Roenna, who had been listening to their conversation, looked at Marin with quiet surprise—as though seeing a different side to her playful, joke-making daughter.
"Well, ladies—I think I'll excuse myself. I have things to do."
Waving to the three of them, Marin slipped quickly out of the room.
She moved with such urgency that it appeared she had pressing business to attend to.
In reality, she had simply run away.
She walked aimlessly, letting her feet carry her where they would—and found herself standing before the Duke's office door.
*Oh. Why did I come here?*
Marin turned to leave—
"Come in."
The Duke's indifferent voice sounded from behind the closed door.
Marin suppressed a sigh and pushed the door open as slowly as possible.
The Duke listened to her footsteps and asked immediately:
"Why?"
"Why—what?"
"You sounded as though you didn't want to enter, yet here you are—as if dragged by force."
*The devil. This doesn't surprise me anymore.*
A protagonist buff. Nothing less.
"Nothing of the sort."
Marin licked her lips and answered with as much confidence as she could muster. *If I say it's not true, then it's not true.*
"Something similar."
"Can't we just consider it *not* similar?"
Faced with his inflexibility, Marin gave in immediately.
"What is your reason for coming?"
"You told me to come in, Your—Gerald."
"I'm not asking about the office." His tone turned dry. "Why did you walk directly up to my door?"
"I just... ran away. I didn't even notice how I ended up here..."
"Ran away? From whom?"
His expression cooled slightly.
"From the reception preparation committee," Marin hastened to clarify.
"You ran away—and ended up *here?*"
A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Mm. Probably because you're the strongest person around me." Marin spoke without thinking. "With the Duke—*with you*—they're less likely to come looking."
"It's convenient when the bride has a strong groom," he drawled lazily, lifting the corner of his lips.
Marin's ears flushed instantly.
*He's talking about title, wealth, and ability, right? Right?*
"Since you're already here—shall we return to your temporary duties?"
"With pleasure!"
Marin hurried to the desk.
"Now you *want* to come closer?"
"You know, people feel more at ease in their own place." She picked up one of the documents mechanically. "But the 'bride's place' isn't my place. I feel uncomfortable there."
"Since Olive is away, who's been bringing these papers?"
"The butler has taken over some of his duties."
"I see. He must be incredibly busy. And he's teaching someone, too."
"Exactly. He was teaching—wait. You knew?"
"Do you really think there's anything in my castle I don't know about?"
He leaned back in his chair and extended his hand.
Out of habit, Marin placed her wrist on his open palm.
Gerald closed his fingers around it and clicked his tongue in displeasure.
"How can I make this fill my hand?"
"There's no way."
"It can grow, Temporary. Try."
"Even if I tried, some things are still impossible."
"Someone's coming."
"Huh? Who—"
*BANG!*
The door flew open with a violent crash. Marin's eyes went wide; she whipped her head toward the Duke.
*He said we could speak informally now—but is it really acceptable to burst in with such noise?*
Zeromian stormed inside.
He wore a long silver silk robe, as though he had just stepped out of his bedroom. The shirt underneath was unbuttoned to mid-chest—the effect was devastatingly seductive.
It was a rare sight in this place, and Marin observed him with open interest.
*A handsome man looks good in everything.*
"What is the *meaning* of this? Engagement? Reception?"
Zeromian's voice rang out furiously—then stopped short when he noticed the Duke holding Marin's wrist.
"Why are you holding her hand?"
"We're engaged."
Marin flushed and tried to pull her hand away, but the Duke deliberately tightened his grip. She was forced to greet Zeromian without freeing her wrist.
"Hello, Mr. Zeromian."
Zeromian, visibly flustered, removed his glasses, polished them hastily, and replaced them.
"*Mr.* Zeromian?"
The Duke's frown deepened with clear displeasure.
"Yes. Hello... *you.*"
"*You?*"
He repeated the word with such pointed emphasis that the crease between his brows grew sharper.
"Allow. Me. To. Introduce. My. *Bride.*" He paused deliberately between each word. "Lady Marin Shuvenz."
He placed particular stress on the word *bride.*
Marin glanced at the Duke with mild bewilderment—then felt Zeromian's piercing gaze settle on her.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself. Marin Shuvenz."
"So you really were a noblewoman."
Zeromian nodded, as though he had expected as much.
"I'm sorry for concealing it."
"No need. I deceived you as well."
*Is he going to admit now that he's Zero?*
Hiding her anxiety, Marin feigned ignorance.
"I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Actually, I am Zero. I can change bodies through alchemy. I am Alchemist Zero—the same *young* Duke of the North, Zeromian Rodel Sant."
Marin's eyes widened in genuine surprise when he revealed his status.
"Were you very surprised? I apologize."
"N-no..." Marin shook her head in confusion.
Fortunately, her shock was real—meaning they wouldn't notice she had already known.
In the novel, Zeromian had confessed to the heroine that he alternated between adult and child forms. But his true status had never been fully revealed. *Why is he telling me he's the youngest Duke of the North?*
"What are you scheming?" The Duke's cold voice cut through Zeromian's drawn-out performance.
"Scheming?" Zeromian blinked innocently.
"You wouldn't reveal the truth without some ulterior motive."
Zeromian spread his hands in helpless resignation.
"It was a sincere gesture."
"*Sincere?*" The Duke's tone dripped skepticism. "I doubt that word was invented for such cases."
"Tsk-tsk. How can you misunderstand the word *sincere* so thoroughly? I've told you—read occasionally. You can't become a proper man with just muscles and swinging a sword."
Marin watched their childish bickering with quiet amazement.
*Are they really grown men?*
"If you've said everything you came to say, get lost." The Duke nodded coldly toward the door.
"I haven't even *started.* Engagement? So you're getting engaged to Miss Marin?"
"News travels slowly."
"My lady—if this man is blackmailing you, wave the carrot. I'll rescue you immediately."
Zeromian withdrew a small carrot from the pocket of his silk robe and waved it like a banner.
"What *nonsense.*" The Duke's voice turned dull and menacing.
Marin's jaw dropped.
*How does he know about the carrots?*
Seeing her surprise, Zeromian scratched the back of his head sheepishly and tucked the carrot away.
"Sorry. I was just... researching carrots. If you're afraid of the Duke and can't speak freely, give me a sign—I'll help—"
"Enough." The Duke's voice sliced cleanly through the rambling. "I won't play along with your nonsense anymore."
"Are you truly planning to marry Lady Marin?" Zeromian's expression turned serious.
"Yes."
"Just a couple of days ago, you were calling her 'Temporary' and speaking down to her—and now you've suddenly fallen in love? You expect me to *believe* that?"
The Duke leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"You're right."
"I always say only the right things." Zeromian's voice dripped with disdain.
"I'm referring to your sincerity. It turns out it *was* genuine." Gerald's smile sharpened. "To think that an engagement between aristocrats could only be possible through mutual attraction..."
Zeromian's pale face flushed—then quickly cooled.
"Then what is this engagement *for?*"
"Let's call it this: mutual necessity." The Duke's voice was flat, final. "And now—leave."
Realizing he couldn't win an argument with Gerald, Zeromian turned his gaze to Marin.
"I don't know what you need from this arrangement. But marrying just *anyone* isn't the best choice. You deserve a better man—"
"Little Duke." Marin interrupted him calmly. "Thank you for your concern. But no one knows my situation better than I do."
She paused.
"Our family is ruined."
The single word—*ruined*—contained everything she didn't need to say aloud: she had no chance of meeting "that very best man."