Oranges.
That was the last thing he asked for before heading off to obtain the artifact three days ago.
It was not because he had cravings for them now nor did they hold any significance at the moment.
Rather, it was the easy way to shift the conversation elsewhere and to buy himself just a little more time to process everything right now.
He needed information.
The absence of a gift category in Iria's status only confirmed that the assassin had to be a reader.
Hff…
He took a deep breath.
He looked at Iria who stood by his bedside who seemed like trying to come up to a decision that required more thought than it reasonably should.
In all honesty, all she needed to do was pick one among the basket of oranges.
He smiled.
Not because he cared about which orange she would eventually pick, but at the thought that, even in a world dictated by the author's whims, characters still agonized over things as small as this.
In that same moment, he had finally decided.
There was no point in holding onto something that no longer existed.
There was no point in clinging to the name Seojin, to the identity of someone who had already been left behind in another world.
He had crossed the threshold the moment he woke up in this body.
And whether he liked it or not, this was who he was now.
Seven Hart.
Perhaps it had always been inevitable.
It was about time he stopped pretending otherwise.
Hff…
He took another deep breath.
Iria was still standing there, staring at the basket, fingers hovering over the oranges as if she were choosing a relic of immeasurable value rather than a piece of fruit
"..."
It had been five whole minutes.
Finally, she settled on a slightly lighter orange.
Iria extended her hands and offered the orange.
"Here's the best orange among the bunch, Young Lord."
But he did not receive it.
Instead, he let his gaze drag over the fruit with dissatisfaction.
"Do I look like someone who peels his own oranges?"
"Of course not, Young Lord. I will peel them for you right away."
Offering a polite smile, Iria knelt beside him and settled the basket down. Just as she reached for a knife, he clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Faster. Use your hands."
"Pardon?"
Growl.
His stomach growled, given that it waited five whole minutes to digest the orange. Whatever it had digested in his sleep was not enough.
For the briefest moment, her fingers hesitated.
But she said nothing.
After all, the person she served was hungry to the point that she could hear his stomach rumbling like a cry to taste the orange she personally picked.
Hence, she quickened her pace and striped away the rind in smooth, practiced motions before splitting the fruit into neat segments.
Iria held one out to him.
"Here, Young Lord. Please eat."
"..."
He plucked it from her hand and munched it.
It eased his hunger even if just a little.
"Good work."
"Thank you, Young Lord."
Iria bowed her head slightly, hands folding in her lap before reaching for another orange. The sharp scent of citrus thickened in the air as she peeled away the rind.
Iria casually mentioned that Eden had stopped by earlier and was waiting to see him once he woke up.
Of course, she made no mention of the envelope she had quietly tucked beneath her clothes.
'...Eden.'
He thought.
From this point on, everything was uncharted territory. In the novel, he had never survived the assassination… meaning this meeting with Eden, his older sister, was something that was never supposed to happen.
But then again, the novel had made one thing clear:
Seven Hart was the only little brother Eden truly valued.
Sigh.
As he processed the thought, Iria had already peeled another slice of orange and held it out to him.
Seven reached for it absentmindedly.
But instead of bringing it to his mouth, his fingers clenched.
It burst between his fingertips. The sharp scent of citrus filled the air as juice dripped between the spaces of his hand which then flowed down his wrist in slow, sticky trails.
"...Young Lord?"
He blinked.
For a moment, he had not even realized what he had done.
Before he could react, Iria took his hand without hesitation and wiped away the sticky residue.
Flick.
He flicked her hand away.
"What the fudge are you doing?!"
Instead of being thankful, he flicked Iria's hand away almost on instinct. To anyone watching, it probably looked like a typical spoiled noble refusing to be touched by a mere servant.
But that was not the case here.
Sev— Seojin, rather. was a virgin.
But not in the usual sense. It was just never once in his life on Earth did a girl hold his hands.
Honestly, not even once.
He did not experience any accidental brushes nor any kind of friendly pats even from his own mother. Hence, his past life was a flawless record of being completely, utterly untouched by a girl.
Iria blinked at him, her hands still midair as she held a cloth damp with orange juice.
She looked down at it, then back at him, as if trying to understand why he had just reacted like that.
"Young Lord? I… I was just cleaning your hand."
The tone she said those words was practically like speaking to a particularly dense child and not a Young Lord.
He knew that.
Of course, he knew that.
But knowing did not change the fact that his ears were burning and he had no idea how to recover from the sudden embarrassment.
To make things worse, Iria was still looking at him as if she was waiting for a response.
So he did, again, what any self-respecting scoundrel would do.
He scoffed and waved his hand dismissively.
" Just don't touch me without my permission again."
It was supposed to sound cold and commanding, like a noble scolding an impudent servant.
Instead, it came out stiff.
Defensive.
Like a brat throwing a tantrum.
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to punch himself.
'Why the hell did I say it like that?'
Iria just stared at him before, slowly, bowing her head.
"My apologies, Young Lord."
Without another word, she crouched down and removed the tainted bedsheet. The bed creaked slightly as he stood up to let her remove and replace it with a new one completely.
He did nothing to help her, but only watched in silence.
He just crossed his arms, not because it looked dignified but because he had the sudden urge to fold in on himself.
He then flexed his fingers once, then again, as if trying to erase the ghost of her touch.
Once Iria finished doing it, she placed the bedsheet inside the basket and adjusted it in her arms before turning towards the door.
"I'll be heading back now, Young Lord."
"..."
And just like that, she walked past him with the quiet yet hurried steps.
Hff…
He exhaled as the door of his room closed.
"That was close…"
He stood up.
Step.
He walked towards the bucket of water to see whether he was truly embarrassed by seeing a blush..
But as his gaze landed on the water, he noticed it.
"...Fudge. Don't tell me—"
***
In the hallway.
Iria walked briskly, her footsteps a soft rhythm against the polished floor. The citrus scent still clung to her hands, but she paid it no mind.
Her mind was elsewhere.
'He changed again.'
Her grip tightened around the hem of her skirt. The boy lying in that bed had shifted once more, slipping between personas like a phantom shedding its form.
The sharp-tongued scoundrel had returned.
For a moment, she slowed and glanced over her shoulder at the closed door behind her
'But it doesn't matter.'
She smiled.
'No one else is allowed to take my place.'