Sakurai Misaki's eyes had been open since before dawn. The feel of the soil she'd touched yesterday lingered on her fingertips. That sticky, clayey sensation. The kind of earth that clumped easily when squeezed—waterlogged, poorly drained soil. (I want to see it.) That desire moved her body. She threw off her blanket and shoved parchment and charcoal pencil into her bag. Outside the window, the sky was still dark. Only the edge of the horizon had begun to pale slightly. The hallway was quiet. Gilbert and Martha the cook hadn't woken yet. Sakurai crept downstairs and opened the door beside the kitchen. Cold morning air struck her cheeks. As she headed toward the northern farmland, Sakurai replayed yesterday's scene in her mind. That vast wasteland near Halbert Village. Of the roughly thirty hectares of farmland spreading across the northern reaches of Glesia's border territory, less than a quarter was actually being cultivated. The rest lay abandoned. The soil was clayey with poor drainage. No trace of green manure being worked in. The furrows weren't oriented for water management. And there were signs of continuous cropping damage—the same crops planted in the same spots year after year. It was a problem-ridden place, certainly. But to Sakurai's eyes, it looked like "a place full of problems that could be fixed." She crouched at the field's edge and began digging into the soil. She chose a spot slightly different from yesterday's, checking the slope and how water would flow. The eastern side was a bit lower. She could picture how rainwater would pool when it fell. (A drainage ditch here. Then toward the Lente River...) She unrolled the parchment and drew lines with charcoal. The ditch's position, depth, angle of slope. She sketched out a rough three-field crop rotation cycle as well. First field: wheat. Second field: legumes. Third field: fallow. Rotating every year. Legumes fixed nitrogen in the soil, so even without chemical fertilizers, the land's fertility would gradually return. Mud clung to her fingers, and the edge of the parchment got a bit dirty. She didn't mind at all. How long had she been at it? When the sky had grown considerably brighter, she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She looked up. A figure on horseback. Short, nearly black hair. Sharp, silver eyes. A small scar on his left cheek. The person she'd locked eyes with for three seconds in the hallway yesterday before he'd turned and vanished—Lucian Von Glesia, the border lord of Glesia territory. From atop his horse, he stared down at her. His expression read: "I've found a suspicious person." "...What is the candidate doing with her face pressed to the soil?" "[excited]I was checking the soil's smell. The fermentation isn't progressing here. It's evidence that microbial activity is weak—" "That's enough." He cut her off curtly and made a motion to pull the reins. "[serious]Wait, please!" Sakurai stood up and held aloft the mud-covered parchment. The horse stopped for a step. "It's a drainage ditch design. If we dig a ditch here and slope it toward the Lente River, the water drainage will improve. Combined with a three-field crop rotation system, the harvest yield will more than double within three years." Lucian's silver eyes glanced at the parchment for barely a second before his gaze returned. "[cold]The previous candidate said something similar." "Huh?" "She fled after three days." His voice was a cold laugh—the kind that perfectly captured the phrase. Emotionless. Simply stating facts in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. That's what got under her skin. "[angry]Don't lump me in with that person." Sakurai stepped two paces forward into the horse's path. Lucian pulled the reins. The horse stopped. Their eyes met. At close range. Sakurai looked up at Lucian from below, still holding out the design with her mud-covered hands. For just an instant, something like "what is this person" flickered across Lucian's face as he looked down from horseback—or so it seemed. "...Are you saying I should pass through here?" "You can't pass. Listen to me." Silence stretched for several seconds. Wind blew from the direction of the Lente River, rustling Sakurai's chestnut hair. "The conversation is over." Lucian guided his horse to the side and began heading back toward the manor, skirting the edge of the field. Sakurai watched his retreating back, design still in hand. (What? Over...?) A feeling that was neither anger nor frustration welled up in her chest. But before that, another thought surfaced. (The study's on the second floor, Gilbert said...) --- Back at the manor, Sakurai immediately caught Gilbert. The elderly butler had just returned from his morning rounds and narrowed his eyes slightly at the mud-covered Sakurai. "Gilbert, where is the study?" "At the far end of the second floor, but...the lord has just returned." "Right. I'm going now." "But—" Without waiting for his response, Sakurai started up the stairs. The second-floor hallway was dimmer than the first. Narrow windows lined the stone walls at regular intervals. At the far end, a heavy-looking door came into view. Sakurai knocked. Three times, clearly. "Do not enter." "Pardon me." She opened it anyway. The study was buried in documents. Stacks of ledgers piled on the desk. Bundles of parchment crammed tightly onto shelves along the walls. Morning light streamed through the window, dust motes glittering in the rays. Lucian was frozen mid-motion, his jacket half-removed. He stared at Sakurai with the expression of someone witnessing something unbelievable. "...I said do not enter." "I heard. But it's important." Sakurai approached the desk. She pushed aside the edge of the pile of ledgers, creating space. She pulled a bundle of parchment from her bag—handwritten materials she'd stayed up all night preparing. She spread the first sheet on the desk. A diagram of the three-field crop rotation cycle. Simple illustrations and numbers showed what to plant in each field and how to rotate them. "The rotation cycle. A three-year rotation of wheat, legumes, and fallow. Legumes fix nitrogen in the soil, so the land's strength recovers better than planting the same thing every year." She laid down the second sheet. A cross-section diagram of the drainage ditch. "The drainage ditch design. We slope it eastward and connect it to the Lente River. The river's water volume is highest this season, so now is the time to act." Lucian hadn't moved. His arm was still frozen mid-sleeve. Sakurai could tell his gaze wasn't falling on the documents. He was deliberately trying to ignore them—she understood that too. "The third is a calculation." She placed the parchment filled with numbers at the front. "If we set Glesia territory's current harvest at one, it will reach 2.1 in three years. The first year of soil improvement will be 1.1, the second year 1.5, and we expect to exceed two by the third year. There will be margins of error, but the direction won't change." Silence. Wind blew from the direction of the Lente River outside the window, causing the hallway door to sway slightly. Lucian slowly threaded his arm through his jacket sleeve. He stood before the desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the documents. Maintaining his posture of not looking. "...Where do you intend to source the drainage ditch materials?" His voice was low. "How do you plan to procure them?" Sakurai's mind went completely blank for an instant. (He was listening!!) She barely managed to keep it from escaping her lips. Maintaining an outwardly calm expression, she traced the edge of the parchment with her finger. "Stone can be sourced from exposed rock at the base of the Tolvarn Mountains. For processing, I'm thinking of consulting with Thomas the blacksmith. Even roughly hewn stone can be used depending on how it's assembled, so we should be able to keep costs down. For anything we're short on, we can source from the trading post at Vekken—" "There is no budget." "I understand." "The territory's coffers have no surplus. None whatsoever." "That's why I'll do it myself. I'll use timber from Volm Forest to make do where possible, and only ask Thomas for help with the parts that absolutely need metalwork. For the cost of the first section...well, I'll manage somehow." "'Manage somehow' is not acceptable." "The cost breakdown is written on the last page of the calculation sheet." Lucian's gaze moved to the fourth sheet of parchment for just an instant. Then he turned his back. "...Do as you wish." "Huh?" "But I will provide no funds. That is all." He walked toward the window. His back was the back of someone ending a conversation. Sakurai gathered her materials and returned them to her bag. She stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the door. Then, facing the hallway wall, she made a small fist pump. "Yes...!" "...Congratulations." She turned around. Gilbert was standing by the wall of the hallway. How long had he been there? His gentle eyes were slightly moist. "For the lord to ask questions in response to someone's proposal..." The old butler paused for a moment. "...It has been ten years." --- Those words stayed with her. While organizing materials in a small room on the first floor, Sakurai had Gilbert prepare tea for her. Sitting across from him at a stone table, Gilbert began to speak quietly. Lucian Von Glesia's father had died ten years ago. A sudden illness, he said. It happened in the blink of an eye. "The lord was only fifteen at the time." Sakurai cradled the teacup in both hands. It was warm. "He formally inherited the lord's seal at fifteen. For the past ten years, there has been no support whatsoever from the capital. The Pelvant Nobility Council—a political body formed by twelve powerful noble families of the Fortina Kingdom—finds it more convenient to simply collect taxes from a border territory like Glesia rather than provide support." "Ten years, alone." "There were no trusted aides. I can only manage household affairs. Agriculture, economics, negotiations—the lord taught himself everything." Gilbert's voice was calm. But Sakurai sensed something like quiet anger beneath it. The accumulated emotions of someone who had watched for many years. "The first lady candidate arrived three years ago. The first one wept upon seeing the plainness of her room on the very day of arrival. The second lasted a week before the winter cold became unbearable. The third..." "Three days, right?" "Yes. She fled after three days. Each time, the lord blamed himself. He said his judgment was poor. That this territory was a place no one would choose." Sakurai turned her gaze toward the window. She could just see the second-floor window where the study was. Lucian's silhouette was there. One hand resting on the window frame, gazing out at the desolate northern fields. His profile was dark against the backlight. The shadows under his eyes, which she hadn't noticed in this morning's light, were deep when she looked closely. His tightly set mouth. Shoulders held in faint tension. (He's not cold.) A dull ache bloomed in her chest. (He's exhausted. So exhausted. All this time.) That look of "you'll run away anyway." When the horse had stopped in the field, that moment when he'd glanced at the design—that profile trying not to see. It all connected. This person had already given up on believing. To avoid being hurt, he'd surrendered first, keeping his distance. (I have to prove I won't run. Not with words. With action.) Sakurai set down her teacup. "Gilbert. Is Thomas at his workshop today?" "The blacksmith Thomas rarely leaves his workshop. What is it?" "I want to consult about the drainage ditch materials. Also, where is the library? Are there records like kingdom ordinances or past agricultural data that I can access in the manor?"