ISTL CHAPTER 33

Anais screamed so loudly that the entire park could have heard her—though, of course, only in her head.
She was barely holding on to her sanity, marveling at her strong professional composure for swallowing down that scream.
It was getting warmer these days, and she had completely overlooked the fact that there would inevitably be bugs in a place like this.
Anais wasn’t particularly afraid of insects, but when it came to bees, the story changed. Ever since she was stung on the forehead at the age of five, she had declared war on bees—a bitter battle that had been going on for 17 years. Unfortunately, Anais had lost every single one of those battles.
Anais practically jumped backward, retreating as quickly as she could. She stumbled, desperately covering her mouth to stop any sound from escaping, but in her panic, she tripped over her own feet. And then—
Thud.
Her back hit something solid, which thankfully helped her regain her balance. Anais turned around sharply and saw a man’s chest.
‘Please, get it off me! Please!’
Anais gestured frantically to the man who had steadied her, trying to convey the dire situation she was in.
“…”
It seemed her desperation reached him because his gaze shifted to the tip of her nose, where the bug was peacefully perched.
His fingers moved without warning, the warmth of his touch lightly grazing the bridge of her nose. Anais, trembling from the unexpected situation, froze.
For a brief moment, she felt the ticklish sensation of the insect, and then, as the man pulled away, the tiny bee was now resting calmly on his fingertips.
The small, fuzzy bee soon flew off in search of a flower. Anais, now back in control of herself, took a few steps back and whispered,
“Thank you for your hel—”
Wait.
In the middle of expressing her gratitude, Anais took a proper look at the man and tilted her head. His face seemed familiar. Beneath his messy, curly blond hair were amber-colored eyes. Where had she seen him before? As she struggled to recall, his kind eyes crinkled warmly.
“You were quite startled by that bee, weren’t you?”
“Ah!”
It was him, from seat 76!
The moment he spoke, she remembered. It was the man from a while ago—the one who had won the auction for the G. Miller painting for ten thousand pounds. Well, technically, it was his client who had won, but still…
The atmosphere was starkly different from the impromptu auction held in a dim, rainy alley inside a makeshift gallery. Back then, he’d been wearing a hat, so she hadn’t noticed, but now, under the light, he looked even younger.
“Is there something on my face?”
“Oh, my apologies. You just look like someone I’ve seen before…”
There was no need to mention the auction. Anais, making a vague excuse, quickly expressed her thanks again.
“Thank you for helping me. I’m terrified of bees, and I panicked… You weren’t startled because of me, were you?”
“It’s no trouble. But…”
“…?”
“Why were you in there, exactly?”
“Huh?”
The man pointed toward the bushes from which she had backed away.
“Oh, that… well…”
In a fluster, Anais quickly led him away.
“Why don’t we move over there instead of talking here?”
She was anxious that the commotion might reach the pair sitting on the bench nearby.
Only when Max and Roxanne were completely out of sight did Anais stop. She took a moment to catch her breath, then turned to face the man who had followed her quietly, waiting for her explanation.
“Um…”
Anyone would find it suspicious if a person suddenly emerged from a bush. Naturally, the man was curious and had asked about it directly.
In her haste to get away from the spot, she had instinctively told him to follow her, but now that she had to explain why she’d been there, the words wouldn’t come.
“Well, why was I in there, you ask…?”
What should she say? That she was spying on someone?
Or maybe that she was, uh, taking care of some urgent business?
Neither of those sounded like something a normal person would do. Wait. It wasn’t like she’d run into him again, so did it really matter if she seemed strange?
As Anais weighed which explanation would sound less odd, the man, looking concerned, asked gently, “Were you being chased by someone? If you need help…”
“Ah! That’s it!”
“…?”
“Yes! That’s exactly it! I’m being chased… by debt collectors. I somehow ended up with a lot of debt.”
His question had given her a convenient excuse. And it wasn’t entirely a lie—she had been in a similar situation not too long ago.
“You must be going through a lot of trouble. Oh no, your skirt is a mess.”
The man set down the items he was carrying and began brushing off Anais’s skirt. His unexpected action left her flustered, but before she could decline or assure him she was fine, he had already swiftly removed the leaves and twigs.
“…”
“…”
“Well, thank you very much, but I should get going…”
“Wait a moment.”
Just as Anais was about to make her escape, the man called out to her.
“Are you really leaving like this?”
“…?”
“That remark about seeing me before—wasn’t that a way of flirting?”
Anais’s jaw dropped at the absurd comment.
“Fl-flirting? Me?”
“That’s how people around here show interest, isn’t it? Isn’t that why you brought me all the way here?”
“Who told you that?”
“I read it in a book.”
“You’ve misunderstood. That wasn’t my intention at all…”
The man suddenly put down his bag and began rummaging through an old, worn leather briefcase. After a moment, he pulled out a book and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
“Look at this.”
How to Capture the Heart of Someone You Like – Street Edition
It actually existed—a book with that title.
Anais stared in disbelief, her mouth slightly open, as the man read the passage aloud.
“…While gazing deeply into their eyes, say, ‘Haven’t we met before?’ This signals that you feel an inexplicable connection with their soul.”
“…”
“Did you feel a soul connection with me?”
“No! Who on earth writes this nonsense…?”
Anais grabbed the book from him and flipped it over. Beneath the title, How to Capture the Heart of Someone You Like, was the author’s name, engraved in small letters. It read Camille… Desaint?
Camille Desaint is the author of the book? Anais pressed her forehead. If he had published such a romance book, she should have known, but it was the first time she was hearing about it.
“‘Nonsense’? It’s a bestseller in the Duchy of Lawson.”
A book from the Duchy, huh? That must be why it was impossible to find in Barbier. Anais marveled at the compendium of Camille Desaint’s seduction techniques, a work that apparently combined the pick-up artist’s methods with romance theory.
Considering the effort he must have put into writing this, she couldn’t help but admire his diligence. The fact that he had avoided publishing it in Barbier might suggest he was a bit embarrassed, but the book’s popularity indicated it wasn’t all nonsense.
Anais, reflecting on the man’s words, tilted her head slightly.
“Are you perhaps from Lawson?”
“Yes. I’ve only been in Barbier for a short while on a trip.”
“Wow, your Barbier accent is so natural that I didn’t notice at all!”
“Is that so? I have a relative who has lived here for a long time, so it’s come naturally.”
Anais took another look at the man, noting his fine blonde hair and unusually fair skin, which seemed to reflect the distinctive traits of the Duchy. He was tall, fitting the description of a typical northern person.
‘He resembles Prince Three,’ Anais thought, shifting her gaze to the man’s luggage. Next to the briefcase containing the intriguing romance book was a long, leather-bound portfolio.
“Do you paint?”
“Yes.”
The man’s eyes sparkled at the mention of painting, though he scratched the back of his head and gave a short reply.
“I haven’t gained much recognition yet.”
“That’s a remarkable talent. I have no aptitude for painting myself, so I’m always content just to appreciate it.”
“You must really like painting.”
“Absolutely. If I could paint as well as I love it, I’d be famous across the continent!”
“You’re quite charming, Lady.”
The man’s eyes crinkled in a gentle smile. Feeling a bit self-conscious, Anais cleared her throat unnecessarily.
“By the way, I haven’t introduced myself properly. I’m Anais Brienne. I run a salon called Anderson Brienne in the capital.”