SFYF 19

Chapter 19

“Don’t blurt out nonsense when you don’t even understand anything! What could a mere woman possibly know? I’ve worked here for a full seven years! I know far more than you do! You just do exactly as I tell you—got it?”

He growled savagely at Marien, as if ready to devour her. Maxim loathed this situation—her intrusion into his territory, her defiance of his authority.

Until then, Christoph, who had remained silent like an outsider, stepped forward. He was a man whose presence was unmistakable; the moment he moved, every eye in the room turned to him.

Having weathered countless trials in courtrooms, Christoph instinctively knew precisely when to speak. The gazes of Marien, Maxim, and the middle-aged woman all locked onto him.

He had stayed silent until the tension reached its peak—then, at last, his lips parted.

“Who the hell is that guy?”

Christoph jerked his chin toward Maxim. At that arrogant gesture, Maxim’s brow furrowed instantly.

“Does that guy even know you graduated from the Royal University’s Faculty of Law?”

Marien anxiously glanced between the two men. Maxim glared coldly at Christoph.

“You seem to think theory learned in school is the same as real-world practice—absolutely not. Crime scenes don’t unfold so conveniently. And who exactly are you to be here at the scene? Are you some rookie who doesn’t even know the basic rule that outsiders aren’t allowed on-site?”

Pfft.

At the word “rookie,” a faint chuckle escaped Christoph’s lips—a smile that sent chills down one’s spine.

With an air of ease, he extended his right hand. Startled, Maxim looked down at Christoph’s outstretched palm.

“My name is Christoph Schneider.”

“Schneider?”

Instantly, Maxim’s expression hardened.

In Blauberg, the name “Schneider” carried influence beyond imagination. Given that nearly all this land belonged to the Schneider family, that fact was hardly surprising.

Moreover, the name Christoph Schneider was famous for another reason: the grandson of Marquis Schneider being the capital’s most renowned lawyer was common gossip among Blauberg’s residents.

In fact, verdicts from his cases were often relayed to Blauberg in real time. People celebrated his victories and took pride in his triumphs.

“I—I’m Maxim Franke.”

As if bewitched, Maxim took his hand. After a brief, perfunctory handshake, Christoph pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his palm—as though he had touched something filthy.

Good heavens.

Marien sighed, while Maxim’s face flushed crimson with humiliation. Yet Christoph remained perfectly composed.

“I’ve been appointed as an advisor to the Blauberg Police Department starting today—it seems you haven’t heard yet. The official notice should arrive at the station soon; you’ll likely hear about me when you return.”

“!”

Marien’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“How…?!”

Christoph glanced at her and replied dismissively, as if it were nothing.

“I used the same method as you did.”

Marquis Schneider.

Marien squeezed her eyes shut, recalling the Marquis’s words: though he cherished her above all, he would side with Christoph in decisive moments.

This is far too biased toward Christoph, Your Grace.

“But why is Lord Christoph Schneider here…?”

Maxim suspiciously looked back and forth between Christoph and Marien. She subtly avoided his gaze, staring fixedly at the staircase ahead.

Instead of answering, Christoph turned his eyes toward the corpse. Even faced with the gruesome body, he didn’t so much as blink. Then he lifted his gaze to meet Maxim’s.

For some inexplicable reason, Maxim felt a sharp tension at the base of his skull. His nerves stood on edge from the icy atmosphere, and unconsciously, he straightened his posture.

But he, too, had his pride. Even if Christoph was the heir of Marquis Schneider, he couldn’t simply back down so easily.

This was his domain—the reputation of Maxim Franke, built painstakingly over seven years.

Just as he was about to speak, Christoph opened his mouth first.

“Marien.”

“…”

“Tell me everything that comes to mind. Ignore that lunatic barking like a rabid dog.”

Christoph stood straight, arms crossed. Maxim’s face turned red, then pale. Marien, who had been stealing glances at him, slowly spoke with a thoughtful expression.

“He claimed she fell and hit the back of her head on the stairs, yet there’s no blood anywhere on the steps. Moreover, the wound is too broad and blunt for an impact against a stair edge—it looks more like she was struck with a blunt object.”

“Ugh.”

Maxim let out a low groan and hurriedly examined the body.

She was right.

A deep look of dismay settled on his face.

Meanwhile, Marien’s voice once again disturbed the quiet air.

“There’s a small amount of blood under the victim’s fingernails, but it doesn’t seem to be her own. If it came from touching the wound, there should be far more blood—not just under the nails, but all over her hands.”

“Good.”

Christoph nodded approvingly, then deliberately cast a look at Maxim—his expression smug, as if proudly showing off a clever child.

Maxim grimaced.

“I—I’d already noticed that myself! But that alone doesn’t prove it wasn’t an accident!”

Christoph disliked foolish people.

He disliked stubborn people.

But what he hated most were foolish people who were also stubborn—and Maxim fit that description perfectly.

He turned his gaze back to Marien, smoothing his furrowed brows.

“Marien, what else do you see?”

“Despite the large wound, there’s surprisingly little blood on the carpet. Which means…”

She paused briefly, as if organizing her thoughts, then looked at Christoph.

“…the body was moved here from somewhere else? But why?”

Outwardly calm, Christoph was inwardly the most surprised. Her reasoning was logical, reasonable—and entirely plausible.

“Hmm.”

Glancing briefly at the middle-aged woman as if he already suspected something, Christoph fell silent.

The next moment, he knelt on one knee.

Then he lifted the carpet.

Beneath it lay a floor thickly coated in dust.

“Dust has accumulated under the carpet—it wasn’t originally placed here. You’re right, Marien. The body was brought here along with the carpet. And…”

He slowly straightened and cast a heavy gaze toward the woman standing before the kitchen.

“If the blood under the victim’s nails isn’t her own, then there’s only one possible explanation.”

“The perpetrator?”

She answered almost absentmindedly, following Christoph’s gaze—until she recognized who stood at its end, and her expression turned to shock.

At that sight, Christoph let out a faint chuckle and murmured softly to himself.

“Sometimes, Marien, you have no idea how cruel even the most seemingly kind-hearted person can be.”

And I hope you never do.

Marien stared unsteadily at the middle-aged woman—the one who claimed to be the victim’s mother.

“Tch.”

Maxim clicked his tongue lowly and approached her. Without asking permission, he roughly rolled up both her sleeves. The woman struggled, but her arms were forcibly bared.

“…”

Her arms were clean.

“Hah.”

Maxim turned to Christoph with a mocking smirk. Christoph’s eyebrow twitched.

Just as a cruel smile flickered across Maxim’s lips, a young boy peeked his head out from the kitchen.

Instantly, all expression vanished from Maxim’s face.

The middle-aged woman, following his gaze, urgently grabbed his arm.

“It was me—I did it! I accidentally hit Mary! I killed Mary!”

Her shrill voice sounded like a desperate cry.

The silence that followed her outburst was far deeper and colder than before.

Maxim frowned.

He wasn’t some greenhorn detective. His instincts, honed over seven years, tugged sharply at the back of his neck—and in cases like this, his gut was always right.

Shaking off the woman’s grip, Maxim strode toward the boy.

The child shrank back, shoulders hunched, intimidated by Maxim’s imposing figure.

Without a word, Maxim seized the boy’s arms.

“Aaah!”

The boy screamed as if seized by convulsions.

Marien instinctively moved toward him.

“Maxim! The child…!”

But Maxim was faster.

In one swift motion, he yanked up the boy’s sleeves.

“…”

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.

Two bright red scratches ran across his thin forearm—fresh, bleeding gashes clearly clawed into his skin.

Thud.

The middle-aged woman collapsed to her knees.

Maxim roughly restrained the boy, who finally burst into tears.

“We’ll hear the full story down at the station.”

Maxim announced imperiously.

The woman squeezed her eyes shut, her face drenched in sorrow, while Marien stood frozen, staring at the boy.

“Waaah! Mama! Mama!”

The terrified child wailed.

“Mama! I’m scared! I don’t want to go! Mama! Waaah!”

How could she even describe this feeling?

It wasn’t bitterness.

It wasn’t bewilderment.

And it certainly wasn’t pity.

No—it was a tangled mix of bitterness, bewilderment, and pity.

“Marien.”

Christoph, who had silently drawn near, called her name.

Marien didn’t know what expression to wear.

Christoph gazed at her with deeply shadowed eyes.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her close and soothe her trembling back.

But he couldn’t.

In that moment, Christoph keenly realized what he had lost.

He was no longer the man Marien loved.

He no longer had the right to embrace her.

Damn it.

A silent curse slipped through Christoph’s teeth.

He had no intention of surrendering what he couldn’t have to someone else.

Clenching his empty fist, he stared coldly into the air.

He had to win her back—her heart, which had already drifted away.

“That guy—doesn’t he like you?”

At those words, Marien’s eyes followed Christoph’s gaze.

At its end stood Maxim—Maxim Franke, looking thoroughly irritated.

Marien frowned as if the idea were absurd, and an annoyed tone escaped her lips.

“Why on earth would you think that? Didn’t you see how desperately Maxim wanted to tear me apart, Christoph?”

She shot him a look that clearly said, There’s no way that could be true.

Christoph missed his chance to reply, caught up in savoring the sound of his own name on her lips.

He wasn’t a dreamer, yet it felt remarkably romantic.

Only when she spoke it did he truly become Christoph.

Not the heir of Marquis Schneider.

Not the brilliant lawyer.

Just Christoph Schneider.

What even was this feeling?

Too humiliating to be mere possessiveness, too sweet to be obsession.