Being called Eugene didn’t make it any less embarrassing. He needed to wield shamelessness like a weapon and put on a thick skin, but given the state he was in, that thick skin got punctured almost immediately. Eugene, recalling his own appearance with the bite marks on his chest, bowed his head. Heat rushed to his cheeks and ears.
But Lucian’s eyes didn’t register Eugene’s embarrassment at all. Partly because Eugene’s skin was naturally so pale that it didn’t show, and partly because of that distinctive air of aloof elegance he carried.
“Hmm. I can’t quite recall — the sight in front of me now is far more vivid.”
Lucian waved his hand dismissively, finding Eugene’s calm, businesslike manner irritating, and threw in an unnecessary jab. At last night’s party, the place had been crawling with men in standardized formal coats. Yet Eugene’s figure had stood out among them, and not merely because of his looks. He’d paid attention to the finest details, having the garment fitted and adjusted to bring out the strengths of his own build.
Thanks to that, even without using the expensive fabrics that other nobles — even Ivan — used, Eugene had unmistakably been the most elegant of all the men in formal coats at last night’s party.
“In Atrian, you listened to my argument about Ivan’s beard. What I’m proposing now is exactly the same kind of thing.”
If asked whether Eugene possessed any extraordinary skill, the answer would be no. Eugene himself thought of himself as something of a self-taught amateur. But despite that, he was confident. That confidence showed plainly on his face.
Moreover, Lucian had already witnessed it firsthand with his own eyes. That day in Atrian, he’d shaved off his beard to catch Eugene’s attention, and afterward had seen how much Ivan Primrose’s whole presence had changed just from removing a bit of facial hair.
Eugene had said he had nothing notable to offer, but he’d already, however briefly, demonstrated his eye for these things to Lucian. And that day in Atrian, Lucian had wholeheartedly agreed with Eugene’s opinion. To dismiss Eugene’s judgment would, in the end, mean dismissing his own judgment as well. Lucian’s lips twisted into a crooked smirk.
“So what exactly is it you want from me? Go on, let’s hear it.”
“I’d like to be the one recommending all of His Grace’s attire. If necessary, I’m prepared to have new pieces made as well. All you’d need to do is go wherever you intend to go, dressed in what I recommend. Of course, I have no intention of insisting solely on my own opinions. I wouldn’t dare impose on you, Duke.”
“And the cost would come out of my own pocket.”
“There would be no inconvenience to you whatsoever, Your Grace. You’re already paying more than enough to Atrian and various other tailors. If you do business with me instead, you may actually find your expenses decreasing.”
“And I’d end up dressed like some bourgeois?”
At Lucian’s jab, Eugene paused for a moment.
“…As you say. But, Duke — how much longer can people be distinguished from the bourgeoisie by clothing alone? Even now, there are plenty of people with the means to buy the very same fabrics and garments we’re wearing.”
Of course, such gaps existed in modern society too — that wasn’t why people wanted to wear luxury brands. People didn’t buy luxury goods simply because they were pretty; a large part of it was the image and value attached to the brand itself. Eugene, having once been poor enough that the smell of poverty practically clung to him, understood this better than anyone — and for that very reason, he’d also admired it.
That was precisely why he could say what he was about to say. What had Park Yujin been known for? He’d built a following on budget-friendly items and clever styling — known for making cheap products look impressively put-together.
Someday, in this world too, someone would emerge who could imitate things just as skillfully as Park Yujin had. And further still, even ordinary commoners might one day attempt to imitate the nobility using affordable items within their reach.
“To keep the bourgeoisie from imitating the nobility — to draw a line between them through appearance — it may come to the point where dukes start draping themselves in actual duke fur.”
At Eugene’s analogy, Lucian couldn’t hold back a laugh, smirking.
“There was already someone who did exactly that. I think I can still picture that ridiculous face.”
So, as expected, there had already been a pioneer in this regard. In truth, most of the upper class’s extravagance existed for exactly this reason — draping oneself in things so lavish and expensive that those beneath them couldn’t possibly imitate. Not just on the body, but in everything one’s hands touched.
But as Eugene had said, that gap would gradually narrow. At some point, someone wealthier than the nobility would emerge. Eventually, even this world would arrive at what people in Eugene’s era called “equality” — an intensely competitive capitalist world.
“What matters is individuality and refinement. Things that can’t be imitated no matter how much money one has.”
Before he knew it, Lucian found himself listening intently to Eugene’s words, nodding along. In truth, Lucian himself had often struggled with the burden of constantly needing to present something new, owing to his status. He’d even mocked himself before, wondering if, at this rate, he’d end up appearing in a jester’s costume just to stay ahead of the curve — comparing himself, half-jokingly, to a peacock.
“Restrained without excess, yet refined — and no matter who imitates it, no matter who wears it, the moment people see it, they should think of you, Duke Highwinter. Like a symbol of House Highwinter itself.”
“Just now, you sounded rather like a con artist.”
Lucian’s remark was sarcastic, but Eugene didn’t so much as blink. This barely registered as an insult to him. If anything, what he felt more strongly was relief — relief that, regardless of how things turned out, he’d finally managed to say what he’d wanted to say to Lucian Highwinter.
Eugene stood up straight and waited for Lucian’s response. He wasn’t asking for an immediate yes or no — he’d said everything he had to say, and was simply waiting to see what kind of reaction would come back. Something like “I’ll think about it,” or “That was interesting.” But what came back instead was a question.
“Is that everything you have to say to me?”
“Yes.”
If given an opening to continue, Eugene could have gone on to explain what kinds of garments he intended to introduce going forward — starting with changes modest enough not to provoke too radical a reaction from society, eventually building toward something resembling a modern three-piece suit, and he could have laid out the whole plan in detail.
But Eugene simply gave a single nod and ended the matter with a concise reply. Lucian, however, raised an eyebrow and looked at Eugene as if there was still something he wanted to hear.
“Is that really everything?”
Lucian asked again, crossing his legs the other way. As his long legs shifted, the golden robe parted dangerously. Watching the shadowed gap close again, Eugene wondered what more he could possibly say. Before Eugene’s deliberation could even finish, Lucian waved a hand dismissively.
“If there’s nothing more, then get out of my house.”
“Yes….”
Swallowing his discomfort, Eugene looked down at the clothes in his hands. Only then did he realize he was still naked, and hastily threw on his shirt first. As he fumbled with the buttons, Eugene caught sight of the bite marks on his chest and belatedly realized there was something else, something very important, he still needed to say.
Did something happen between us last night? Did we really… do it? And so on. Now that he’d realized it, there was still so much left to say. But what actually came out of Eugene’s mouth was something important, yet entirely different.
“By the way… I’d like you to forget about last night. As if nothing happened at all… I don’t want any unnecessary rumors going around.”
Eugene’s expression remained perfectly composed, but his hands gripped the shirt so tightly it wrinkled badly. Whatever had happened last night, he wanted no part of any rumors about it.
Above all, there was absolutely no way this could reach Ivan’s ears. Honestly, he didn’t even remember what happened — and in a way, he genuinely wished it could be erased as if it had never happened at all. At Eugene’s words, Lucian’s expression soured even further. He stared steadily at Eugene, then shook his head as if utterly baffled.
“Ha… unbelievable. A masterpiece. You really do live up to that face of yours.”
Eugene had no idea what part of this was so unbelievable or such a “masterpiece,” but he kept his mouth shut, reading the room as best he could. What more could he say, in a situation where he barely remembered anything?
Could you explain to me exactly what boundaries we crossed last night? Since I don’t remember… He couldn’t possibly say something like that to a duke. Contrary to Lucian’s apparent displeasure, he seemed to readily accept Eugene’s proposal regardless.
“Whatever did we even do last night, that you’d ask such a thing?”
“…Thank you, Duke Highwinter.”
Relieved that Lucian was being so considerate as to just let it go, Eugene bowed his head without adding anything further. Even without Lucian throwing him out, Eugene — having finished his business — wanted nothing more than to return to the Primrose residence as quickly as possible. He wanted to go back, take a hot bath, lie in bed, replay last night’s forgotten events over and over in his mind, wallow in self-recrimination, and fall asleep.
The headache and nausea he’d briefly forgotten were slowly creeping back.
It’s fine. For someone whose mental state is completely shattered, you actually held it together pretty well, Eugene.
As Lucian fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words, Eugene tried to calm his own unsettled feelings and resumed moving his hands. The moment he’d fastened every button on his shirt and slid his feet into his underwear, a gasp of shock — not from Lucian — rang out. Both Lucian and Eugene’s heads turned at once toward the sound.
“Oh. Oh dear, good heavens. Honestly….”
The door had been wide open the entire time, and standing in the doorway where Lucian had been standing was Basil Lacromore, holding documents and letters. Apparently quite startled, he dropped everything in his hands, scattering it all across the floor.
Lucian let out a short laugh at Basil’s shocked reaction. As if this were exactly the sight he’d wanted Basil to see, he calmly waved at him.
“Well now, you got here earlier than I expected, Basil.”
Eugene’s gaze, which had been on Basil, briefly shot a glare at Lucian. Basil also caught Eugene giving Lucian that look, but quickly averted his eyes, pretending not to notice given Eugene’s mortifying state. Despite the situation, Eugene still managed a brief, polite nod, maintaining decorum. Basil barely returned the greeting, unable to look Eugene in the eye, and turned to leave.
