Episode 24
The backyard of the Mollett mansion was fairly sunny, but there were plenty of shaded areas to escape the sun.
Enrique Sulivan stood midway between the shadow and the sunlight.
Monica stared blankly at the man.
Enrique Sullivan had removed his hat to greet Riella and seemed to be lost in thought, holding the hat in his hand without putting it back on. His blond hair, slightly pressed down from the top hat typically worn by gentlemen, glistened faintly in the humidity of La Spezia’s hot weather.
Finally, he seemed to notice Monica standing there. He flipped the hat over in his hands, startled, his actions careless in a way that seemed natural for wealthy men—no concern for the perfectly styled hair beneath.
Monica felt a twinge of embarrassment. She was reminded of Luis Berfeil. Luis had always been composed, yet his demeanor was never this indifferent or rough.
Has he stopped pretending altogether?
Now that Luis Berfeil had been revealed as the same person as Garcia, had he become careless about his actions? But Monica instinctively realized that Enrique’s demeanor was different.
Luis Berfeil’s exaggerated politeness, consciously aware of others, was worlds apart from Enrique Sullivan’s innate nobility. Enrique had the air of a man born into privilege, someone who didn’t need to try.
Enrique took a couple of steps forward, standing so close that Monica now had to tilt her head back to look up at him. She recognized the face, but his expression was entirely new to her.
“What are you staring at so intently?”
Although he didn’t raise his voice, it carried a natural resonance, deep and commanding, drawing attention without effort.
Monica glanced around reflexively, caught off guard. Enrique, as if amused by her reaction, spoke again.
“I came here because I have something to ask you.”
Hearing this, Monica turned her gaze back to meet his striking blue eyes.
In that moment, she realized how ridiculous it had been to suspect this man of being a con artist. His eyes held a resolute strength—the kind only someone born into an ancient, powerful family could possess. It was a confidence that could not be faked, one that came from never having to bow to anyone.
That unshakable certainty made his beauty even more overwhelming.
Even Monica was momentarily captivated. No man was more deserving of the title of “noble” Then him.
“What on earth are you curious about?”
She instinctively raised her chin. The gesture was something she had unconsciously picked up from Riella, but she didn’t want to lower her head in front of this man. For a fleeting moment, she felt compelled to assert herself.
“I heard you worked at Arvid’s hospital.”
“That’s what Master Martinel said in your presence.”
“How much do you know about the green pill?”
The unexpected question startled her. Monica flinched, her eyes narrowing.
“If that’s what you’re after, I can’t make it.”
Her voice was sharp, a mix of rejection and suspicion. The man ran a hand over his chin, his face momentarily tense before regaining composure.
“Can’t make it, or won’t make it?”
“…I can’t make it,” Monica replied, her tone firm. She quickly changed the subject.
“Surely you’re not asking because you’re addicted? A nobleman from such an esteemed family?”
Her anger rose, her fingertips trembling. She fully expected Enrique to lash out, but to her surprise, he hesitated. His resolute blue eyes softened, and for a moment, they seemed almost…pitiful.
Monica flinched again. Those sorrowful eyes were strangely familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar.
“…What would you do if I said yes?”
“Oh my God!” Monica exclaimed in disbelief.
“Sir, that medicine won’t help you!”
The green pill had caused chaos during the war. It was a powerful painkiller, but its addictive properties had turned soldiers into desperate addicts. When distribution stopped, protests erupted among the wounded. They begged nurses for the drug, trading everything from cigarettes to gold heirlooms for even a single bottle.
Monica had seen it all—how soldiers writhing in pain turned violent or self-destructive.
“I’m telling you, that medicine isn’t what you need!” she said, her voice trembling with conviction.
Despite her outburst, Enrique showed no anger. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable.
“…If it’s because of the fireworks, then just avoid them,” Monica added after a moment.
She vividly remembered his trembling hands and sweat-soaked face that night at the banquet, brought on by a single firework that resembled the sound of an exploding shell.
“Thanks for the advice,” Enrique said, his jaw tightening. “Anyway, I understand you can’t make it. Let’s leave it at that.”
His expression shifted—a flicker of hope extinguished too quickly. Monica recognized that look. It wasn’t anger but disappointment, the kind that came when someone realized their last shred of hope was out of reach.
The man ran a gloved hand over his face and dismissed her with a wave, as if she were nothing more than a bothersome fly.
Monica turned to leave, feeling unsettled. But as she walked away, she couldn’t stop thinking about the scrap of fabric in her pocket—a piece of Garcia’s shirt, one she had held onto for reasons she didn’t fully understand.
“…Is your condition very serious?”
Monica found herself turning back after only a few steps. Enrique looked at her, startled.
She cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Sometimes…people carry emotional wounds that are hard to heal. I think you might be one of them.”
She hesitated, wondering if her words would offend him. Would he scoff or lash out? But instead, Enrique surprised her.
He nodded, his expression serious.
“Let me ask you one more thing,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you saying this because you want to help people like me? For example, by finding someone who knows the recipe for the pill?”
“…That’s not what I meant,” Monica stammered.
“Even if you say no, I think you’d be more willing to help me if you heard my story.”
His confidence irritated her. What made him so sure that she would care? But before she could retort, he continued.
“I am the second son of the Sulivan family—now considered the first son, since my brother is dead.”
Monica blinked, realizing what he meant. She wanted to offer condolences, but Enrique was faster.
“The Sulivan family has always been in charge of the kingdom’s military. I’m a colonel now, holding the rank my brother once did. That means I can’t escape my military duties until the day I die.”
Monica wanted to scoff. A colonel trembling at the sound of cannonfire? It seemed almost laughable. But Enrique’s next words stopped her.
“Do you know what the most important thing in the military is? The chain of command.”
“I was a nurse on the battlefield,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
“But what happens when there are four chains of command?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
Enrique rephrased, his tone grave.
“What if there were four people pretending to be one?”
Monica stared at him, dumbfounded. Was this man talking nonsense, or was there more to his story than she realized?
