It did not please Damien to imagine a girl of twenty-one, about whom he knew nothing but her name, crying bitterly.
This was the reason why he had warned her from the beginning not to set her heart on fire, but Lintry did not heed the warning.
'Whether she cries or not, it's none of my business.'
He wanted to say this, but he couldn't help it...
Damian washed his face dry with his hands, and his head was spinning from the severity of the blows he received from Lentry's tongue in her letter, until he was unable to write any longer.
So he put down the pen and headed straight to Paul's room.
He knocked on the door and entered, and Paul received him with a look of astonishment.
“Why are you asking me first this time?”
“Don’t you remember our photo that was taken last time?”
"Picture?
What picture?"
“Didn’t the military photographer - when he came to cover the front news - distribute pictures to us after he took them?
Those pictures I mean.”
"Oh, yeah.
I think she's there.
Why do you ask?"
“Can I see her for a bit?”
When Damian insisted, waving his hand, Paul stood in confusion, as he was not accustomed to seeing his friend in this state, and he did not even think to ask him about the reason, but rather began turning the papers in his hands.
“Ah, that's what I see.”
In the envelope that Paul gave to Damien was a number of pictures.
Damian started turning them over one by one, until he pulled out one specific one.
“Can I keep this?”
When Paul saw it, he nodded in the affirmative, so Damian inserted it into the envelope of the letter he was preparing for Lintry, and gave him a military salute.
"Thank you very much!"
"For what?
It's not worth it..."
Paul kept watching Damian as he walked away at a more controlled pace than usual.
[Here I am attaching my picture.
Please don't take the train to Liv.
As for the handkerchief, one is enough for me, as the unique and rare one is the one that has the highest value, and I do not want to detract from the value of this handkerchief.
I will do my best - as much as I can - not to be killed in battle, even if I do not know whether that is in my power.
Written on October 3, 1878.
From Lieutenant McCord, who is heartbroken by my lady.
Appendix: This time I also sent it by express mail.
Did it arrive faster than before?]
Damian sent the message quickly, as if fleeing, and then took refuge in his trench.
A week later, a letter arrived from Madam Lintree.
When Damian saw it, he was afraid to open it, because...
[To Lieutenant McCord, who is unsurpassed in his smallness and mean nature.
Can you send me a group photo?
Truly, how shameless you are!]
Moroha.
You died 😭😭😭
As he expected, the arrow came from the beginning of the line.
Damian looked up at the sky, smiling bitterly, and said to himself: 'I knew this would happen, but I gave her what she wanted my way.'
[Are you asking me to identify you from among twenty people, without at least mentioning to me the class you are in, or your rank among those in it?
If you are sending a group photo, make it at least large enough to distinguish facial features, not the size of the palm of a hand, so that only two eyes, a nose, and a mouth are visible from the face!
You know this isn't what I wanted!
And it looks like I'll be buying a train ticket to Liv eventually.]
Damian almost refused to read the rest of the letter, then changed his mind and left.
[On your messengers.
Perhaps you refuse to give your image because of a flaw in your features that you fear...
If that is the case, then I failed to take your feelings into account, but that is okay, as I see that the inside of a person is what counts, but appearance is not what matters much.
I can accept you no matter what you look like.]
'It's not like that.'
[Anyway, thank you for somehow acceding to my request for a photo, but remember that I'm ready to buy a train ticket to Liv at any time.]
Damian smiled sarcastic at this veiled threat.
[Since it has come to this, I will try to find you in the picture...
Hmm...
Are you in the second row, fifth from the left?
This body resembles the picture I drew of you from your letters...or is it not you?
Written on October 7, 1878.
From Lintree, who trusts her prowess at guessing.]
Damian burst out laughing—which he rarely did—for the man Lintree had pointed out was so completely opposite of himself.
Sergeant Colt, whom Lentry referred to, was blond-haired, good-looking, and handsome, but - unlike the taciturn Damien - he was a master of familiarity and affability with people.
'Yes, I don't deny that Colt is adorable.'
Damian deposited Lentry's letter in the envelope in which he collected her correspondence, then took out a piece of paper and waved his pen a little before he began to answer:
[To Mrs.
Lentry, who takes great offense at me,
It saddened me that you said you couldn't recognize me in the group photo I sent you.
Do you see what image you have of me in your mind, such that you imagine that my features resemble that handsome man, with a beautiful face, and great arrogance, as if you see that I bear his features?
I was afraid that this illusion would persist for a long time, so I reveal to you the answer: In that picture, consider that the most beautiful-faced one is me.
Whatever the case may be, I will not be accused of ugliness anywhere I live.]
Damian was astonished at his audacity, and felt that he had become somewhat arrogant under the influence of Tennant's words, who had previously praised his handsomeness.
[Having mentioned this, I am eager to know: How do you imagine my face?
Written on October 11, 1878.
From handsome Lieutenant McCord.]
Then the answer came:
[To Lieutenant McCord, so confident of his handsomeness,
Oh, since you're giving me such a bold hint, based on the hint I can only conclude that you're third from the left in the top row.
However, even if this guess is correct, I rule out that it is you, as this person has the features of a man over thirty, and you are still twenty years old.]
'Hmm...
I seem to be less handsome than Sergeant Penas.'
Damian had seen that - even though the man was handsome in the eyes of men themselves - it had never occurred to him to consider him first.
[As for me, I imagine you to have regular features, but the lines of your face are not so thick as to create a strong impression.
You have masculine features.
You have recently removed the image of a young boy from you, and you have appeared as a fully mature young man.
As for the color of the hair, I thought it was blonde, but from your conversation I see that it is a different color, so perhaps it is light brown.
As for the eyes, they are most likely olive in color.
I think that you have an appearance that suggests seriousness and perseverance, and that is why you hastened your promotion in the ranks.
However, when I collect these descriptions and search them in the picture...
I cannot find you!
There is no aspect of it that matches these conditions.
And then, how bold of you, you sent me a photo in which your face was not even visible!
Whew!
What do you think of my conclusion?
Written on October 15, 1878.
From Lentri, who hopes to be called a brilliant investigator this time.]
But the truth is that Damian was visible in the first row, fourth from the right.
He couldn't help but laugh again.
At that moment, the bells rang to signal the time for dinner to be distributed, so Damian left writing and got up.
While he was leaving, he met Paul, greeted him with a brief military salute, and then asked him:
“Major, what do you think I look like?”
Paul showed signs of astonishment, as he did not expect Damian to ask such a question.
Rather, he showed some distaste, because this particular question would not have come from Damian normally.
Paul merely shrugged his shoulders and said without thinking:
"Handsome."
Damian furrowed his eyebrows at the lack of response.
“What?
Even if I said you were handsome, you seemed upset!
Don’t you want that answer?”
“That's not what I mean.
I want to know the general picture, the impression, and so on.”
Paul also answered the obvious:
"You look expressionless."
“And what face is this said about?”
"A face that does not change its features.
He does not know what is going on in his mind, and he appears determined and stubborn."
“Then what must the features be like to give such an impression?”
“Look in the mirror, don’t you have a mirror?
But why are you asking this suddenly?”
When Paul asked him that, Damian closed his mouth and went on his way, looking in front of him.
Paul winked at him on the side and said:
"A woman?
Is it a woman?"
Damian wiped his face dry with his hands, wondering: 'Tennant before, and now Paul, why is it that if I ask any question, it is immediately assumed that there is a woman behind it?'
But he did not answer, because - this time - Paul’s words were true