Morning came.
But Vivian didn’t want to open her eyes.
‘I had such a nice dream…’
A dream where her father came back, scolded Ron, Mary, and Peter, and held her tightly in his arms.
If she opened her eyes, that scene would surely vanish without a trace, replaced by the same old bleak, worn-down room waiting for her.
And then she would have to go back to exhausting chores again.
“Nooo…”
Soft.
As Vivian rolled onto her side, she noticed something strange.
‘Why is the pillow so soft?’
Warm…
‘Huh? Why is the blanket warm too?’
The pillow she usually used was closer to rough and lumpy than soft, and the thin cloth she used as a blanket did almost nothing against the cold.
But this—this was soft and warm.
She decided she must still be dreaming.
“Princess! It’s time for breakfast.”
If not for that familiar voice—and the arms that lifted her up.
“Mm?”
Feeling warmth brushing against her cheek, Vivian finally cracked one eye open.
Her vision filled with a face that had completely abandoned dignity—her father’s, soft and slightly crumpled with sleep.
“Did you sleep well?”
For the record, Jean had shaved clean the day before, still shaken by his daughter’s “Who are you?” remark.
His skin looked darker and rougher than she remembered, but that only made it more real. She had never even imagined a father like this before.
“…Dad?”
“Yes, it’s Dad. I made breakfast, so let’s go eat.”
Still half-asleep, Vivian was carried in his arms toward the dining room. The smell of food made her mouth water instantly.
“Is it really you?”
“Of course! Do you think there’s a fake Dad somewhere?”
“No…”
Her small hands kept touching his face—stroking it, pinching it, checking if it was real.
Jean didn’t stop her. He just let her continue until she was satisfied.
How much more unbelievable must this feel for her than it did for him?
Heh.
At last, Vivian seemed to accept that her father had truly returned. She broke into a bright grin.
Jean, looking just as silly, smiled back.
“Shall we eat now, my daughter?”
“Yeah. But… is, is Mary Auntie back?”
Vivian clung to him slightly as she asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice, staring at the food on the table.
“…No. Aunt Mary won’t be coming back. I made all of this myself.”
“You did?”
Vivian’s eyes widened.
Even though he was a noble in name only, he was still a noble. A man like him would never have cooked for himself before.
‘Dad made all this?’
Jean smiled proudly at her expression and set her in a chair.
“Of course! I even learned how to cook so I could make delicious food for you.”
In truth, his “pride” was a bit exaggerated.
Bread and soup were the extent of it. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and fruit were closer to simple preparation than true cooking.
But to Vivian—who had survived on a single piece of black bread a day—it was a feast beyond imagination.
The smell alone made her empty stomach protest loudly. Like a little predator, she immediately targeted the food with her fork.
“Careful, Princess! It’s spilling everywhere. Slow down, slow down.”
“It’s yummy—!”
Jean didn’t even eat himself. He simply served her, satisfied just watching her cheeks puff up as she praised the food.
“Huff… huff…”
Vivian ate until her stomach was round and full, leaning back in her chair to catch her breath. Only then did Jean finally begin his own meal.
“Thank you for the meal.”
He quickly finished what she had left behind, and as he stood to clean up—
“I said thank you for the meal!”
Vivian, who had been slumped moments before, suddenly shot up and grabbed her plate.
“Vivian?”
“I’ll take the plates! I’ll wash them!”
Jean froze.
Wash them?
She was only seven years old. And so small for her age.
He had heard what life had been like for her in his absence, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.
It wasn’t just heartbreaking.
It made him want to tear Ron apart with his bare hands.
He bit down hard on his lip, stopping just before it broke the skin, forcing himself to smile.
“No, no. My princess has something else to do.”
“Huh? What is it?”
“Snack time!”
He pointed toward the sitting room.
“Go sit there. I’ll bring something really quickly.”
“But—”
“Super, super delicious chocolate. You remember it, right? That soft, sweet brown treat?”
“Ah! Really?”
That was enough. Vivian hesitated, still holding the plate.
Jean swallowed the rage rising in his throat and gently guided her out of the kitchen with a playful tone.
…
Clink, clink.
As he washed up, Jean made a silent vow.
Never again.
Never again would he let Vivian speak like that.
Because of his foolishness, she had suffered far more than she ever should have.
From now on, she would walk only on silk roads.
So much so that she would grow tired of chocolate—the very thing she once could not even afford.
He was confident.
No.
He had to be.
He was no longer the ignorant country bumpkin he once was.
“Because I…”
Now he had something else.
Memories from the future.
Two years ago—by Jean’s reckoning, more than a decade in his memory—
Jean de Lambert had set sail with grand dreams.
He would bring back luxury goods from the New World and earn a fortune.
The reason a man who had lived his whole life modestly dared to dream so big was simple.
For his daughter’s happiness.
His wife had been the daughter of a fairly prestigious noble house. Jean himself never even knew which one.
He never asked.
She never told.
It didn’t matter. They loved each other completely.
But lineage is not something that can be hidden so easily. From her words, Jean had pieced together what her life must have been like.
A debutante dress worth several years of household expenses.
Jewels passed down through generations.
Endless balls and endless visitors.
A household full of servants whose numbers she likely never even knew.
And yet she had given it all up to be with him—and never once looked back.
‘Jean… look at me. Don’t cry. Remember me like this.’
Even as she gave birth, she never expressed regret.
Only one sorrow remained—that she would not see her newborn grow into adulthood.
‘What do you think she’ll be like when she grows up?’
‘No matter who she takes after, she’ll be beautiful.’
‘That’s true. Oh, right—there are jewels I brought when I left home. If Vivian ever wants a pretty dress, sell them and buy her one. If she wants a debut… that might be harder. I should’ve brought more, right?’
Knowing she was trying to make him smile, Jean forced himself to laugh. Seeing his expression, she finally smiled in relief.
‘Then take care of our princess… I love you, Jean. I’m sorry…’
Feeling her hand grow colder and colder, Jean made a vow.
Their daughter would have the most beautiful debut in the world.
But the Lambert family was a poor house with no proper lands left. Even selling everything they owned would not be enough.
To gain wealth, one needed risk.
So Jean waited until Vivian was old enough to remember him.
When she turned five, he sold what little assets they had and set out on a long voyage.
At first, life aboard the ship was dull.
The sea was calm, and the only pastime was fishing. At one point, he even sat seriously with the sailors, designing new card games.
Then—
The storm came.
A devilish storm.
Chaos. Screams. Thunder like a god’s roar. Faces twisted in terror.
Giant waves shattered the proud ship and swallowed men whole.
Only one survived.
Jean.
‘…Where am I?’
The waves spat him out onto a deserted island.
‘I… who am I?’
And there, he awoke with no memory at all—like a blank sheet of paper.
