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I think I bought a cursed ring. Not a magical one, but a cursed one.

I couldn't help but wonder if buying this strange thing made Marghetta cry. If it wasn’t for this, then I couldn't understand why she was suddenly sobbing.

Help?

The most confusing part was her saying she wanted to help more.

I already felt grateful to her for just being by my side. How could she possibly help me more?

My head was spinning, but I had to say something. Silence wouldn't be helpful right now; it would only make things worse for Marghetta.

"Mar, you are already helping me more than anyone else."

"Liar."

She shook her head firmly at my sincere words, managing to speak while still sobbing.

"Then why did you go to the capital without telling me? Why were you alone at the cemetery?"

Seeing her trembling eyes, I almost sighed.

Why did I go to the capital? The Crown Prince invited me for a meal. I went casually because I thought I'd be back the same day.

Of course, crawling on all fours in the cemetery wasn't part of the plan. Who would've expected that I would receive a confession from the 1st Manager?

How do I even explain that?

Four years as a civil servant had taught me when to put on a brave face when I needed to, but there were limits.

How could I tell a confused Marghetta that I needed a break because a subordinate confessed their love to me? That wasn’t something you said out loud unless you were crazy.

Besides, I didn't expect the news to spread so quickly. I got caught before I could come up with a cover story.

"Is it... Is it because I couldn’t be a support for you, Carl?"

Her head drooped, and her pitiful mumbling almost made me sigh again.

It wasn’t that she wasn't supportive. I just didn't want to burden her, so I kept it to myself, thinking that I could handle it alone. Plus, it was an embarrassing story.

I didn't realize that my choice would hurt Marghetta.

"I want to help you, Carl. I want to see your pain and your wounds."

"Mar."

I opened my mouth to comfort her, but my voice made her shrink further.

"...I'm sorry. I was being selfish, wasn't I?"

She lifted her head cautiously, forcing a smile.

"If you have reasons for not telling me, I should respect that. I said I'd wait, but now I'm..."

She wiped away her tears and tried to smile naturally. But, could that even be called a natural smile?

"I'm sorry for saying such nonsense. Just... just forget it."

I couldn't respond.

I understood how things got to this point; small misunderstandings piled up and finally exploded.

When I confided in Marghetta during the holidays, it wasn't even a proper confession. The truth was too grim and heavy, so I kept it brief.

That choice led us here. I thought I was being considerate by not saying everything, but Marghetta grew anxious from not knowing.

"Is it... Is it because I couldn’t be a support for you, Carl?"

Damn it.

I've heard that phrase before from myself many, many times.

I told myself that when the person I loved didn't seem to trust me, when they didn't tell me anything and I was left to fend for myself.

I had felt the same way about Hecate. I resented her for leaving and thinking she couldn’t rely on me.

A sigh slipped out. On the surface, this incident seemed caused by the 1st Manager's confession and my night at the cemetery. But in truth, it was really caused by the gap between Marghetta and me.

I quietly hugged Marghetta, who started to look wary because of my sigh.

"Ca-Carl?"

She sounded startled, but I said nothing and took her to the bed.

What I needed to say was heavy and dull. If so, she should at least be comfortable.

"Mar."

"Y-yes?"

"The truth is, I am in a lot of pain."

But where should I start?

I guess I should start with the Great War of the North.

I suppose that was where I needed to begin if I was going to talk about the orphanage.

***

It felt a bit different. Have I ever spoken so vividly about those times?

I had been playing the role of a living textbook for Gerhardt, but that was always about relaying events and information about people.

But now, it was a regretful past filled with my emotions from my perspective, a lament I had never shared with anyone.

"It's not exactly a happy story, is it?"

In a way, it was an ugly and shameful act, like a 21-year-old venting about how terrible the world was to an 18-year-old.

Still, it was a conversation that needed to happen. I needed to think of this as a conversation between two people who will share their lives together and not just a talk between a 21-year-old Carl and an 18-year-old Marghetta.

"So, about Lady Hecate..."

Marghetta, whose face had gone pale as my story went on, cautiously spoke up.

I couldn't help but smile slightly at her using such an honorific. Hecate, the daughter of a Duke referred to you as ‘Lady’.

"Yes. She was severely injured in the battle against the traitors. It seems the wounds were incurable... so she left me."

"I-I see..."

Marghetta hung her head as if she were the guilty one. She was too kind-hearted.

The only ones to blame for that incident were Kagan, the main culprit, and me, for failing to protect Hecate.

Kagan was dead, so that left me as the sole culprit. Marghetta had no reason to feel guilty.

"Um, Carl."

"Yes, Mar. Speak freely."

I spoke gently to Marghetta, who was still looking down and hesitating.

No matter how necessary the conversation was and how much she needed to hear it, the impact didn't lessen. It was my role to support her through this confusion.

Besides, she was the one who would be there for me when I needed support.

"Do you... still have scars, Carl?"

"Ah."

Her question brought a wry smile to my face.

Knowing that the battle with Kagan was fierce and that the wounds he inflicted were permanent, Marghetta was bound to worry about my condition.

"Yes. He was a vicious opponent, so the scars linger for a long time."

"Show me."

"Pardon?"

Her request took me by surprise.

"I want to know everything. All of your scars."

The determined look in her tear-filled eyes made it hard to refuse.

Well, she’d find out eventually...

My decision was quick. Considering I was thinking about marrying her, these were not wounds I could hide forever.

Rather, if I kept them hidden and showed her on our wedding night, she'd probably end up crying all night.

So, I nodded and began to remove my coat and shirt. It was a bit embarrassing to undress in front of someone, but I forced myself to move calmly.

"Oh..."

I heard a low gasp as my scars were revealed.

"They're gruesome, aren’t they?"

Honestly, even I found them horrific. The wounds were barely patched up, so the scars were clearly visible. Damned Kagan. If he was going to die, he could have at least done it cleanly.

A sword scar ran from my left shoulder to my right hip. Though I didn't see scars as a disgrace, this one was particularly huge. If even I flinched sometimes, then how much more would Marghetta do?

"No, they're not."

Marghetta gently touched my scars.

"Not at all. They're not hideous at all."

"Is that so?"

I appreciated it even if it were just kind words. Of course, who would say, ‘Yes, they're really ugly,’ in this situation?

As Marghetta continued to touch my scars, she began to cry again.

"I didn't know you were such a crybaby, Mar."

"S-sorry. I just couldn't help it."

Marghetta hastily wiped her tears at my teasing, but tears were hard to stop once they started.

This was making me feel bad. I expected that she’d be shocked, and that was why I decided to tell her. I couldn't live with secrets just because I was afraid of the pain.

However, expecting it and seeing it were two different things. Knowing my scars made someone cry didn't sit well with me.

"...I wasn't good enough."

Marghetta softly burrowed into my embrace and spoke quietly after a moment.

"I was arrogant to think I knew you without understanding this, and now that I do, I can't handle it alone."

"It's not about handling it alone. We're supposed to bear it together."

She was feeling way too much guilt. If she was to be blamed for something, then it was simply because she didn’t know anything about it.

"So, does that mean we haven't been bearing it together until now?"

Wait, was that how she saw it?

"I'm sorry. Instead of helping, I've just been a burden..."

"Mar..."

It hurt to see her self-esteem hit rock bottom.

Did I say too much at once?

Maybe I should've broken it down more. Marghetta’s current state wasn’t good.

I told her about losing Hecate, and she felt guilty for not being able to heal that pain.

I also told her about going to the cemetery after the 1st Manager's confession, but she instead felt that she hadn’t been reliable enough.

I have to do it now.

My instincts warned me. I couldn't wait until two days later. If I didn't comfort Marghetta right now, then there might be no future for us.

Not now because it’d be more meaningful on her birthday? There was no point if the birthday girl disappeared.

"Mar. Excuse me."

I moved swiftly. I took out the ring case, grabbed Marghetta's left hand, and slid the ring onto her fourth finger without hesitation.

"You are not a burden, Mar. You're an important part of my life."

I put the ring on her so quickly that Marghetta just blinked in shock.

"I’m sorry for giving it right now. I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, when you were at your happiest."

I knew that this wasn't a romantic situation.

"But I couldn't help myself when I heard you calling yourself a burden."

There was no room for romance right now.

"So don't say such things, Mar. You are my partner and the person who will be my first wife, aren't you?"

I planned to go to Marghetta’s father, the Iron-blooded Duke, after the New Year's Ball. I had already promised her, too.

I would bow my head to the Duke, ask him for permission to marry her, and then get engaged. That resolve didn’t change even when the 1st Manager confessed.

With that in mind, I promised Marghetta.

No matter what anyone says, you will be my first wife.

"...No, Carl. This isn't right."

But Marghetta quietly removed the ring with tearful eyes.