Ophelia's reaction was bigger than Klein had anticipated.
The book slipped from her lap, and she quickly pressed her hand down to catch it. She turned to look at him, her lips parting slightly—
But no sound came out.
She closed her mouth again.
Klein watched her.
He had seen Ophelia's composure when facing sirens, her decisiveness when drawing her sword against enemies, and her crisp authority when making final calls in complex situations. But he had also seen her moments of—clumsiness.
Like right now.
It wasn't that she didn't know how to speak; it was that she had too much to say and didn't know which sentence to push out first.
She lowered her head, her gaze falling on the book's cover. Her fingers pressed against the edges of the hard binding, unconsciously rubbing back and forth.
Then, she took a deep breath.
“That is absolutely not the case.”
Her voice was half a tone lower than usual.
“Even if it was pushed by the sage, planned by her, arranged by her—that only brought me to stand before you.”
She paused, as if confirming that every word she was about to say was sufficiently accurate.
“Everything that happened afterward, every single thing, was my own choice.”
Klein didn't interrupt.
A carriage passed by outside, its wheels grinding against the flagstone path with a dull rumble that gradually faded into the distance.
Only the sound of two people breathing remained in the room.
“Meeting you—”
Her voice dropped even lower, almost drowned out by the sound of the wind outside the window.
“—is also the luckiest thing in my life.”
She said those last few words very quickly, almost to the point of being a blur. After finishing, she didn't look up. Her gaze remained nailed to the book's cover, as if that sentence had exhausted her entire supply of courage for the day.
Klein didn't answer immediately.
He looked at her—at her lowered eyelashes, at the skin behind her ears that had deepened from pink to a soft red, and at the tips of her left fingers resting on the book, which curled slightly before relaxing. The strongest Knightess of the Empire. The person who had never retreated a single step when facing the great tide of sea monsters on the west coast.
At this moment, she was so nervous her fingers were stiff.
Klein suddenly felt as if something in his chest had been given a twist. It wasn't painful, but it was an ache. It was the sensation of a place that hadn't been touched in a long time suddenly being pressed upon.
He thought of many things he could say.
He could say "Me too," or "You don't need to be nervous," or some witty remark to coax the frozen curve of her mouth into a smile. Seven or eight options spun through his mind, but none of them felt quite right.
It wasn't because they weren't good enough.
It was because her words just now had been too sincere—so sincere that he felt whatever he said in return wouldn't be worthy.
He stood up. The chair made a light scraping sound against the floor. Ophelia's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
Klein walked to the bedside and sat down beside her.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and Ophelia's body slid slightly with the slope—her shoulder bumping into his arm.
She didn't move away.
But she didn't take the initiative to lean in, either. She maintained that distance that was neither too far nor too close, the book still pressed against her knees and her thumb hooked into the edge of the pages, as if keeping a retreat she could flip open at any time.
Klein didn't speak.
He tilted his head slightly, looking at her profile. The red behind her ear hadn't faded yet, spreading from her earlobe down into her collar.
Then, he reached out and pulled her, book and all, into his arms.
Ophelia didn't resist.
The book slid from her lap and hit the floor with a thud. It landed face down, the open pages likely to be creased.
“You—”
Her voice caught.
It wasn't from being startled, but from a lack of anticipation. She had thought Klein would say something—given his personality, he usually used words to break the tension at times like this. He was always good at that.
But he didn't.
He only pulled her a little tighter.
“...Don't move.” Klein's voice was muffled, as if he had deliberately buried his face in the space between her shoulder and neck. “Let me stay like this for a while.”
Ophelia opened her mouth, but the words she intended to say took a turn.
“It's still morning.”
The tone was a reminder, but her voice was much softer than she had expected.
Klein didn't take the bait.
The two maintained a somewhat non-standard embrace. It was non-standard because of the angle—Ophelia had been pulled in from the side, so their heads were resting on the outside of each other's shoulders. Her chin rested against the hollow of his shoulder, and she could feel the rise and fall of his breath below his collarbone. It wasn't fast, but it wasn't steady either.
Klein's palm was pressed against the middle of her back, unmoving. The warmth of his palm was solid, seeping in bit by bit through the texture of the fabric.
A few seconds of silence passed.
“Thank you, Ophelia.”
The voice was low, passing by her ear with a breathy quality. The emotions within it were hard to unpack—it wasn't entirely gratitude, not entirely excitement, and not entirely tenderness. It was more like someone had weighed a sentence in their heart over and over for a long time, eventually choosing only the lightest words to deliver while pressing the full weight of the sentiment into the tone.
Ophelia was stunned for a moment.
She couldn't see his expression. She could only judge by his voice.
Klein was easy to understand most of the time. When he laughed, it was a real laugh; when he was angry—though that was extremely rare—he couldn't hide it. But occasionally, there were moments like this. He would hand something over so earnestly, so sincerely that even his phrasing became simple—so simple that one didn't know how to respond.
She wasn't sure what he was thinking.
Maybe he was thinking about what she had just said. Maybe he was thinking about the marriage decree itself. Maybe he was thinking about the daughter reaching back from the future. Maybe all of it, maybe none of it—maybe at a certain turning point in his thoughts, he just suddenly felt he needed to hold her.
Her fingers rested on his shoulder blades, and she felt the muscles there tensed slightly—not out of nervousness, but more like he was holding something back.
But there was one thing Ophelia judged correctly.
Klein was acting spoiled.
Since that was the case, things became much easier to handle.
She raised her hand and placed it on Klein's back.
Without any extra movement, she just gave him a light pat. Once, twice. The rhythm was very slow. Like coaxing a child who had thrown a tantrum but refused to admit it.
“Mhm, I know.”
When she said those words, her voice was a little softer than usual. Just a little.
Klein didn't move.
But she felt the tension in his shoulders relax, bit by bit.
Another gust of wind blew outside. The window frame didn't rattle again.
The book was still face down on the floor, its pages pressed crookedly.
A crease was probably inevitable.
Rate on N.U.
