Let the Whales Fight, This Shrimp is Leaving! - Chapter 62

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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 62
When his blurred vision finally cleared, the first thing Deyan Boislav Nemanic saw was a bright ceiling.
The sunlight streaming in was so dazzling that he gently closed his eyes again.
‘What happened after that?’
He remembered clearly how he’d found a way to knock himself out so as not to harm Giselle or Idir Hubert—that much came back to him.
He searched his memory further, but nothing else surfaced.
Only the lukewarm temperature and sticky sensation of blood on his hands lingered like some unpleasant residue.
As he tried to shake off that feeling, clenching his fists, something ticklish brushed against his fingers.
“……?”
Deyan started sharply and went rigid.
Turning his head, he found Idir Hubert sprawled across his bed, breathing steadily.
‘Why is she here?’
Confusion washed over him.
What in the world was she doing here?
He couldn’t make sense of it.
Yet the fact that she was keeping vigil at his side meant, at least, that he hadn’t committed the worst possible atrocity—and for that he was grateful.
After a moment of uncertainty, checking his surroundings, Deyan settled on staying perfectly still, waiting.
Staring blankly up at the ornate patterns on the ceiling, he felt an odd nostalgia wash over him.
He was struck by how naturally he’d come to accept this ceiling as familiar.
The wide windows that let morning and evening, the seasons themselves, pour in so distinctly. The bright curtains. The graceful room in warm tones.
The peace that such beautiful harmonies brought.
‘If I hadn’t regained my senses in that moment.’
All of this would have shattered.
Wouldn’t it have been all the more despairing precisely because it was so bright and warm?
The thought made him feel utterly monstrous.
Unable to bear it, he squeezed his eyes shut, and behind his eyelids appeared the scene of Lyle’s funeral.
His family, sobbing and falling apart. His colleagues, struggling to maintain composure.
And the figure of Idir Hubert, who—though not at all to blame—had spoken with readiness of bearing the responsibility herself.
Knowing now how much misery that single moment of impulse he’d failed to contain had brought upon so many, he regretted bitterly the complacency of his own inaction.
Deyan gazed quietly at his palm, extended out of habit.
The wound had, of course, already healed cleanly.
“You’ve gained the Power of Immortality after all, haven’t you?”
This incident had made him understand it clearly.
Though Deyan spoke aloud of this strength as a curse, in truth, every time he’d needed it most, he’d leaned upon it to preserve his worthless life.
It was utterly cowardly behavior.
‘She must have been frightened.’
He glanced down quietly at the sleeping Idir Hubert.
Her brow was white and round as if dusted with soft flour, her eyes closed delicately, her lashes transparent and gleaming, her nose bridge smooth and refined.
Her faintly rosy cheeks were pressed adorably against the back of her raised hand.
Looking at her closely, she was even more beautiful than he’d thought.
If only she weren’t the Heir. If only she didn’t suffer the threats of neighboring powers.
If only the Grand Duchess hadn’t been killed in such a horrible way.
Would she not have been happier—the sole Ducal Princess of Plene Grand Duchy, receiving boundless love from so many?
Being so beautiful, surely many men would have lined up to offer her flowers and jewels.
He’d heard that the Grand Duke was tender-hearted and deeply devoted to his wife and children; only those who passed his rigorous trials would have earned the right to stand at Idir Hubert’s side.
Suddenly, he realized how many people—including himself—had stolen her happiness.
The thought filled him with sharp remorse toward her.
‘Why is her hand injured again?’
Had she fallen?
Perhaps. He wasn’t certain.
In any case, the bandage wrapped around those slender, delicate fingers felt like another failure on his part.
Deyan felt at his neck with a faint anxiety, searching for the Pendant.
Relief flooded through him as solid metal met his fingers.
He lay back quietly, gazing up at the ceiling once more.
In the silence, he heard the soft breath she exhaled tickle his ear.
How was it that even her breathing was quiet and lovely?
As he lay there, half-dreaming, his thoughts drifting as they came, he felt her hand twitch.
Deyan stiffened without meaning to, rolling only his eyes downward to look at her.
Her eyelids, which had been pressed firmly shut, slowly opened, and eyes gleaming with captured light shone like jewels.
If sunlight fell on a summer lake, would it be beautiful in just this way?
‘No matter how I think about it, that dirty blood doesn’t suit her at all.’
As Deyan finished this last thought, his gaze met hers in empty air.
Her eyes widened, and her lips, which had been closed, parted slightly.
As one might expect from a woman of keen mind, she’d grasped the situation quickly.
She reached her hand toward his face.
Expecting a slap to the cheek, Deyan obediently shut his eyes.
He’d committed wrongs enough that a slap or two was no great matter.
Not that her hand would be gentle—he knew she could strike hard—but he was prepared to accept it willingly.
“Are you alright?”
Instead of striking him, Idir Hubert suddenly cupped his face between both her hands.
“You’ve come to your senses?”
“……Uh.”
He’d meant to say he was fine, but his voice wouldn’t come.
A thin, crackling sound escaped instead, and Idir Hubert’s already large eyes grew even wider.
He was almost afraid her eyeballs might pop out.
“Your voice won’t come?”
“Ahem, no. I’m fine.”
Deyan hastened to clear his throat.
But his throat remained hoarse, and his words came out ragged at the edges.
Seeing him in distress, Idir Hubert’s eyebrows drooped sympathetically.
“Drink some water.”
She poured water from the pitcher on the side table and handed it to him.
Deyan drank it down in one gulp, cleared his throat with another cough, and only then offered his thanks.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. How does your body feel?”
“I seem to be fine.”
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“No problem.”
“Are you in pain anywhere? Any fever?”
“None. I’m quite comfortable, actually.”
The questions tumbled out so rapidly that answering them all at once felt strange.
‘Is she… worried about me?’
No, that couldn’t be.
Yet no matter how he tried to dismiss it as his own fancy, her actions were unmistakably those of someone concerned.
And now he understood why she’d slept so uncomfortably propped against his bed.
“Did you… care for me yourself?”
“Yes.”
Good heavens.
Care for him? Such undeserved kindness.
Aside from Glay Holdin’s ministrations in early childhood, he’d never received anything he could call care in his life.
So now he found himself at a complete loss for words.
“Why did you do that?”
All he managed was an accusatory-sounding question.
Deyan wanted to slap himself for being so stupid.
‘Just say thank you.’
He’d expected reproach to come from her, but instead she said something unexpected.
“Because I had to care for you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s my fault you became ill. Caring for you is only natural.”
Idir Hubert replied matter-of-factly.
Her bright, candid expression suggested she genuinely believed nursing him was her duty.
‘How is that natural?’
Deyan’s injuries came solely from his own fault.
He’d certainly heard beforehand that they’d be using a Real Sword, and he’d known this fact.
Being driven to desperation by Giselle stemmed purely from his insufficient Swordsmanship.
He’d hurt his hand because he’d been overconfident in the power he’d gained from the Demon—that very Curse he went on about—and had recklessly thrown his body around.
If only he’d recognized his own shortcomings and honed his skills further.
If only he’d learned to preserve himself better, none of this would have happened.
He would have asked to keep the Pendant on his person, just in case.
At any rate, that incident bordered on accident, and if anyone’s negligence were to be blamed, most of it was his own.
It always had been.
And look at her bandaged hand.
It must be a wound from her rushing toward him, afraid he might kill Giselle, only to fall in the process.
In fact, he’d been about to murder Giselle in a brutal way.
Had he not chosen to knock himself out, he could never have lifted his head in Idir Hubert’s presence again.
Deyan bowed his head deeply to her as she watched him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Deyan’s eyes widened in shock.
If his hearing hadn’t failed him, Idir Hubert had just apologized to him.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about this all wrong.”
Good heavens.
It truly was an apology.
Deyan found himself in profound confusion.

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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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