Hiding My Identity From My Husband - Chapter 8

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 8

“I never took you for someone so timid.”
“Hey.”
“So what if you’re wrong? You just accept it and move on.”
I lifted my head.
Henry spoke with the same composure as always—the same way he’d regarded me before I’d laid bare my shortcomings without filter, without judgment or distance.
“A wrong choice won’t topple the world. It’s just regrettable, that’s all.”
……
“After that, you build on the next choice. Failure is just a stepping stone to the right decision.”
His voice carried a teasing lilt, yet underneath it was something tender—as though he were consoling me.
“From leopard spots to polka dots, polka dots to stripes… that sort of thing.”
“Must you make everything sound like that?”
“Your fashion sense was so catastrophic, I couldn’t resist.”
“Hey.”
As I glared at him, Henry burst into laughter again.
“For now, let’s start with elevating you to polka dots.”
The carriage came to a halt Downtown, and Henry rose, extending his hand toward me.
“Your hand. Shall I take it?”
I looked at his outstretched palm.
How do I put it.
Something felt different now from when I’d grasped his hand moments before—so casually, so thoughtlessly.
Yet I couldn’t refuse it.
I took his hand slowly.
Warmth flooded through my fingertips, setting them ablaze. Something felt strange.
“Well done, Charel.”
Really, something felt profoundly strange.
That was when it happened.
‘What?’
The moment I stepped down from the carriage, a child brushed past me, and my eyes went wide.
‘That child… surely…’

* * *

“My goodness! You must be the young lady everyone’s been talking about!”
“Heavens, I never imagined you’d be so lovely!”
The moment we stepped into the Clothing Shop, a group of strikingly dressed women greeted me with enthusiasm.
They circled around me, clapping and laughing freely.
I felt slightly dazed.
“With someone like you, there’s real joy in dressing!”
“You could wear anything! Well, anything except what you have on now!”
Truth be told, the clothes I was wearing had been cast off by a Guardian colleague and offered to me.
At this point, I couldn’t avoid a serious question.
Why had no one ever told me my clothes were dreadful?
Perhaps I’d been ostracized at Guardian all along and never noticed?
Since I didn’t know my colleagues had kept quiet out of fear, that was the only conclusion I could draw.
“Charel had to rush to the Capital because of me and didn’t bring much luggage. I’d like your recommendations for Capital-appropriate clothing—dresses, blouses, skirts, trousers, everything. And shoes and hats as well.”
Just as I’d drifted into that thought, Henry addressed the women. I quickly shook my head.
“That’s too much. Really,”
“We’ll dispose of what Charel is wearing now.”
……
Tch.
I pouted and impulsively clutched the hem of my skirt.
“Yes, yes! Welcome, Henry, Charel!”
“We’ll help bring out all the beauty in that lovely face!”
The women bustled about, wheeling out a large clothing rack.
Then they began showing me each piece hanging there one by one.
“It’s a blouse made from silk fabric imported from the Eastern Continent. The style is the latest fashion—a Leg of Mutton sleeve that gives beautiful curves.”
“You’ll love this skirt too. The bustle is less pronounced than before, and it’s made of linen, so it breathes well and has a lovely straight line to it.”
After that, the conversation was filled with fashion terminology I couldn’t begin to parse.
To my eye, one dress looked much like another, but apparently not to him.
He studied the garments thoughtfully for a long moment, then thrust several dresses into my arms.
“Why don’t you try these on, Charel? I think it’s best to decide whether to alter or commission after seeing how they fit.”
I looked down at the stack of dresses thrust before me.
“I have to try on all of them?”
“Yes. After you’ve tried them, tell me which one you like best.”
“Must I?”
“Charel.”
He forced the dresses into my arms, his voice taking on a note of quiet insistence.
“I’m giving you a moment to choose for yourself.”
It would have been terribly romantic, were it not for the fervent gleam in his eyes—a gleam born of pure fashion philosophy.
I made a point of not looking at it.
“Isn’t this more like forcing a choice on me?”
“I’m simply making the choice easier for you.”
He certainly had a gift for words.
I gathered the armload of dresses against my chest and looked toward the stairs leading up to the Fitting Room.
“I’ll go change.”
“Do hurry.”
The shopgirls and he ushered me toward the staircase.
“Now then, shall we start choosing accessories?”
“What about a hat with a wider brim?”
I deliberately tuned out the rest. He’d sort it all out anyway.
I had other business to attend to.
Click.
The moment I stepped into the Fitting Room, I wedged a chair under the door handle and peered out the window.
Though the Fitting Room sat on the second floor, the window faced a riverside underpass that brought the actual height closer to the third story of most buildings.
But that hardly mattered to me.
‘That child from before.’
I recalled the young one I’d brushed past as I stepped down from the carriage.
‘One of Catacl’s operatives.’
I’d seen this operative a few times at headquarters.
‘Definitely worked under Commander Henry.’
Henry’s command covered territories outside the Empire itself—foreign lands.
So what was one of his operatives doing in the Capital?
‘I need to find out.’
I opened the window and placed my foot on the sill.
Gripping the frame with one hand, I lowered myself downward, searching for handholds on the wall below.
Bricks jutted out here and there, enough to let me descend safely, using them as footholds while my hands found purchase above.
I had perhaps twenty minutes before anyone would expect me to emerge from the Fitting Room.
I had to find the child in that time.
‘The child was headed toward the Shopping District.’
I recalled the shoe polish smudged on the small face and hands.
If so, the child would be posing as a shoe polisher there.
With my destination fixed, I set off at a brisk pace.
I didn’t run.
That would draw too much attention.
Instead, I threaded through the crowds, keeping myself unremarkable.
Before long, I’d reached the Shopping District and spotted the child playing at being a shoe polisher.
“Do you polish women’s shoes too?”
I asked, catching my breath as discreetly as I could.
“Of course! Ladies get special service—five pence—”
The child broke into a bright smile, only to trail off the moment our eyes met. Recognition flickered across that young face.
“Good. You know who I am. At least we can talk plainly.”
“I… um…”
“Stay quiet about this, and I’ll kill you.”
“But that’s…”
“Run, and I’ll kill you anyway.”
It was a bluff, but the kid believed me.
I’m an operative who’s served Catacl for over twenty years.
To a child who looks barely ten, I’m a distant senior.
“I, I, I shouldn’t be talking to you, operative…”
Not knowing my name, the child calls me only “operative.” So I answered him with deliberate indifference.
“But you’ve already started the conversation, haven’t you?”
And I smiled wickedly.
“Since you’ve talked to me anyway, if this gets out, I live and you die. So what are you going to do?”
I watched the kid’s Adam’s apple bob. My hand drifted toward the Pistol hidden in my thigh.
But then—
“Five pence, and I’ll shine them for you! Please, sit down and lift your left foot first!”
Fortunately, there was no need to use the gun.
I settled naturally into the chair, propped up my foot, and asked quietly.
“What’s someone under Henry the Sub-Commander doing in the Capital?”
“…I can’t discuss the mission. Oh my, your shoes are quite dirty! Let me clean them properly for you!”
“Think I might guess?”
I opened my mouth, watching the kid go through the motions of a shoe polisher with practiced ease.
“You’re searching for a Sacred Object too.”
A cough burst from the child—
clearly flustered.
“A Sacred Object should be the Commander’s jurisdiction, so why the Sub-Commander?”
“Right, um, ah, please lift your right foot too! The left one is finished!”
“Ah, I see.”
I stared directly at the kid’s bewildered face and spoke.
“You want results before the Commander does. That way you can check his power.”
I leaned forward, bringing myself closer. I fixed my gaze on his wavering eyes.
“Should I call it… a rebellion?”
“It’s not! It’s not like that!”
The kid waved his hand frantically through the air, still gripping the Shoe Brush.
“If I report this to the Commander, what do you think happens to you?”
I straightened up again, folded my arms, and feigned composure.
“Henry the Sub-Commander will survive. But you’ll die. To the Commander? No—to the Sub-Commander.”
The kid’s face drained of color.
I know children in that age bracket well.
More precisely, I know operatives who became agents at that age.
Their loyalty is still too shallow to die for the organization.
So they’ll want nothing to do with dying in internal power struggles.
I was the same once.
I placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice.
“So talk.”
……
“What did you find?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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