If her words had stopped there, the message she wanted to convey was clear.
‘Don’t bring up this topic again.’
She wasn’t angry over just a fur coat. She had merely feigned displeasure because she didn’t want to hear questions about whether military life was difficult.
In truth, Etienne believed Mia Blanchard wasn’t capable of fixating on such trivial matters. Just as some lacked talent for arithmetic or singing, Mia had no talent for diverting attention to things unrelated to her goals.
But it didn’t matter. Etienne loved even that clinical dryness about her.
Though he wondered why she loathed the question so intensely, the task itself was simple. So Etienne kept his mouth shut as Mia ordered.
“Smile. People are watching over there.”
Mia delivered this command without relaxing her own stoic expression. The act felt like a deliberate message—that even this romantic charade masquerading as childhood play was merely a victory tool. Once its purpose expired, it’d become worthless.
Mia continued combing through market stalls while Etienne followed guiltily in her shadow.
“Eli.”
“Hmm?”
“Are you searching for something specific?”
Etienne blurted when the silence became unbearable. Mia clearly seemed to be hunting for something—otherwise, why scrutinize every stall in this cold?
Instead of answering, Mia countered:
“Did you notice any conspicuous alleys on our way here?”
“...Yes. I suppose.”
Etienne’s reply was stiff. Without knowing what qualified as “conspicuous” in Mia’s criteria, forming a proper response proved challenging.
But if Mia hadn’t found her target yet, they simply hadn’t passed it. Etienne trusted her judgment without question.
“I’d like to browse your wares.”
“Ah—we’re closed for the day!”
The shopkeeper tried hurriedly shooing the nobles from his doorstep. Mia had anticipated this. Strangers in foreign garb clashed grotesquely with the grimy shop’s atmosphere. If they weren’t suspicious, that itself would’ve been suspicious.
Expected resistance. Mia pressed harder.
“I saw a customer leave here moments ago.”
“That was the last one! We’ve nothing left to show anyway!”
Mia produced a coin from her pocket. Though resembling a common Veridian silver piece, the shopkeeper’s widening pupils betrayed its true nature.
The man recited cautiously:
“When the goddess’s glory shines resplendent—”
Mia responded instantly:
“May eternal blessings be upon us.”
Tension drained from the man’s shoulders, though suspicion lingered in his eyes. His demeanor turned markedly friendlier.
“Ah, forgive my rudeness! This way, please.”
Muttering excuses about wartime distrust, he ushered them behind the shop. Mia glanced at Etienne, who followed wordlessly with an oddly pleased expression. The sight of this door-sized man trailing a petite woman like a docile hound bordered on comical.
“Eli, I’m scared...”
“Pathetic. You begged to come, and that’s all you—”
“...But—”
“Keep walking and stay quiet.”
“Yes...”
Their voices echoed jarringly in the cramped passage. As the shopkeeper grew visibly uncomfortable, he launched into enthusiastic descriptions of his wares:
“That new product’s a paralytic poison, but microdoses cure insomnia! The powder there allegedly awakens divine power—demand skyrocketed after ‘success’ stories. Now it’s scarce and overpriced...”
Though useful intel, Mia already knew most through past-life experience. The divine power drug had been debunked as fraudulent.
The more desperate the war grew, the more Mia craved divine power—swallowing unvetted pills to prove her worth. Yet she died without manifesting a shred of it. Other drugs likely shared Châtène’s futility, save for...
Her eyes narrowed. The shop’s hidden Châtène stash confirmed her suspicions. The paltry quantities at the tavern couldn’t sustain a village this size. They’d been right to dig deeper.
This was undoubtedly the covert hub the baron tried hiding. His inconsistent behavior—alternately courting favor and poisoning allies—suggested either blackmail or deep personal involvement. Regardless, if Châtène’s secrecy proved vital to his plans, removing it would cripple him.
“I’ll take all the Châtène you currently possess.”
“Eh? But—other remedies might interest—”
“Do I look like some pauper?”
“N-no! Of course!”
A heavy coin pouch thudded on the counter, clearly exceeding the goods’ value. The shopkeeper pocketed it greedily. Like all underworld denizens, he knew when silence paid best.
“You’ll remember today’s exchanges?”
“Why ask?”
“They’ll prove useful.”
What could knowing about enemy drug trades achieve? Was she planning to infiltrate the business? Etienne nodded grimly.
“Your methods seem rather sloppy.”
“Some tasks require appearing incompetent.”
Learning this was intentional made Etienne drop further questions.
“Speaking of which, Eli...”
Mia turned, puzzled by his tone.
“When are we going on our outing?”
“...This is our outing.”
“Nonsense! I’ve enjoyed none of it!”
“Did you expect dress-shopping midwar?”
Etienne’s exaggerated pout blurred sincerity and performance. Mia suspected even this melodrama was calculated.
“Outings matter! Must we only work? Where’s the fun?”
“We’re at war, Max. You know this.”
“And we’re stuck here days regardless! Let’s go!”
Mia found herself dragged off, already acclimating to his hand’s warmth—a dangerous adaptability for someone who couldn’t afford reliance on others.
She’d requested lovers’ pretense, not genuine courtship. Yet here they were, Etienne’s unpredictable antics unsettling her more than his past-life tyranny ever did.
“Here, Eli.”
They’d exited the alley. Mia turned toward laughter and found Etienne holding cheap jewelry, beaming with a smile too dazzling for her to process.
“I didn’t know you collected trinkets.”
“They’re not for me. Try this.”
For her? The trinket resembled a lover’s token—wholly inappropriate for their relationship. Mia stepped back, but Etienne brashly clasped the necklace around her throat. The trembling vendor stayed hidden, fearing noble whims.
Mia sighed and tilted her head forward, prioritizing efficiency over dignity. The brass pendant clashed absurdly with her luxurious coat.
A fastidious legion commander delighting in such garishness? Either mockery or hidden purpose. Perhaps strategic value like their earlier purchases? Mia lacked Etienne’s insider knowledge, leaving her grasping for explanations.
After paying, Etienne casually slung an arm around her shoulders. The weight felt suddenly oppressive.
Once sufficiently distant, he murmured:
“Mia... Eli.”
She turned, ignoring his slip.
“I’m sorry this is all I can give you.”
Her confusion deepened. His words clashed with her deductions.
“Next time—after the war—I’ll gift something worthy of you.”
