SFYF 03

Chapter 3

If one were to name the most famous figure currently in the capital’s courts, it would undoubtedly be Christoph Schneider.

A lawyer with a miraculous record—boasting a 100% win rate.

His fees were beyond imagination, and his every move drew public attention. After each trial, newspaper front pages were plastered entirely with his name.

The fact that jokes openly circulated claiming even death row inmates would be released if Christoph took their case clearly illustrated the extent of his fame.

What was frightening was that it wasn’t merely a joke—he’d previously secured an acquittal for a nobleman accused of murder. Of course, whether that nobleman was truly innocent or guilty was something only God knew.

But every matter in this world had two sides. Just as light casts shadows, for every group that revered him, another sought to restrain him.

A lawyer who was reliable as an ally but terrifying as an opponent. A cold-blooded man from whom not even a drop of blood could be drawn with a needle. A shark of the legal seas—a predator that, once it sank its teeth in, never let go.

These were the words used to describe Christoph. His arguments were flawlessly thorough, his attacks sharp as blades.

Sometimes he crushed opponents with cold logic and reason; sometimes he provoked them with cutting insults; sometimes he manipulated public sentiment.

No matter how skilled a prosecutor or lawyer, all inevitably tasted defeat before him. It was said that nowadays, some lawyers even declined cases upon hearing Christoph would be the opposing counsel—so much so that one couldn’t tell whether it was fame or infamy.

Moreover, he possessed not only exceptional talent but also an impeccable lineage. Upon the death of his grandfather, Marquis Schneider, Christoph—as the sole grandson—would inherit the title.

Considering the power and wealth he would command, he was clearly a formidable figure in every respect. His life was a smooth, unobstructed path—nothing stood in his way.

“Shall I take you to the mansion, sir?”

At the chauffeur’s question, Christoph gave a single nod and sank into the back seat. Rubbing his temples habitually, he closed his eyes as if exhausted.

A throbbing headache pulsed through his skull—likely from the tension of his conversation with Botenstain. Or perhaps he still hadn’t grown accustomed to automobiles.

—”Let’s get divorced.”

Only now did he recall Marien’s words before leaving the mansion. Annoyed, he clicked his tongue softly. The chauffeur glanced at him through the rearview mirror, carefully watching his mood.

Leaning his head against the seat, Christoph let out a short sigh. Marien’s explosive statement was surely just a scare tactic—a bluff meant to frighten him.

And a bluff was just a bluff. Her attack couldn’t wound him in the slightest—because there was no doubt Marien loved Christoph.

Christoph didn’t believe in love. Entrusting himself to an intangible emotion was sheer foolishness.

Tch. He clicked his tongue again. Against his will, his memory drifted back to the past.

「Heir of Marquis Schneider survives tragic accident!」

When Christoph was four years old, the car carrying him to Marquis Schneider’s estate plunged off a cliff in a horrific crash.

His father in the driver’s seat and his mother in the passenger seat perished—only young Christoph barely survived.

Everyone mourned it as a tragic accident. They consoled him, calling his survival divine fortune.

They wept, praising his parents’ noble sacrifice—how his father had swerved the wheel in the final moment, how his mother had held him close.

But only Christoph knew the truth of that day—a hideous secret even Marquis Schneider himself was unaware of.

Having witnessed humanity’s darkest depths, how could Christoph ever believe in love—that emotion which decayed faster than a fish stranded on land?

Yet he believed Marien loved him. Because in her azure eyes, Christoph always appeared gentler than ever, and his name on her lips always sounded sweeter than anything else.

Marien loved Christoph. It was as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

Precisely because of this, Christoph immersed himself even more in work—since her status rose in proportion to his fame.

He wanted to strip away the label of “commoner-born Madam Schneider.” He wanted to grant her such formidable power that no one would dare speak her name carelessly.

That was what he could do for her. Or rather, what he must do.

Thus, he assumed this time too, an appropriate jewel and a romantic dinner would soothe Marien’s anger—as it always had before.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

The car had stopped without his notice—he must have dozed off briefly. The chauffeur rushed to open the door, and Christoph stepped out, still rubbing his eyes.

Glancing at his watch, he straightened his back and began walking again.

I should tell Oliver to reserve dinner for tomorrow evening. No—tomorrow I have dinner with a client, so the day after would be better.

Hearing the car, the butler opened the door and came out to greet him. Seeing the butler’s pale face, Christoph frowned faintly.

Martin, whose hair was now entirely white, had devoted his entire life to the Schneider household. Few things could fluster the seasoned servant.

Suddenly, an ominous premonition stirred within Christoph.

“……”

Narrowing his eyes, Christoph slowed his steps. His gaze slowly swept past Martin’s shoulder.

Marien, who normally would have come out with the butler to greet him, was nowhere to be seen.

“Welcome back, sir.”

“What’s happened, Martin?”

He stopped before the elderly butler. Martin quietly held his breath under Christoph’s palpable displeasure.

There was something about Christoph that overwhelmed others—not because of age or experience.

It wasn’t merely because he was heir to the marquisate. He was a natural-born ruler, accustomed to commanding others.

Had he been born into royalty, he’d have become king; born into a pirate clan, he’d have ruled the seas. He was destined to stand at the apex of any hierarchy.

Martin squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and barely managed to speak. A shamefaced voice slipped from between his teeth.

“Madam Schneider has…”

Gulping, Martin couldn’t finish his sentence. Christoph, staring at the old man’s bald crown, spoke softly.

“Has something happened to Marien?”

Was she that angry? Angry enough not to come greet him?

Just as Christoph thought, ‘This time, even a candlelit dinner might not be enough,’ Martin uttered the rest.

“…Madam Schneider has disappeared.”

“……”

Christoph, about to ask what he meant, fell silent. The still air took physical form, pressing down on the old servant. For a moment, Christoph’s breath caught as if his throat were constricted.

Martin, as if defying nature itself, painfully lifted his head. The moment their eyes met—

“!”

He instinctively stepped back. Christoph’s pitch-black eyes were smiling—languidly.

“Say that again, Martin. What did Marien do?”

Only then did Martin realize Christoph wasn’t smiling.

He was furious. Though he raised no voice and uttered no curse, his rage burned more fiercely than ever before.

Martin, who’d served Christoph since infancy, was certain this was the first time he’d seen him so enraged. Suddenly, he grew deeply worried for Madam Schneider’s safety.

Madam, what on earth have you done?

When Martin remained silent, unable to continue, Christoph quietly moved his lips.

“She ran away? Who? My wife, Marien?”

A chill ran down his spine as if a cold hand had brushed his neck. The unhurried words coiled around his aged body like a massive serpent.

Martin braced his legs—though they longed to flee—and reported what had happened that day. Christoph’s expression gradually turned icy.

Finally, a cold laugh escaped his lips.

Ha.

If that could be called laughter—it was cold enough to make a witness’s heart sink.

Marien took a deep breath as she faced the massive wrought-iron gates. Through the black bars stretched an endless expanse of manicured lawn.

At its center stood a gray mansion—no, “castle” suited it far better than “mansion.”

Its stone walls, weathered by decades of rain and wind, resembled a battle-hardened veteran, and its pointed turrets looked like the giant spears the veteran carried.

Christoph’s own mansion was among the grandest in the capital—guests at his banquets had genuinely marveled at it, so that claim was likely no exaggeration.

But it paled in comparison to this place. Recalling that even by carriage it took a considerable time to travel from the estate’s private entrance to these gates, Marien let out a short sigh.

“How will I get back? There won’t be any passing carriages here.”

The next moment, she straightened her back, lifted her chin, and pressed the doorbell. She had no time to hesitate here. She could worry about the return trip later—first, she had to solve the immediate problem.

Soon, a side gate opened, revealing a gatekeeper with a bold, open face. Expecting a carriage or automobile, he widened his eyes slightly at the sight of Marien standing alone.

“What brings you here, Madam?”

Assessing her appearance, the gatekeeper asked politely—but his firm eyes allowed no weakness.

He was well-accustomed to uninvited guests. Countless people had tried every absurd excuse to cross the mansion’s threshold.

Of course, not a single one had succeeded—the gatekeeper, armed with a deceptively friendly smile, was exceptionally good at his job.

Ah, a widow. So this time it’s a sympathy ploy. But it won’t work on me.

Armored like an impregnable fortress, he fixed his gaze on Marien. Her face was hidden behind a veil, yet her aura clearly marked her as no ordinary woman.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but the air around her felt distinctly elegant and refined.

No—just days ago, I nearly fell for a woman pretending to be nobility! Arriving here without even a private carriage? Definitely an uninvited guest. There’s no way she’ll pass through these gates!

Just as the gatekeeper’s eyes grew increasingly suspicious, Marien moved her lips.

“I’ve come to see His Lordship.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

Knowing it was impossible, the gatekeeper asked anyway—something about her presence made him hope against hope.

“No.”

As expected. The gatekeeper folded his arms across his chest and adopted a stern expression. His smile vanished as he warned in a rigid tone,

“In that case…”

Before he could finish, Marien quickly interjected,

“But if you tell him Mrs. Clozier has come, he’ll see me. I’ll wait here—please go ask His Lordship.”

“Mrs. Clo… Clozier, did you say?”

The gatekeeper tilted his head, unfamiliar with the name. In Blauburg, he’d recognize any prominent family by name alone—this was certainly unfamiliar.

Yet he couldn’t turn her away, owing to Marien’s confident demeanor. Moreover, her tone carried a subtle note of command—the speech of someone accustomed to giving orders.

“Tell His Lordship that Mrs. Clozier has come to collect a debt owed to her from long ago.”