Don’t Tame It [Novel]

4.

The Dean, mid-stride as he entered the anatomy lab, faltered at the sight of the bare bed occupied by nothing but a corpse. “Ahem.” He let out a low, dry cough and turned his back.

“It seems she isn’t here. I shall send someone to find her.”

No answer came from Diego. It was only then the Dean realized Diego wasn’t looking at him, but gazing over his shoulder.

Tilting his head, the Dean slowly turned to follow Diego’s line of sight. He let out a sharp gasp.

“……Hello.”

Irene greeted them a beat late. Greetings were the foundation of human relationships; by simply being polite, she could halve the number of arguments directed her way.

That was the greatest lesson she had learned at medical college. Of course, the stuck-up Sea Anemones picked fights regardless of her efforts.

Only when the Dean realized the gloomy shadow in the corner was Irene did his lips twitch. He felt a bitter sting, certain he must look pathetic in front of Duke Diego Cassis.

But Diego had not a shred of interest in him. With his lips curled into a gentle smile, he brushed past the statue-still Dean.

“Miss Irene Rios?”

Irene stared back, her expression stiff, as if debating whether she needed to greet him all over again.

To Diego, she looked like a stray cat with its fur standing on end—harboring more wariness than curiosity toward humans.

Yet, Diego was a man loved even by foul-tempered cats. He didn’t know why. Generally, all animals liked him—or, at the very least, submitted to him.

Diego flashed a charming smile, the very one that had made him synonymous with a playboy in the yellow papers.

“Are you Miss Irene Rios?”

The Dean, noticing Javier, quickly cut between them and scolded Irene with a feigned sternness.

“Miss Rios, His Grace, Duke Cassis, is asking you a question. Why are you dilly-dallying instead of answering at once?”

Irene shifted her gaze to the Dean. She remembered thinking his swollen belly and sweat-slicked face made him look like a Pufferfish.

……She didn’t particularly like Pufferfish, either. Come to think of it, all marine life fell into her category of ‘dislike.’

Irene glanced at the sash wrapped around the Dean’s waist. It was clearly embedded with jewels not to hold up his trousers, but to pinpoint exactly where his waist was located.

A Pufferfish with a sash on its waist.

The new descriptor added to her mental notes caused her to miss the timing for a reply again.

Without a hint of displeasure, Diego extended his hand, palm up, as if to kiss the back of hers in the manner of a gentleman.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rios.”

Breaking from her thoughts, Irene stared blankly at his hand. It was a neat hand, the long, straight fingers testifying to his aristocratic status.

However, the calluses told a different story. They were not from holding a pen. They were—

“Irene Rios!”

The Dean finally raised his voice. Irene looked down at her own hands. They were bare; she had left her gloves next to the corpse.

Instead of taking his hand, she gathered her skirt with both hands, dipped into a shallow curtsey, and straightened.

“I greet Your Grace, Duke Cassis.”

After delivering the greeting with perfect etiquette, she walked away with a firm, steady stride. Diego watched her back, his hand grasping empty air, a faint smile lingering on his face.

Once Irene had her gloves back on, she looked visibly relieved. The Dean let out an “Ugh” of frustration, remembering her obsessive-compulsive tendencies. For her, that had been her best effort.

She had stared blankly at the Dean when he reached for a handshake earlier, waiting until he grew tired and withdrew it himself.

“Your Grace, there is one thing you must know. Miss Irene Rios is…….”

The Dean tried to speak, but Diego had already begun walking toward the bed. He stopped beside the corpse, his expression bright.

For Diego, gaining the favor of others was rarely difficult. His life had been remarkably smooth.

As third in line to the throne, he should have faced hostile factions, yet no one specifically hated him. His parents doted on him, his siblings cherished him, and his retainers revered him. At times, life felt like a low-difficulty game.

A boring game where he wanted to toss his hand of cards and shout “Fold.”

Around the time he was granted his territory, that intense boredom had vanished—thanks to the insane King of Alvar, who sent soldiers to harass his borders.

Each time, Diego stood at the forefront, cutting down the enemy. Ironically, only when death loomed did he feel truly alive. He could feel his blood circulating and his heart beating in his chest.

But even that was temporary. Familiarity soon led to a new kind of boredom. He wouldn’t throw his cards away on his own, of course.

No, the game would end long before he could even attempt it.

That was the most boring part of all.

Diego, hiding his cynicism behind a brilliant smile, raised one eyebrow. In any case, this woman would soon be his. Because he wanted it to be so.

He spoke in a more relaxed tone.

“I have heard much about Miss Rios.”

Irene’s brows narrowed slightly. She had caught wind of the rumors—she also knew they weren’t pleasant.

After a moment of thought, she replied indifferently.

“The rumor that I laugh while holding a throbbing heart in one hand every time I slice open a corpse is not true. I did not laugh even once when I sliced open this corpse a moment ago, and above all, the corpses here are death-row inmates hanged days ago, who arrive with their hearts already stopped.”

“…….”

For an instant, the expression vanished from Diego’s face. He wasn’t flustered, nor was he caught off guard.

Or perhaps, he was both.

“Your Grace, so the fact that you must know is…….”

The Dean started again, but Diego didn’t give him an opening. He kept his eyes on Irene, wearing a radiant smile.

“The story I heard was that Miss Rios is the top graduate-to-be of the Royal Medical College.”

“Ah.”

This time, it was Irene who was lost for words.

Leticia often shouted at her, “Please, just close that mouth of yours!” It seemed this was exactly that kind of situation. From now on, it would be better to keep silent.

Irene’s gaze traced his gray hair, the eyes hidden within thin smiles, his high-bridged nose, his clean-cut mouth, and his stubborn chin.

He looked like a cleanly peeled potato.

……A potato was one of the vegetables she hated most. It was better than tonic animals, but she chose to starve on days when potato dishes were served in the cafeteria.

“They say you are the top student across both Internal and External Medicine. I heard you recorded truly excellent scores in the Royal Medical examination. The highest in the history of the college.”

“Yes.”

“In particular, rumors are rampant that your skills in the surgical field are outstanding.”

“Yes.”

Irene nodded, her expression as calm as someone proving that one plus one equals two.

Amused, Diego narrowed his eyes and scanned the corpse on the bed.

“…….”

Suddenly, his eyes sparkled. It wasn’t because the corpse, with its heart exposed, was gruesome—he had seen far worse.

His gaze rested on the edge of the severed skin. The cross-section was clean. No barber he had ever met could slice through flesh so perfectly. Even the bone was smooth.

Human skin is not as tough as one might think, yet not as soft, either. He had seen enough to know; even barbers boasting of their expertise often left jagged edges when treating wounded soldiers.

It wasn’t something one could do just because the blade was sharp. It required a well-honed tool, absolute proficiency, and bold nerves. Finally, a heaven-sent talent had to be added to the mix.

*Glance.*

Diego eyed Javier. He remembered that the wounds on his own soldiers were similar to this.

The traces of the blade were closer to those of a long-trained swordsman than a surgeon.

Curiosity finally stirred in Diego’s eyes. The title of top student was not empty talk. And the fact that she was a woman made it all the more interesting.

He scrutinized her from head to toe. Her frame was so thin he wondered if she ate properly; she wore a worn-out dress with a white apron tied over it.

Because she covered her nose and mouth with cloth, only her round, blue, bead-like eyes were visible, yet they did not lose their luster in the gloomy basement.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, with several strands poking out.

Her first impression was closer to a freak than a lady.

Diego perfectly hid the thought, replacing it with a breezy smile.

“I am looking for a personal physician with skills in surgery. How about coming to my territory with me?”

It was a suggestion that carried the weight of a command. No one in the Kingdom of Divoa would dare refuse him—whether due to his position or the conditions he offered.

Irene opened her mouth, her expression impassive. Predicting her answer, Diego smiled even more.

“I refuse.”

“…….”

A long silence followed.

Diego twitched one eyebrow while keeping his smile; the Dean clutched his neck in shock; Javier remained silent, as he always did.

As if he were struggling to process a foreign language, Diego asked back slowly.

“My ears heard it as a refusal. I hope I heard wrong.”

“Your Grace’s hearing is functioning normally.”

Before he could finish, Irene cut him off. The Dean gasped, his mouth agape.

Diego’s smile deepened, as if he found it truly interesting. Without realizing it, he leaned toward her.

“You haven’t even heard the conditions yet.”

“No matter what conditions Your Grace offers, I cannot become your personal physician.”

“Why?”