Don’t Tame It [Novel]

47.

Irene remembered something Mia had once tossed out in passing—a lament about her own mother, who had once claimed three years of age was the limit for trouble, only to end up pregnant with a fifth child.

So, it seemed Mia was suggesting Irene was less capable than a three-year-old. A thin curtain of sullenness drifted over the eyes that had been sparkling just moments ago.

But at that moment.

“Hahaha.”

Mario burst into laughter. He threw his head back and roared, watching Mia with her hands on her hips and Irene, who was taking the lecture so meekly.

It wasn’t just the reversal of roles that struck him as funny. It was the way Irene’s expressionless face looked, for once, entirely at ease.

Far more so than when he had first met her in Therapia.

“Why are you laughing? Huh? Why?”

Mia looked back and forth between them with a bewildered expression. But neither answered. Mario remained focused on driving the mule, and Irene, much like Mia, didn’t know the reason herself.

In the end, Mia sighed, as if she had finally remembered why she had run here, and turned her body completely toward Irene.

“Oh, my head. The butler had a message for you. He said the Grand Duke’s departure will be slightly delayed because he is in a meeting with a guest.”

Irene nodded, but Mia’s chatter did not stop.

“I heard he’s a factory owner of some sort… what was it? A dead tree? Rubber? Anyway, he was talking about how it’s an honor to meet the Grand Duke in person, and he walked in from the entrance with his waist bent in half! He was more over-the-top than Physician Flich. If Physician Rios had seen that, she probably would have splinted the man’s waist right there.”

Irene let Mia’s chirping voice drift in one ear and out the other, carefully tucking away the dream she had forgotten, ensuring she would never lose sight of it again.

* * *

Fabian was the archetype of the self-made man. Born the seventh son of a poor farmer, he hadn’t even received a proper education.

Forget schooling—he had been forced to find work the moment he turned thirteen, barely scraping by on a pittance at a miserable factory.

But his diligence and sharp wits were extraordinary. He neither lamented his circumstances nor was he satisfied by them.

He was the first of the laborers to arrive at work, and if he was taught one thing, he grasped five. If his own work finished early, instead of resting in the corner, he helped the colleagues who hadn’t finished theirs.

The adults thought him precious for being such a small thing working so hard, and his peers trusted him for taking on the grueling tasks.

It wasn’t strange, then, that the owner had his eye on Fabian. Though it was quite a surprise when, years later, once he had become an adult, the owner allowed him to marry his daughter.

The owner, who had no sons, eventually turned the factory over to Fabian, his son-in-law. By then, Fabian had already mastered every aspect of the operations—a habit born from his days of helping others.

After Fabian became the owner, people expressed both congratulations and concern. But Fabian proved them all wrong, growing the factory until it was now the largest rubber factory in Norte.

By now, the late owner’s judgment was well worth recognizing.

“To be able to meet the Grand Duke in person, it is an honor.”

Fabian was certain there would never be a day in his life more overwhelming than today. It was a more monumental occasion than his own inauguration as the owner of the rubber factory.

He watched Diego with ecstatic eyes. The moniker “The Sun of Divoa,” which he had heard until he was sick of it, was not the slightest bit of an exaggeration.

Diego, looking at him with slanted eyes while resting his chin on the back of his hand, appeared to be from another world. His languid gaze held the kind of boredom peculiar to the nobility, and even his pinky finger looked elegant.

Yet, the pressure weighing down on Fabian’s shoulders was proof that the man could shift into a state of war at any moment.

Having entered the latter half of his life, Fabian prided himself on one thing: his keen eye for people. He told himself it was thanks to that gift he had climbed to this position.

The Diego reflected in his eyes was a satiated lion. He might be lounging in the sunlight now, but he was a predator, not a house cat.

“I hear you are the owner of the largest rubber factory in Norte.”

“Yes, Grand Duke. It is embarrassing to say, but that is correct. All of this is thanks to your grace.”

Fabian replied with a humble attitude. Diego, who had been staring at him fixedly, suddenly spoke.

“There is an item I wish to order.”

“A custom order… what kind of…?”

Fabian couldn’t finish his sentence, his voice strangled by nervousness. If the Grand Duke was ordering something, how difficult would it be? Could it be military supplies for a war?

If so, his company would see another leap forward. To think such great luck would come to him in the twilight of his life.

Diego’s sluggish voice drifted into Fabian’s ears, which were flushed with excitement.

“Gloves.”

“…Gloves?”

Fabian asked back before he could help it, unaware that it was a rude interruption.

Blinking his wrinkled eyes, he finally managed to ask, “What will you be using them for?”

It was a natural question. There must be demand for supply, but what would one use rubber gloves for? He couldn’t find an answer. What were rubber gloves better at than leather or cloth? They weren’t more durable than leather, nor cheaper than cloth.

Fabian shook his head. There was no reason for rubber gloves to dominate the market, and investing in a losing business wasn’t the work of a businessman.

As if he knew exactly what he was thinking, Diego wore a relaxed smile and added,

“I will cover all the costs involved in production. I will also pay the contract fee and the performance bonus. You just need to make the items I want, in the quantities I want.”

Fabian stared intently at Diego. He knew he shouldn’t, but his mouth moved on its own.

“Since this is a first-time attempt, the costs will be higher than you think.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t know how long it will take, either.”

“The sooner, the better, but I will make some allowances.”

In the end, Fabian nodded. He had no grounds to refuse. More accurately, he wasn’t the type of person who could refuse someone like this.

Who was Diego? The Grand Duke who ruled Norte and the hero who led the war to victory?

Fabian’s answer had been decided from the start. He asked cautiously, “If it is not an insult, may I take a look at the Grand Duke’s hand? Rubber has elasticity, but it would still be more comfortable for you if I adjust it to the size of your hand.”

“Hmm, the size.”

Diego raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. Fabian, who prided himself on his precise eye, converted the scale of that hand into specific measurements.

“Yes, that will be enou…”

“Make it a bit smaller than this.”

“Pardon?”

Fabian stared at Diego in confusion. Diego, who had been examining his own hand, pointed to the first knuckle of his right index finger with his left hand.

“It seems it was about this much.”

“Pardon?”

“And the finger width should be much slimmer than this. About here?”

Fabian stared blankly at the tips of Diego’s fingers, blinking repeatedly.

“Did you understand me?”

At the question, he finally snapped to his senses.

“Yes? Oh, yes.”

He converted the measurements indicated by Diego’s fingers into numbers. No matter how he calculated it, the dimensions were those of a woman’s hand.

“You may go.”

As if the conversation were concluded, Diego stood up. Fabian hurriedly rose, saying, “I will begin development immediately, starting today.”

“Report the progress to Adolf.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Fabian bowed deeply toward Diego, who was turning away.

“Ah.”

As if he had just remembered something, Diego turned his upper body. Fabian, who was about to straighten his back, hurriedly bent it again.

“The thinner, the better. Try to utilize all of your skills as an artisan. I have high expectations.”

“Yes! Grand Duke! Just leave it to me!”

At the mention of high expectations, Fabian’s face bloomed. Diego gave a light nod toward the man, whose forehead was almost touching the floor, and turned his back.

Javier followed behind him like a shadow. Only then did Fabian belatedly realize there had been three people in the room all along.

* * *

“Wow.”

A low exclamation burst from between Irene’s teeth—a very unusual reaction for someone who rarely showed emotion.

Diego’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Irene was too busy marveling at the scale of the bookstore to notice his amusement.

She had expected something like the bookstore in Therapia at best. According to the “sea anemone” who liked to act all high and mighty, the bookstore in Therapia wasn’t small, so she had thought this one might be even smaller.

But the bookstore in Norte was so vast and magnificent that no comparison could be made. It had been her mistake to assume it was merely a three-story building based on the exterior.

The bookstore was a single room, but the ceiling was incredibly high, and every inch of the space was packed with books.

Diego looked around the empty store and explained nonchalantly.

“It is one of Norte’s prides. It is by no means inferior to the capital’s. The owner is Viscount Rick, and collecting books is his long-standing hobby. When he ran out of space in his study, he decided to open a bookstore altogether. It isn’t exactly a flourishing business, but his income comes from his iron mines, so the store is purely a hobby.”

Irene listened to Diego absentmindedly and walked into the shop as if possessed. She could map the logic of the book classification at a glance.

Passing the history and literature sections, she moved toward the science aisles, where books related to medicine began to appear.

Forgetting her original purpose, Irene pulled out a book she was seeing for the first time and flipped through the pages, *whir-whir*.