperately pleaded.

“An employee? Who are you talking about? Hugo?”

“Not Mr. Hugo. It was a young Alpha man, I don’t know his name. He was well-dressed and had a confident demeanor. He looked like he served a nobleman.”

“Was he perhaps this tall, with slightly tanned skin, a very arrogant expression, and a low voice? Both his eyes and hair are dark brown.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

When Aeroc, just in case, described the man’s appearance, the shop owner finally sighed as if he had been saved and smiled again.

“He is someone the Count knows, isn’t he?”

“Of course I know him. I know him so well it makes me angry.”

Aeroc frowned and sneered. The shop owner’s face turned pale again.

“What shall we do with these hats? As I mentioned, he already paid for them.”

He felt an urge to stomp on them right there. But if he actually did that, the innocent hat shop owner would clutch his heart and groan. It would be more appropriate to stomp and crumple them in front of that man.

“I’ll take them. Please wrap them and put them in the carriage.”

“Yes, I understand.”

All thoughts of ordering a new hat vanished. The anger and humiliation he had forcibly suppressed for days, avoiding confrontation, subtly began to resurface. The shop owner, with a pleased expression, loaded the ribbon-decorated boxes into the carriage.

As soon as he met the art museum director, Aeroc mentioned the anonymous buyer.

“I thought he was royalty, given how he kept it hidden from me, but it turns out he was just a nobody.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Bendyke. He’s the anonymous buyer who took <Early Summer>, isn’t he?”

The director’s smiling face quickly vanished. Instead, he fidgeted with an embarrassed expression.

“Was he a more important client than me?”

“That is absolutely not the case. The Count is as important a client as the Imperial Family, if not more so. Practically speaking, apart from Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress, there is no collector with deeper connoisseurship than the Count.”

“Is that so? You say that, but I don’t feel it in your treatment.”

Aeroc, with a cold retort, brushed past the director and walked towards the exhibition hall.

“I will guide you to the private room.”

“No need.”

By refusing the private room, he not only made it clear that he had no intention of purchasing today, but also left his attitude ambiguous as to whether he would use it in the future. The director then turned pale and clung to him.

“I apologize. Mr. Bendyke greatly helped me resolve my financial problems, so I had no choice.”

“Financial problems? Was the art museum struggling?”

It was the first he had heard of the art museum struggling financially. The art museum was frequented by high-ranking aristocrats who wished to display their aesthetic sense along with their asset investments, so there was little room for financial problems. The director wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

“It’s not the art museum, but my personal problem. It’s embarrassing to say, but my son fell into gambling. If I didn’t pay off the debt, my son’s safety would be at risk… Just as I was agonizing, Mr. Bendyke resolved it for me. Not only did he save my son’s life, but I also lost almost no assets. I tried to pay for the resolution, but he asked for a painting instead. It was <Early Summer>, which the Count had intended to purchase. I had no choice. I am truly sorry.”

It was a plausible story. How many families were in trouble because of a child or spouse addicted to gambling? But the story didn’t quite add up.

“Wasn’t <Early Summer> just brought in that day? It wouldn’t have even been hung in the exhibition hall. How did he know about that painting and demand it?”

“That’s…?”

The director, perhaps not knowing himself, was speechless.

“Did you ever mention me to him?”

“No. Absolutely not. Spreading rumors is what low-class art dealers do. If I, who serves the Imperial and noble families, were to do such a thing, I wouldn’t have been able to work here for so long. Here, respecting the privacy of proud collectors is essential.”

The director hastily denied it. He was right. If he had spread rumors about a family just for a painting, the director would have been expelled from the capital long ago. The director was well aware of that.

Bendyke knew Aeroc well. What books he liked, what paintings he liked, or what instruments he was skilled at. He knew even the most minute details that even close acquaintances didn’t know. While his instruments and acquaintances could be known indirectly, even Viscount Derbyshire didn’t know his taste in books and paintings. That was something only someone inside the mansion, specifically the cultured Hugo, would know.

“I should go home today.”

It was incredibly unpleasant. And ominous at the same time. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to relieve his anxiety until he threw all the paintings hanging in his bedroom and the hats in the carriage right in that man’s face. But the strange events that began at the hat shop were not over yet.

Just as he was about to turn around, someone suddenly appeared in front of Aeroc. The disheveled man, whose gender (Alpha or Omega) was indistinguishable, smelled faintly of paint. Since it was common for painters to frequent the art museum, Aeroc frowned at the man blocking his way, as a silent protest, and tried to walk around him.

“Just a moment! Is your name Aeroc, by any chance?”

What stopped his steps was his own name, spoken by the man who had grabbed his arm as if delighted.

“Who are you?”

“Ah, I’m Vult. A painter.”

The man, who introduced himself as Vult, smiled brightly and offered a handshake. Aeroc, annoyed, frowned. The director then stepped forward.

“Mr. Vult is the painter of <Early Summer>. Mr. Vult, what brings you here?”

“I’ve finished my new work, <Aeroc>, and brought it here. The wonderful gentleman who bought <Early Summer> visited me and placed a special private order. He told me to leave it at the art museum when it was finished, so I brought it.”

And with that, Vult beamed at Aeroc.

“I never expected to meet the model here. When I only heard the description from the client, I was half in doubt if such a perfect human could exist, but indeed, he does. ‘Haughty angel’ truly suits him. He said he possessed a nobility that would not break, no matter how miserable his appearance! Dressed so splendidly, he looks like an archangel wielding a divine sword. My heart is trembling.”

The praise was nauseating and sent shivers down his spine, but that was a later concern.

“Is this Bendyke’s doing again?”

“It’s not ‘again,’ but this is the first time, yet you already know. He was so finicky while I was painting the portrait, it made me furious. But he was right. Compared to the real thing, my painting is just a scribble. I was too arrogant. A mere painter should be humble before the Creator’s masterpiece.”

“Stop your disgusting talk.”

When Aeroc snapped coldly, Vult, startled, closed his talkative mouth. Aeroc was so consumed by anger he didn’t know what to do. If he were at the mansion, he might have yelled and kicked over a desk. Instead, he clenched his fists and held his head high. He opened his mouth, casting a scathing look at the unpleasant man.

“So that Bendyke ordered a painting from you, and I’m the model?”

“That’s right. I recognized you instantly. Isn’t Aeroc your name?”

The painter, perhaps also annoyed, became stiff in his demeanor and tone. The director, turning pale, tried to stop him.

“This is Count Teiwind. He is one of the empire’s leading high-ranking nobles and a titan in this industry. Apologize.”

Vult, who knew the name but not who Aeroc actually was, hesitated. The painter, possessing the ability to change expressions like a clown, wavered between apologizing for the sake of his future or proudly speaking his mind to uphold his pride. Aeroc couldn’t help but snort.

“You said you brought the painting?”

“Y-yes.”

“Let me see it. Where is it?”

“In the empty private room.”

Aeroc moved first. Vult and the director followed behind him. As soon as the private room door opened, he spotted the painting wrapped in a paint-stained cloth. It was quite large, enough to hang in a hallway. The moment he removed the cover and faced the portrait, Aeroc was speechless.

It was clearly himself. But he looked so unfamiliar. The background was not his mansion, but a shack. In one corner, on a table, a crude chessboard was drawn, and several small stones lay scattered. On the floor, a bucket of potatoes sat, and next to it, a few yellow daffodils were placed.

Most surprising was his own appearance, sitting on a crooked wooden chair and staring straight ahead. His cheeks and neck, so pale they were almost gray, were emaciated, and his body, clad in old clothes with unkempt, frizzy, dirty hair, seemed to be nothing but bones. Amidst his obvious illness, his strangely vivid and clear blue eyes radiated an intense light. His chapped lips held a haughty sneer.

“What a malicious hobby.”

His hands trembled at the thought of such a depraved hobby, beyond his imagination. The moment he lifted the painting high, intending to smash it on the spot, unable to bear the terrible humiliation, Vult rushed forward.

“That’s my painting! You’re not the client!”

“Take your filthy hands off it.”

Even the director rushed in to stop Aeroc. Thanks to them, Aeroc, who had dropped the painting, gasped for breath. Vult hid his painting behind him, maintaining his guard.

“Burn it immediately.”

“Only Mr. Bendyke has the right to do that. If you lay a hand on me or my painting, I will sue you! Even an aristocrat cannot escape charges of violence and property damage.”

Vult, with his loose tongue, retorted somewhat plausibly towards Aeroc, who was trembling with indignation. But the director, who knew well that if the opponent was Count Teiwind, the aggressor would likely disappear without a trace before any lawsuit or complaint could even be filed, tried to quell the situation by silencing the impertinent painter.

“He’s only recently come up from the countryside and is still naive. He’s a talented painter, so please forgive him generously.”

He was more angry at himself for almost losing his temper with such people than at the director’s apology. Losing his temper with such insignificant people in such a place would be a disgrace. He offered a silent, brief thank you to his father, who had given him strict lessons to maintain composure in any situation. Aeroc, calming his excitement, let out a short sigh and smoothed the crumpled sleeve of his jacket.

“I’ll hold Bendyke responsible for this matter for now.”

The director breathed a sigh of relief. But Vult did not.

“Fine. Lovers’ quarrels should be resolved between themselves. Don’t bother other people unnecessarily.”

The ignorant man, who hadn’t grasped the situation, continued to wag his tongue to the very end. The director looked like he was about to drop dead. And Aeroc glared at him as if to kill him. Vult, meeting his gaze, flinched and stepped back.

“If you were a nobleman, I would challenge you to a duel right here. But losing my temper with a commoner of low birth would only tarnish my honor. Be grateful for that.”

Aeroc then left, creating a cold draft. He no longer wanted to bother with the foolish painter. It wasn’t Aeroc who would deal with him directly. The director, who was facing a significant loss, would gladly take on that role.

As soon as he returned home, he immediately retrieved the painting from his bedroom, leaving the hat boxes in the carriage. He threw it onto the carriage seat and slammed the door shut from outside.

“Return all of this to Bendyke.”

Just as the coachman was about to start the carriage. Aeroc hit the carriage wall. The horses, about to set off, reared up and stopped. While the coachman soothed the snorting horses, Aeroc personally took out the painting and hat boxes and flung them onto the marble floor.

“Bring that man here. I think I’ll only be satisfied if I throw it directly at his brazen face.”

The carriage set off. Hugo, who had come out to greet Aeroc, picked up the scattered hat boxes and painting and arranged them by the entrance.

“How was your outing?”

“Worst.”

Aeroc, angry at the wrong person, went upstairs. He didn’t care if the man suffered from neurosis or how much pain he was in from the imprinting phenomenon. The portrait he had just seen had ignited the already burning flames of his rage.

“You crazy pervert!”

Aeroc had never lived such a miserable life for a single moment. It was purely the result of Bendyke’s imagination. He wasn’t even curious about the psychology of the person who would commission such a thing. He was simply disgusted and felt nauseous.

While pacing in the upstairs study, he saw a carriage approaching in the distance. He rushed to his bedroom and put on his worn hunting glove on his right hand. Nothing was more suitable for slapping someone’s cheek. Above the drawer containing the glove was a box with a self-defense pistol. He almost touched it but stopped himself. Murder in the mansion was problematic. He couldn’t risk his life for such a man. Aeroc’s life was far more valuable than such trash.

He quickly descended the stairs, but the expected man was nowhere to be seen, only the coachman with a guilty face.

“Where is he?”

“He wasn’t home.”

“Did you check his office too?”

“I stopped there too. But the office, well, it wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean?”

Hugo, on behalf of his dejected master, asked first.

“The nameplate at the office was gone. Just in case, I asked someone who uses the same building, and they said he cleared out his office a few days ago.”

“What did you say?”

This time, Aeroc retorted. The coachman carefully continued his explanation.

“The house is the same. A ‘For Sale’ sign was put up.”

It was hard to believe unless he saw it with his own eyes. He immediately went to the office and house with the coachman leading the way. The coachman’s words were true. The office was just dust, with a few old chairs and some scattered papers that hadn’t been cleared out.

The house was the same. The front door, with a “For Sale” sign on the gate, was locked, unlike before. He went around to the dirty side alley. There was a first-floor drawing-room window. Through the slightly open curtains, he could see inside. The space, missing carpets and some furniture, felt completely lifeless.

“You bastard!”

He cursed at the coward who had vanished without a trace. His anger wouldn’t easily subside.

He asked around. He visited Viscount Derbyshire and Wolflake, asking if they knew anything about his whereabouts.

“He suddenly said he was returning to his hometown. I tried to dissuade him several times, but it was no use. He said he had already disposed of all his assets. He left the house to a maid, I believe. He introduced me to a few reliable agents. But they don’t compare to him.”

Viscount Derbyshire, who had wanted to meet Aeroc about the Bendyke matter anyway, didn’t know much. He couldn’t even guess why Bendyke would suddenly abandon his career and go back to his hometown.

“I’m not interested in his circumstances.”

Wolflake’s attitude was even colder. He clearly didn’t introduce Raphiel, who was with him, perhaps worried that Aeroc might cause some harm.

“I apologize for my rudeness the other day. I am truly sorry for startling you and your fiancée.”

When he apologized politely, Wolflake’s attitude softened somewhat. He paused for a moment, then spoke.

“As I warned you before, he is dangerous. As I said before, I have taken some precautions just in case, but it’s rather fortunate if he disappears and doesn’t reappear. If he tries to harm the Count or anyone else, he will be punished immediately.”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m just curious if you know where I can meet him.”

“No one knows that man’s hiding place. He even disappeared from my sight. That’s what makes him particularly dangerous.”

There was no progress here either.

If he never met that man again, where and how would he vent this anger? His hatred for him only grew with each passing day, showing no signs of subsiding.