Navia gazed long at the response Lark had sent.
A thin layer of doubt lay over her red eyes, wondering if this could truly be real.
"Of course, it's not that I can't cut hair."
Lark wouldn't know, but Navia had learned to cut hair on her fifth try.
If asked to be serious, she could do it quite well. However, this wasn't the kind of position she desired.
Navia sighed softly and folded the letter, only labeled 'barber', tucking it into the nightstand drawer, murmuring to herself.
"The Duke is quite an interesting person."
Minerva, having finished treating Navia and organizing her bag, pushed up her glasses and cautiously asked,
"…Your Grace?"
That couldn't be, right?
Navia placed new paper on the table and rubbed her temples.
'I guess I'll have to send another letter.'
Margaret went down to the kitchen to clear away the food.
The only one left was Minerva.
"…Um, Minerva. Do you know when you might go to the Duke?"
"Me? I’ll have to stop by my room first and then head up."
"Oh, is that so?"
Navia smiled brightly, pleased.
"Then, could you deliver my letter?"
"Of course, I can…!"
Navia hurriedly ran to the table and grabbed a pen.
Dear Duke, I sincerely appreciate your kind words.
However, I'm concerned if I can fulfill the heavy responsibility of being a barber.
I think I would prefer a more active role. What do you think?
I hope I'm not asking for too much.
- Sincerely, Navia.
"Then, I’m counting on you."
Minerva had been delivering vials full of anesthetic extract to Lark almost daily.
That's why today, too, she put the anesthesia in a box and placed the letter inside before taking it to the third floor.
Now in Lark's bedroom.
Lark opened the box lid.
"…What's this?"
A row of black vials in a black wooden box, and on top of them, a white letter.
"Th-that, I mean…."
Minerva, trembling under her master's cold glare, frantically rolled her eyes.
"Aren't you taking it?"
Startled by Lark's sharpness, Minerva stood still but didn't move.
Yesterday it was Suleiman, today Margaret, and now Minerva.
Lark closed the box lid and waved his hand dismissively.
"Get out."
"Your, Your Grace…"
"If you don’t leave, I’ll burn this letter right now."
Threatened with burning the letter, Minerva quickly bowed and hurried out.
That only irritated Lark more.
Was she more worried about the letter burning than her master being upset?
"It's a talent to consistently annoy me to this extent."
Lark picked up the letter with a murderous expression, as if he was about to tear it to pieces.
But the first line was already ridiculous.
"What? Listened well to kind words?"
And the next line mentioned a heavy responsibility?
Lark read the true meaning of Navia's evasive letter.
Navia had written a long letter saying, "Alright, alright, I got it, let's think about it again," treating herself like a helpless child in response to the absurd claim of becoming a barber.
Lark crumpled the letter mercilessly and threw it away.
"Ha… How long do I have to play along with this childish game!"
He summoned a writing utensil in a huff, although his actions belied his grumbling.
Be grateful for even getting the job of cutting hair when you can't do anything else.
Thud!
As Lark put down the pen, the shaft broke.
He yelled out loud.
"Minerva!"
"Yes, yes!"
Minerva, who had been anxiously waiting outside, immediately rushed in, took the letter, and hurried out of the bedroom.
Navia quietly sighed while reading Lark's longest reply yet.
"That's right. I'm just an 8-year-old with nothing to my name."
What could an 8-year-old girl possibly do?
Navia realized she had yet to prove what she was capable of.
"I should be content with this for now. It's my mistake."
"...Yes?"
Minerva covered her mouth, shocked by the endlessly rude content of her master's letter, and then looked at Navia with an even more surprised expression.
"I need to find something and work hard at it."
"Yes......"
Ah...
To Minerva, it just seemed like Lark was being petty towards a child.
But Navia didn't stop there.
"However, there's a mistake in this. Hair cutting is a task that definitely requires trained skills, and not just anyone can do it."
Navia wouldn't have known how difficult these tasks were if she hadn't tried them herself.
'Maybe I should thank Wood for teaching me about life.'
Navia chuckled for a moment, thinking about her fifth life.
In her fifth life, Navia was a well-seasoned returnee. She had plenty of information, was skilled in etiquette, and had a good grasp of her studies.
This irritated Wood.
'He couldn't stand the fact that an insect like him was inferior to him.'
Since Navia was 11 years old, Wood pondered how he could make her seem insignificant.
He only made her do tasks that were deemed too lowly for a noble young lady, such as pulling a carriage, cooking, and cutting hair.
Navia managed to do all of them, albeit clumsily, driven by a desperate desire to be loved.
But eventually, she was thrown out in the winter and died of frostbite.
'Perhaps I would have lived a bit longer if I had acted more like a slave.'
Navia, hiding her gloomy expression, cautiously asked Minerva, who was about to leave.
"Um, Minerva. I'm sorry, but could you please deliver one more letter?"
Overcome by Navia's earnest plea, Minerva forgot her fear of Lark and nodded vigorously.
"Thank you so much."
At Navia's dazzling smile, Minerva unwittingly placed her hand over her heart.
'She doesn't even know this is her charm...'
Navia handed over the letter she had just finished.
Knock knock.
Minerva entered the den of the beast, tense as a herbivore entering a predator's lair, then quickly placed Navia's letter on the table and dashed out of the bedroom.
Lark took a moment to suppress his anger, holding his temples with both hands and bowing his head.
'They must all want to die.'
Otherwise, this wouldn't be happening.
Yet, as these events continued, he found himself reading the letter out of habit.
Duke Eseled.
Having just received your reply, I realized how unreasonable and foolish my request was.
I'm grateful that you even allowed me to be a barber.
Thank you for enlightening me about my shortcomings.
-From Navia.
Navia's letter was filled with humility and apology.
It was just a tantrum, but what enlightenment is she talking about?
"She's definitely not in her right mind."
Thump!
He threw the letter to the floor. This time, he had no intention of replying.
Lark clicked his tongue and lay down on the sofa, drawing all the curtains closed.
The room plunged into darkness again.
On the black marble table lay a writing instrument he had summoned earlier but hadn't put away.
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