IYAMD: Episode 20

The next morning, Jaha opened his eyes blankly. As soon as his consciousness returned, the events of the previous night came rushing back—how he had cried like a child and how Marsilia had held him in his arms to comfort him.

Lying there, Jaha let out a quiet sigh as he recalled his disgraceful display from the night before.

Perhaps because he had completely lost himself and cried, his heart felt a little lighter. Showing that side of himself to someone else was humiliating, but what was done was done.

For a brief moment, he felt ashamed, but the hunger that followed quickly pushed aside any lingering thoughts. Now that he had shed his grief through tears, there was an empty space within him that he wanted to fill.

Jaha quietly sat up. The room was empty, and dawn was only just beginning to break. At most, he had slept for a couple of hours.

Even so, his body felt surprisingly light. His eyes, which should have been swollen, only felt slightly sticky, and there was no headache.

Did that man use his power on him? If so, he had woken up much faster than expected. But there was no other explanation for how his body felt so refreshed.

Jaha hesitated for a moment, listening for any sounds outside the room. Then, deciding against calling for an attendant, he slid off the bed, intending to wash his face by himself.

A basin of water had been prepared in one corner of the room, so there was no need to trouble anyone.

However, as he moved toward the opposite wall, he realized that the room was larger than it seemed.

The chain attached to his shackles was just slightly too short. He was only about a hand’s span away from reaching the basin.

Jaha flapped his unshackled arm, hoping to pull the furniture holding the basin closer. Just a little more…

He even grabbed onto the chain and pulled, but it was no use.

Touching his sticky cheek in frustration, he turned toward the door.

Someone was approaching—and quickly.

The door burst open, revealing a man with dark circles under his eyes. Over his shoulder, Jaha caught a glimpse of a flustered knight and attendants standing behind him.

Marsilia, who had thrown the door open, immediately asked upon seeing Jaha standing in the corner, “Why?”

Jaha didn’t understand the question.

Why…? What did he mean by that?

Marsilia, still in his sleepwear, ran a hand over his face, as if finally coming to his senses. His gaze sharpened as he took in the situation.

Then, as if realizing what Jaha needed, he turned to the attendants outside the door.

“Prepare fresh water for washing.”

After issuing the order, Marsilia stepped further into the room.

He approached in long strides and looked down at Jaha in silence.

Jaha had always considered himself rather tall, yet he didn’t meet this man’s eye level.

Just how tall was he?

[Did you sleep well, Jaha?]

Jaha had thought Marsilia was about to bring up last night, but instead, he asked a short question and gave him an awkward smile.

It was a far cry from the kind, practiced smile he usually wore.

Without meaning to, Jaha found himself nodding.

“That’s good. At least you slept well.”

Marsilia glanced at the attendants as they moved about, then turned to leave.

Jaha, unable to call out to him, tugged at his sleeve instead.

Marsilia turned back and asked, “Why?”

Ah.

Jaha finally understood what the man’s question had meant earlier—he was asking what he needed.

Jaha rubbed his stomach.

I’m hungry.

Marsilia let out a laugh.

“Wash up and wait. I’ll change and be back.”

Before returning to his room, he instructed the attendants to prepare breakfast for three and summon Gerald.

By the time Jaha had finished washing with the attendants’ help, the two men entered the room almost simultaneously.

Marsilia, now with his damp hair neatly combed back, looked like a completely different person from before.

His once sunken eyes were now full of life, and his usual refined attire gave him an air of composed elegance.

His expression had changed, too.

Where had the man who stormed in, scowling, gone?

Jaha watched him from beyond the breakfast table as the servants laid out the meal.

Marsilia, in the middle of picking up a piece of bread, suddenly looked at Jaha.

He raised the bread slightly, as if asking, Want some?

Jaha thought he might be able to eat some now.

When he took the offered bread, a proud smile spread across Marsilia’s face.

As they began eating, Marsilia finally asked the question he had clearly been waiting to ask.

“What’s your surname?”

Gerald translated, but Jaha had already understood the question. He hesitated.

Did he still have the right to carry his father’s name?

A heavy sense of guilt settled over him as he thought of the family he had failed to protect.

And yet, strangely, it felt lighter than before.

Lowering his gaze, Jaha let out a quiet sigh and wrote a name on the table with his finger.

“You wrote ‘Yu.’ So, your name is Yu Jaha,” Gerald noted. “Ah, in the Eastern Continent, they put the surname first, Your Majesty.”

“I know that much,” Marsilia replied brusquely.

He muttered Jaha’s name under his breath.

“Yu Jaha, Yu Jaha…”

Like someone trying to commit it to memory, he murmured the name just loud enough to hear.

Then he asked another question.

“Age?”

As Jaha tore off a piece of bread to eat, he bit into it and then held up two fingers.

“Twenty?”

Marcilia asked in surprise, while Gerald covered his mouth with his hand, laughing silently.

“I thought you were around seventeen.”

“People from the Eastern Continent do tend to look younger than their age.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. That applies to ordinary people as well, but for masters who have trained in martial arts, the difference can sometimes be several decades. Though, of course, it’s rare to look that young.”

Marcilia only half-listened to Gerald’s explanation, his expression turning thoughtful.

Jaha, having eaten enough, stopped reaching for food, while Marcilia still appeared lost in thought.

Once the attendants cleared the table and served tea, Marcilia dismissed them all before finally speaking.

“Jaha, I’m twenty-five years old. I ascended the throne at fifteen and have been searching for you for ten years.”

He paused, seemingly allowing time for Gerald to translate before continuing.

“You have no connection to Arhen, so you probably don’t want to accept being my soulmate. It was difficult to understand at first, but I’m trying. Still, despite that, I need you. So if there’s anything you want, tell me. Think of something that would make it worth staying by my side.”

It was an impossible request.

Jaha wanted nothing. And what he truly wished for was something this man could never give him.

He silently met Marcilia’s green eyes as Gerald finished translating.

If Marcilia realized Jaha couldn’t give him the answer he wanted, what would he do?

A man who bound his wrists in shackles and still said such things—what was he thinking?

“I’ll give you three days to think. I’d like to give you more, but I don’t have that luxury.”

What if he refused?

Jaha parted his lips slightly, but Marcilia narrowed his eyes. He turned to Gerald, who hesitated before bowing his head.

“I have not learned lip-reading, Your Majesty.”

“Bring pen and paper.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gerald quickly stood and left.

While he fetched the writing materials, Marcilia watched Jaha with a quiet expression.

Once the paper and pen were placed before Jaha, Marcilia asked a completely different question.

“Where are you from?”

Jaha blinked rapidly before writing down the name of his hometown.

Semok Town.

Marcilia glanced between the writing and Gerald, who gave a confirming nod.

There was some silent exchange between them.

But before Jaha could dwell on it, Marcilia moved on.

“Your favorite food? Ah, should I bring in a chef from the Eastern Continent? Gerald’s family imports goods from there, so if you need anything, just say the word. I’ll get it for you.”

At his words, Jaha suddenly recalled his sword.

The one taken from him when he was captured after annihilating the Setora Viscount’s household.

The sword his father had given him before his journey.

He had forgotten it until now.

Urgently, Jaha wrote down his request.

“He wants to find his sword. He assumes it was confiscated,” Gerald translated.

Marcilia nodded, his sharp gaze fixed on Jaha.

“I can look for your sword. But I hope you understand that, under the current circumstances, I can’t return it to you right away.”

Jaha only nodded after Gerald finished translating.

There was no need to reveal that he could already understand the Western Continent’s common tongue.

Seeing him comply so easily, Marcilia looked pleased.

He told Jaha to inform Gerald if he needed anything, then stood up.

“I’m already late for work, so I’ll excuse myself.”

Although he spoke as if he would leave immediately, he lingered, watching Jaha for a long moment before finally stepping out.

Jaha understood his hesitation.

He must be worried that Jaha would disappear again while he was gone.

But Jaha had no plans to act immediately.

Marcilia had promised to find his sword—he would wait.

Besides, with his internal energy sealed, escaping was impossible for now.

He would have to bide his time and figure out a way to slip away when the opportunity arose.

Jaha decided not to rush.

For now, he didn’t want to think about anything at all.

Not about the future.

Not about the past.

Just for a little while, he wanted to bury everything away.