I Became the Daughter of a Disgraced Duke - Chapter 10

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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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Episode 10
But that wasn’t all.
Glance after glance.
As the child rolled those wide eyes and took in every flicker of his expression, Cassian—who’d dismissed Little One as nothing but a nuisance—felt an unexpected pang of something like injustice.
Never mind that he wasn’t the boy’s real father; he’d fed him, given him a bed, and looked after him for days on end—only to have the child shrink away and change seats? Was this what people meant when they said there’s no reward in raising children?
“Uncle’s not scary.”
“(Uncle, why don’t you look at the lady drawn on your back?)”
“You hurt? I washed your face and cut your meat for you just now, didn’t I?”
“(Uncle. Are you a really scary man? I’m actually super brave…)”
Good children aren’t supposed to stay around scary adults, are they?
Because scary adults are probably bad adults, and besides—
Lost in thought, the child’s eyes rolled about, and Cassian exhaled with a soft sigh while the Tattoo Artist burst out laughing.
“If you keep going like this, you’ll make the kid cry. Put off the work until tomorrow and just take him out for some milk.”
“Shut it. What did I do wrong? This little one has nothing to do with it, so just—”
Cassian’s words didn’t finish.
Inhale.
Little One stood up abruptly, holding his breath and wearing an expression of steely resolve, and approached him.
The child stretched toward him and grasped a handful of Cassian’s hair with his small fist.
Ow!
A tiny thing hauling at an adult’s scalp with full force.
Something had gone wrong. This was very wrong.
Just as he was reaching to pry those small fingers loose—
Whoooosh! Whoooosh!
The pint-sized child began blowing on his cheek, where the Magic Thorn had grazed him and drawn blood.
Cassian hadn’t even known he’d been cut; bewildered, he blinked stupidly as the situation failed to register.
What had the boy just done?
Whoooooosh!
Oblivious to the fact that he’d completely shaken the adult’s composure, Little One even began gently rubbing the wound with his palm.
Cassian’s eyelid twitched.
It wasn’t that he was holding back laughter—his cheek seemed to convulse of its own accord.
“Ah. So that’s why people call them daughters.”
The Tattoo Artist let out a small exclamation.
The child focused on the wound, exhaling soft little breaths—whooo, whooo.
Then their eyes met—golden and bright.
In that instant.
Screeeeeee—
A high-pitched ringing pierced Cassian’s ears.
A day from the past swept through him.
“Iris. I could give up my life for you.”
Those golden eyes he’d encountered during a hard-won leave.
The happiness he’d felt when her small, outstretched hand brushed his cheek came flooding back.
It hollowed him out so completely that he couldn’t move, couldn’t respond.
“(Uncle, doesn’t it hurt? When I get hurt like this, I get scared and my eyes get all teary.)”
“……”
“(It’s not that I’m a coward, though. I’m actually super brave, but sometimes tears just come out on their own.)”
“……”
Nausea churned in his stomach. Cassian trembled faintly, as if he might be sick any moment.
Iris was dead. She was definitely dead. So why couldn’t he let her go?
And why was he still alive at all, unable even to follow her?
Roll, roll.
When he gave no response, the child—eyes darting about nervously—murmured to himself.
“(Th-this isn’t it? M-maybe…)”
The small chestnut of a hand crept slowly upward.
Then it began patting Cassian’s head—pat, pat.
Little One spoke.
“You’re nice. Pretty.”
The expression of someone trying not to cry, the stiffness of his frame, the tremor in his pupils.
The child’s first sentence in the Imperial Language was a transparent, clumsy lie.
* * *
Uncle was acting strange.
Usually when he made that “hoo-hoo” sound for her, the ache would vanish and she’d be thrilled—but his face now suggested he might cry if she poked him.
‘Is he actually really weak?’
A friend from the countryside had said something like that once. Eagles looked fierce because of their talons, but their calls were just feeble squeaks—peep-peep.
Maybe the monster man was the same. Poke him and he’d probably let out those same pathetic squeaks.
The scratch on his cheek wasn’t that deep, but it must have hurt, and he was frightened—that’s why he made that face.
‘Praise is the best thing for cheering someone up!’
So she praised him earnestly.
“You’re so pretty!”
There were other kinds of praise too—’good job,’ ‘you tried hard,’ ‘you eat so well’—but the kind she liked best was ‘pretty,’ so that’s what she told him.
But the man was like a squeaking eagle, and it seemed he didn’t like being called pretty.
Creak.
His head jerked upward like a rusted screw suddenly wrenching open, and he fixed her with a stare.
“What, what?”
“You’re so pretty!”
“Pfft!”
The other man talking with him flared his nostrils.
His hand covering his mouth trembled violently.
The man’s face, meanwhile, had gone rigid.
He looked just like—
‘Oh no, is he a villain?!’
Was the man actually a villain? Is that why he hated being called pretty?
Did the Goddess dislike her, which is why she abandoned her to a villain?
At fifteen, she’d be allowed to visit her mother from the Sunshine Orphanage.
But what if she did it on purpose—because she disliked her?
“(Mister. You know, grown-ups need praise just like children do…… Because praise makes even whales dance. I’ll make you dance, mister. If you dance, you’ll feel good.)”
“Ha! I don’t understand a word, but I can tell this little one’s got plenty of affection for you.”
“Shut it.”
Huh? That was strange. Didn’t praise make people feel better?
Wasn’t ‘pretty’ praise for the man?
Since he didn’t look happy, she praised him again.
“Ch-charming?”
Stroke, stroke.
Just as her teacher Annemare had shown her, she reached up and stroked the man’s hair.
The slightly coarse strands slipped through her fingers, one by one.
He looked like a tiger, but his eyes were blank and bewildered as he gazed down at her.
Then, in an instant, the man let out an enormous shriek.
“Damn it!”
“Eeeek!”
She thought lightning had struck.
Terrified, she pulled her hand away and scrambled backward.
The man stood frozen, mouth hanging open, his jaw working silently.
“You, you……”
“Ha! Cassian Calypso, your pride’s completely gone! Though I admit—you are pr—pretty cute! Hahahaha!”
The monster man’s face turned scarlet.
Oh no. He’s angry.
She bit her lip hard, terrified. Tears began to well in her eyes.
“Sniff, sniff! Ugh……”
She’d only wanted him to become a good adult, like her.
Troublemakers were supposed to become truly good if you told them they were good every day.
“The little one’s crying. You made her cry.”
“Don’t cry! Don’t cry!”
The monster man, suddenly frantic, seized her hand and began stroking his own head with it.
“Th-thank you. I’m actually pretty good already. Yeah. That’s right. I’m fine.”
“Ha!”
“Just smile, okay? Holding back’s annoying.”
“Hahahaha! Bwahahaha!”
His friend slapped the floor, roaring with laughter, while the man holding her by the scruff of her neck quickly led her out of the shop.
* * *
Cassian sat across from the Little One, glaring at her as she noisily sucked down her drink.
When she’d looked ready to whimper at the tattoo parlor—such an ‘important appointment’—he’d stuffed food in her mouth, and now she swung her legs without a care in the world.
‘I’ve sold off everything I could from the personal effects….’
She’d considered going to the orphanage right then, but the hour was growing late and the timing felt uncertain.
‘First thing tomorrow morning—the moment I wake up, I’m heading to the facility.’
And that bastard Baron, abandoning the child like this—the second he shows his face, I’m stringing him up and burying him somewhere he’ll never be found.
How dare he leave without permission, and now days of unauthorized absence.
“Hey, Little One. Where’s your mother?”
“(I don’t know. I wanna go home too. But I don’t remember the address.)”
“You know your mother’s name?”
“(My mom’s name is… um—.)”
“She’s a pretty little thing. Takes after her father.”
The bar owner set down a plate of snacks and chimed in.
What absolute nonsense. Cassian’s jaw clenched.
“If you’ve got eyes, use them. Where exactly do you see this child resembling me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where on my face do you see this kind of delicate cuteness, this kind of charm?”

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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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