As Juliet, Theo, and Ethelid—who had joined them shortly before—exited the auction house, they spotted an unusual procession some distance away. A group of figures clad in flowing white robes moved through the crowded market street.
"Those are priests," Ethelid said, surprise coloring his voice. He stopped walking, and the others paused beside him.
The long, snow-white robes were unmistakable even from afar—the unmistakable vestments of the clergy.
As the group passed, one of them turned and offered a greeting. This particular priest wore robes that seemed far too wide for his slight frame, the fabric pooling around his feet. His small stature and delicate build gave him an almost feminine appearance.
Theo returned the greeting with a polite nod.
"That's the priest I brought to the auction house earlier," he explained, before Ethelid—still stunned by the unexpected encounter—could speak.
Indeed, among the procession walked the same diminutive priest Theo had fetched at Juliet's request.
Juliet studied the frail figure thoughtfully, then turned to Theo.
"Theo."
"Yes?"
"Did you see this priest's face?"
"No." He frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"
Juliet didn't answer. Instead, guided by some nameless instinct, she turned to examine the small priest once more. But the group of clergy had already disappeared around a corner, swallowed by the maze of market stalls.
"What could priests possibly need in a place like this?" Ethelid wondered aloud.
Juliet's gaze drifted to the tent they had emerged from.
"They buy ghostly items."
"What? But why would they need those?"
"To resell them."
Even temple priests weren't above the black market's allure. If anything, they demonstrated their greed more brazenly than common merchants, hiding avarice beneath robes of purity. Reselling rare and mysterious items had long been one of the temple's quieter revenue streams.
Ethelid's eyes sparkled with interest, but before he could voice his questions, Theo cut in.
"How do you know about this?" His tone carried unmistakable suspicion, his expression suggesting he found such knowledge impossible.
But Juliet couldn't explain. The truth came from her previous life—knowledge she had no way of sharing.
This particular scheme had been one of Dahlia's peculiarities in that first existence. Juliet still remembered how Dahlia would frequent auction houses, purchasing ghostly items after discovering she could purify them with her divine power.
"Let's hire a carriage."
Rather than answering Theo's question, Juliet spoke those words and moved deeper into the market rows.
She climbed into the carriage first, as soon as Theo finished paying the coachman.
---
The journey back to the mansion passed in silence.
Juliet sat motionless, utterly consumed by her thoughts. The unexpected appearance of priests at the black market troubled her deeply.
*Does this have anything to do with Dahlia?*
Given the memories of her first life, the timing seemed too perfect to be coincidental.
*But if Dahlia has truly appeared, there should have been an uproar throughout the empire by now. People would be gossiping on every corner about the prophecy's fulfillment and the arrival of the saint.*
Yet compared to her past life, everything remained strangely quiet.
Apart from news that the Duke of Carlisle was preparing for his wedding, no one anywhere seemed to have heard of Dahlia's arrival.
*What is going on?*
"By the way, Miss Juliet—you haven't changed your mind about selling the monster egg, have you?"
Ethelid's voice pulled her from her brooding.
"No."
At first, she had hesitated, astonished by the chance discovery of an egg she'd never seen before. But Juliet had forced herself to think rationally.
"I simply want to find a suitable place to sell it."
She couldn't take responsibility for a living creature when she didn't even know how her own fate would unfold.
"Oh, I'm glad you've finally decided to proceed. You might fetch a higher price if we have it appraised in advance."
"I don't particularly care about—"
*Knock-knock.*
A strange sound interrupted her—something cracking, splitting from within.
*What...?*
"What was that? I'm not the only one hearing this, right?"
"Miss Juliet, do you hear it too?"
Ethelid and Theo spoke in rapid succession, both leaning forward from their seats across from her.
But Juliet couldn't answer.
The egg, still wrapped in its protective towel, had begun to tremble in her hands.
*Knock-knock.*
Fine cracks spread across the shell's surface, radiating outward like lightning frozen in porcelain. Then, with a final, decisive *crack*, a small black head pushed through the fragments.
And then—
"Kyun-kyun!"
A pair of enormous yellow eyes, bright as polished amber, fixed directly on Juliet's face.
---
## — Three Days Later —
Three days after the events at the black market, Lionel Lebatan arrived at his Carcassonne mansion.
Word of his granddaughter's misadventures on the road had reached him, prompting an immediate visit. Upon arrival, however, he learned not only of the incident at the auction house but also discovered an unexpected new guest residing under his roof.
"So, so... what do we have here?"
Lionel stood face-to-face with the creature perched motionless on the table.
A sleek black body, balanced by a long serpentine tail. A pair of luminous yellow eyes that gleamed like intricately carved gemstones.
"Are you telling me this is truly a *dragon*?"
"Yes, Grandfather."
The ancient beast seemed to understand it was being discussed. Its small mouth opened in what was clearly meant to be a threatening display. Tiny wings flared, and needle-sharp teeth glinted in the light.
"Kyoooyun!"
The sound that emerged was less menacing growl and more... indignant squeak.
Juliet felt an inexplicable flush of embarrassment.
In appearance, the young dragon resembled nothing so much as an oversized, peculiar chick. She had always imagined dragons as reptilian—scaled and fearsome. But this newborn creature squealed like a baby bird and behaved exactly like an affectionate kitten seeking attention.
"Hm. I see."
Lionel plucked a bunch of grapes from the plate on the table and extended them toward the hatchling.
"Kyun..."
The cub hesitated, eyeing him with obvious wariness. Then, very carefully, it took the grape from his fingers and retreated to Juliet's side. Settling beside her, it began eating with evident relish, chomping loudly.
"This little one has quite the personality," Lionel chuckled, watching the display. Then his expression sobered. "The last dragon was discovered approximately three hundred years ago, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Absolutely correct," Ethelid confirmed.
Lionel fell into contemplative silence.
After spending some additional time in the company of Juliet, Ethelid, and the small dragon, he rose to leave, explaining that he needed to inspect the situation at the Marigold Guild's main office.
Once her grandfather departed, Juliet—who had been watching the dragon with growing suspicion—stood from the sofa, intending to retire to her room.
"QUUUU!"
The baby dragon squeaked in alarm the moment Juliet moved away. Abandoning his treat, he scrambled after her, tiny claws clicking against the floor.
"Hey! I'm the one who's been feeding and caring for you since you hatched!" Ethelid protested, visibly wounded by the creature's blatant preference.
Juliet paused, uncertain, then sighed and sank back onto the sofa.
"I didn't expect him to become so attached..."
In truth, Ethelid had shouldered most of the caretaking duties. Yet whenever the dragonet caught sight of Juliet, he followed her like a shadow.
The newborn was even smaller than a cat, his long, sleek body as agile as a weasel's. He moved with surprising grace for something so young.
Thinking the dragon might be hungry, Juliet placed food before him. While he dove into the plate and devoured rice with enthusiastic gusto, she sat and observed.
Knowing little about dragons, she had grown curious about their dietary needs. Without hesitation, she'd posed the question to Ethelid—he was a wizard, after all, and studied various creatures in the tower. He had informed her that young dragons would eat virtually anything.
His words proved accurate. Whatever they offered the baby, he consumed without discrimination.
And though only three days had passed since his hatching, he had already grown noticeably larger.
*If he continues at this rate, won't he reach the size of a calf within three months?*
The thought sparked genuine concern.
While the dragon remained absorbed in his meal, his small wings—still more suggestion than appendage—fluttered with excitement.
The moment he finished eating, Juliet rose again, assuming he would no longer need to follow her.
She was wrong.
"Q!"
He squeaked urgently and immediately scrambled after her.
"Stay where you are!"
"Kyunn..."
His constant shadowing meant she had to remain vigilant at all times. She couldn't even step outside for fresh air without him trailing behind.
Juliet sighed, gathered the small dragon into her arms, and settled back onto the sofa.
"By the way—have you given him a name yet?"
"Is that truly important?"
"Dragons possess special names." Ethelid's voice took on a reverent quality. "The names of kings fade from memory, but the names of every dragon that ever existed remain forever in history."
As peculiar as it seemed, Ethelid appeared genuinely obsessed with dragons.
Throughout these three days, he had written and read everything he could find about them, tirelessly compiling notes. At one point, Juliet had wondered if he might sacrifice his very life for the chance to study one properly.
*I wonder if this creature's name will truly endure through the ages.*
Juliet glanced down at the young dragon curled in her lap.
"Perhaps 'Kyun' would suit him best."
"...Are you serious?"
"Well, he makes that sound constantly."
"Kyun?"
The little dragon, who had been contentedly gnawing and scratching at the soft fabric of Juliet's dress, raised his head and peered at them.
He seemed to realize he was the subject of discussion.
"Then perhaps 'Blackie'?"
"......"
At each subsequent suggestion—Goldeneye, Tiny, Tail—Ethelid's expression grew progressively darker.
Juliet knew perfectly well she possessed no talent for naming. But watching Ethelid's face cloud with displeasure at each new offering proved surprisingly entertaining.
*What's wrong with them?*
Apparently concluding that asking her to choose a name had been a grave mistake, Ethelid began frantically flipping through his book.
"What about Vallakas? In the ancient tongue, it means 'great dragon'..."
"I don't like it."
In truth, the name itself was acceptable. She simply didn't want to name the baby dragon at all.
Some instinct warned her that choosing his name would bind her to raising him, caring for him—*keeping* him.
"So you're still planning to sell him?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said."
At that moment, the baby stirred restlessly on Juliet's lap, producing a strange chirping sound, almost birdlike.
"Is there truly anyone who would want to purchase a dragon?"
"It's remarkable you haven't considered this. You're surprisingly naive."
Ethelid looked up from his book, genuine astonishment written across his features.
"The last dragon was discovered approximately three hundred years ago."
All that remained known about that ancient creature was that he had been the king of demons—a species long believed extinct.
"So he's... valuable?"
"Immensely. Dragon skin doesn't burn in fire. Dragon blood is said to be a powerful antidote to any poison."
"Is that truly accurate?"
Juliet gazed down at the small creature squirming in her lap with newfound skepticism.
"Kyun?"
The dragon lifted his head, once again seeming to understand he was being discussed.
*Is this oversized pigeon really worth that much?*
"If you wish, I can find you a suitable buyer."
"And who might that be?"
"The tower's wizards would be especially eager. They go mad over even a single dragon scale or a drop of its blood. For a living dragon?" Ethelid's eyes glittered. "They'd offer a fortune."
A terrible image materialized in Juliet's mind: a crowd of frenzied wizards gathered around a small dragon strapped to an operating table, chains binding his wings, instruments gleaming in torchlight.
Nausea churned in her stomach.
Without another word, she lifted the baby and placed him gently into his basket, covering him with a soft blanket.
The dragon, bewildered by his sudden relocation, let out a pitiful squeal.
"I won't sell him."
The words emerged with unexpected force.
"You'll regret this."
Ethelid delivered the line like a third-rate villain, but then—surprisingly—he relented.
"But so be it, if you insist."
"Q...?"
The little dragon stirred in his basket, poking his head out from beneath the blanket.
Juliet adjusted the covering and checked to ensure he couldn't see anything alarming.
But the dragon threw off the blanket once more. Meeting Juliet's eyes, he flapped his tiny wings with vigorous enthusiasm.
"Q!"
The squeak was soft, almost questioning.
...This little creature might be worth a fortune, but he didn't strike her as particularly intelligent.