HLM 08

Chapter 8

“This weather is absolutely perfect for hanging out with Martin.”

The sun was beaming down, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue—it was genuinely the perfect day to suggest grabbing ice cream.

My pockets were adequately lined with allowance. I had already informed Lucas that I would be returning late. I had even briefed Bill on my exact itinerary for the afternoon…

“All that’s left is for Martin to say yes.”

And if he said no, I’d just force him to set a date for next time.

Clutching my meticulously crafted plan to my chest, I arrived at the academy with a fluttering heart. But the moment I stepped into the classroom, I couldn’t hide my crushing disappointment.

Even after the morning assembly ended, Martin’s brilliant blonde hair was nowhere to be seen. First period passed, then second, and Martin still hadn’t shown up.

‘…Did something happen? Was he dragged off somewhere?!’

For three excruciating days, I had been shaking my head, desperately trying to banish those terrifying thoughts, assuring myself that nothing was wrong. But by the third day of Martin’s complete absence, I couldn’t bear it anymore and practically marched into the faculty office.

“Lindsay? Is something the matter?”

“Hello, Ms. Margaret. It’s just… Martin hasn’t been in class for a few days… Surely nothing bad has happened to him, right?!”

Seeing me trembling with genuine fear, Ms. Margaret’s eyes widened before she burst into an amused, entirely unconcerned laugh.

“What? Haha, Lindsay. I heard you and Martin were paired up for the assessment, but I had no idea you two had grown so close already. Martin isn’t here because he’s down with a summer fever. I hear they’re particularly nasty this year; I do hope the poor boy is alright.”

Good lord. A summer cold?

I let out a shaky sigh of pure relief and nodded emphatically.

“I see. I hadn’t heard a word, so I was terribly worried.”

Ms. Margaret gently patted my shoulder, reassuring me he would be fine. I bowed and was just about to head back to class when…

“Lindsay, could you come here for a moment?”

Mr. Schuler suddenly popped his head out from behind the partition opposite Ms. Margaret’s desk.

“Mr. Schuler?”

“Haha, my desk is over here. Come here for a second.”

When I approached, Mr. Schuler pulled up a spare chair for me.

“How is the math assessment going? Lindsay, looking at your grades from your previous academy, I honestly thought you would struggle a bit. But the worksheet and report you submitted were excellent. I worried for nothing.”

I offered a sheepish smile and replied truthfully.

“I was only able to do it because Martin helped me. He’s incredibly good at explaining things. But since we haven’t been able to study together lately, there were quite a few problems on the second and third worksheets that I couldn’t figure out.”

“Don’t be discouraged; that’s simply because I raised the difficulty level. Anyway, I haven’t been able to give Martin his worksheets for next week. Lindsay, could you perhaps deliver them to him?”

Before I could even answer, Ms. Margaret stood up and looked at me.

“Oh, my! I was actually quite curious about how Martin was recovering. Lindsay, since you’re delivering his assignment anyway, would you mind checking on him for me? The address is…”

“Oh, I already know the address! In that case, Ms. Margaret, I can’t possibly visit a sick friend empty-handed. Could you perhaps excuse me from extracurricular activities today? I’d like to buy him some of his favorite food.”

Adding that arriving too late in the evening would be a breach of etiquette, I shot her my most pleading, sparkling look. Ms. Margaret shrugged in defeat and nodded.

“Just this once. Extracurricular attendance is recorded on your transcript, so missing too many sessions could negatively impact your prospects if you intend to work in the Imperial Palace later. Furthermore, I hear noble ladies have begun requesting high school transcripts when evaluating prospective daughters-in-law.”

“This is the first and last time! It will absolutely never happen again!”

Ms. Margaret laughed out loud at my frantic assurance. Mr. Schuler, failing to suppress a chuckle himself, neatly slid the worksheets and report forms into a crisp manila envelope and handed it to me.

“Get along well with Martin. As you know, he truly is a good boy. I guarantee you’ll be a great influence on each other.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll let you know how he’s doing when I get back!”

As I enthusiastically waved goodbye, the teachers shook their heads with fond, exasperated smiles.

“Should I stop by the fountain pen boutique first?”

Or should I buy macarons? Ah, no. It’s too hot today; the filling will definitely melt.

Thanks to this perfectly ‘legitimate excuse’ to visit Martin’s estate, I practically skipped down the hallway, happily fanning myself with the manila envelope.

Yes! I get to see Martin!

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

With a dramatic, determined expression, I stepped out of the carriage, waved to Bill, and started down the street.

“I told him to wait about an hour… Ah, but will I even be able to choose one in that time?”

Muttering to myself, I navigated the bustling commercial district, my eyes scanning the intricately painted signs.

Meister, Meister…

“Ah, there it is!”

The exterior screamed pure luxury. Through the pristine display windows, an array of exquisite fountain pens gleamed under carefully angled lights.

As I approached, a man in an immaculate, tailored suit—presumably a doorman—bowed deeply to me.

“Welcome to Meister, the premier purveyor of fine writing instruments. What brings you to our establishment today, My Lady?”

I suddenly understood why Martin had hesitated to mention the price. The sheer opulence of the storefront, combined with the doorman’s refined, overly elegant speech, made me feel completely out of my depth.

‘Don’t shrink back. You aren’t just some random passerby; you’re Lindsay Rietberg!’

I purposely tilted my chin up and answered in my most haughty, aristocratic tone.

“I am here to purchase a gift. For a friend.”

“Ah, I see.”

The man discreetly assessed my attire before gesturing for me to enter. He had likely instantly recognized the prestigious Saint Garten Academy uniform.

‘This is already exhausting.’

Stepping inside, I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer variety of fountain pens meticulously arranged in sparkling glass showcases.

I was hovering near the entrance, entirely unsure of where to begin, when one of the senior managers squinted at me, suddenly gasped, and practically sprinted over to greet me.

“M-my word! I-if it isn’t Lady Lindsay of the Rietberg Marquisate!”

Startled by the intense, exaggerated welcome, I just stared at him blankly. The bespectacled manager immediately bowed at a sharp angle.

“In the entire Empire, the only noble house bearing black hair and crimson eyes is the House of Rietberg. Furthermore, His Excellency the Marquis is a frequent and valued patron of Meister.”

Perhaps noticing my lingering suspicion, he hastily explained how he had recognized me. Nodding lightly to accept his explanation, I quickly got to the point.

“I am rather pressed for time. I would like to purchase a black fountain pen… but, you see…”

What did Martin’s pen even look like again…?

Almost every single pen staring back at me was black. To my untrained eye, they all looked virtually identical; I had absolutely no idea what made one different from another.

Seeing the manager waiting patiently for my request, I cleared my throat awkwardly and vaguely pointed at the nearest display case.

“Could you show me something like… this…?”

“Ah, this particular model? It is renowned for its incredibly smooth ink flow, making it highly sought after by those with delicate wrists. It is a very popular choice among patrons who write frequently.”

I immediately remembered Martin saying his hobby was transcribing. Since he held a pen for hours on end, a smooth writing experience was definitely a priority.

Taking the manager’s description as a baseline, I formulated my request.

“In that case, could you recommend a black fountain pen with an exceptionally smooth writing feel, but perhaps in a slightly higher price range? My friend uses fountain pens very frequently.”

“Ah, understood. A premium black fountain pen with a superior writing feel…”

The manager began carefully extracting velvet-lined boxes one by one. I scrutinized each pen meticulously, desperately trying to find the one that would suit Martin best.

“Excuse me, Lady Lindsay. By any chance, do you know what kind of nib your friend prefers…? The model you choose might not be compatible with his preferred nib size, you see.”

“N-nib?”

Oh, no. Disaster.

Even in my past life, I had never so much as touched a fountain pen. How was I supposed to know something like that?

As I let out a soft groan of pure distress, desperately racking my brain, a rich, masculine scent of cedarwood suddenly washed over me.

“If he writes frequently, a slightly thicker nib would likely be more comfortable. My Lady, if you wouldn’t mind, would you care to see a pen I recommend?”

I inadvertently turned my head toward the voice. It was soft and incredibly warm, like freshly laundered sheets dried under the summer sun.

Standing beside me was a man with deep brown hair, reminiscent of an ancient forest tree. He offered me a gentle smile, and looking back at me were brilliant, emerald-green eyes—eyes that were exactly the same shade as Martin’s.