Chapter 48

She didn’t seem like someone pretending to be April anymore.

And that terrified him.

Because the girl he had just seen—April Hill Rise—was the April he remembered.

“Damn it…”

Perfoné finally slowed down after running until she was out of sight. He stopped and covered his face with one hand.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?”

The memory of young April, bleeding from a leopard attack in his place, flashed through his mind. Her voice. Her laughter. Her kindness. It all resurfaced.

For the past three years, she had felt like a stranger.

But just now… she felt exactly like his April.

And that scared him more than anything.

Because this—this exact feeling—was how it started before.

Back then, she would act strangely once or twice a week, and then, without warning, she disappeared.

“Ha…”

He collapsed onto the ground.

For a long time, he’d convinced himself that April was no longer the same person.

But now, her smile, the mischievous tone she used when teasing him—it was all her.

“Maybe I am going crazy…”

Was it hereditary?

Was he slowly going mad like the emperor?

He feared giving his heart to someone who wasn’t really April—just because she reminded him of her.

This was scarier than the leopard attack when he was a child. Scarier than the day he saw Rozian at his mother’s funeral—cold, indifferent, sharing a secret with his father.

“Where are you…?”

Not the imposter. Not the substitute.

He wanted to find her. His real April.

“I miss you, Epi…”

But how do you search for a first love who vanished without a trace?

⸻

Meanwhile, at the Guild…

Terran sighed as he examined the luxurious bracelet inlaid with Sidhevan’s eyes. Worth a fortune—yet more trouble than it was worth.

“This job’s going to be a headache,” he muttered.

“It’s that hard?” a guild member asked.

“It’s not just the job. I remembered we got a similar request a couple years ago.”

“Well, can’t we just give them the same report?”

Terran snorted. “There wasn’t anything useful back then either. But it’s strange… Two people, years apart, asking the same thing.”

“What’s the request?”

Terran carefully locked the bracelet away.

“You’re the one who handled the last case, so you’ll take this one too.”

“About who?”

“April Hill Rise.”

The guild member groaned. “Again? We got nothing last time.”

“This time, they want rumors, gossip—anything circulating about her.”

“Same client?”

“No. A different guy. Came in masked. Young.”

“Suspicious.”

“And I’m pretty sure he used a fake name.”

“Who was it last time?”

Terran clicked his tongue.

“Damian Dinia Valstein.”

The crown prince’s cousin—and sole heir to the northern Grand Duke.

⸻

Back at the Imperial Office…

The breeze drifting in through the window was crisp. Autumn was arriving.

The quiet rustle of paper filled the room.

“Your Highness, the pen hasn’t moved in quite some time.”

Perfoné flinched. He wasn’t reading the papers in front of him—his mind was elsewhere.

“I’m fine…”

But the truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about April’s smile the other morning.

He had always thought she was just imitating the real April.

But now… he wasn’t so sure.

He fiddled with the corner of a document and asked casually:

“Sir Lervian, if your wife suddenly acted like a completely different person… how would that feel?”

Lervian, caught off guard by such a personal question, looked up, puzzled.

“Are you referring to Lady April?”

Perfoné blinked. “H-How did you know?”

“Sir Adonis said something similar, recently.”

“Adonis?”

“Yes. He mentioned that she seemed… more mature. Like she had grown into herself.”

“No… It’s not that,” Perfoné murmured.

She hadn’t matured.

She had changed—entirely.

But how could he explain that without sounding completely mad?

How could he say: ‘The April I’ve known for three years feels like a stranger. But yesterday, for the first time… she felt real.’

He sighed, unable to speak.

“If you won’t explain, then please return to work,” Lervian said dryly.

The Empire’s founding festival was fast approaching, and the workload was immense.

Perfoné glanced at the stack of paperwork.

“The swordsmanship tournament must have started by now. How is Adonis doing?”

“It’s today.”

Lervian cleaned his glasses, clearly concerned.

“She has to win. Otherwise, it will reflect poorly on you.”

Imperial guards typically didn’t participate in the tournament—for two reasons.

First, their presence discouraged rising talents from shining.

Second, if a royal guard lost, it was a massive disgrace.

“You should’ve discouraged her.”

“She looked me in the eye and said she’d win. How could I say no?”