# 43
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I waved my arms in the air as if I wanted to dispel the memories of that day that were filling my mind.
“Ma’am… are you okay?”
"Huh? Nothing."
'Get a hold of yourf!'
I was momentarily confused as Ian suddenly approached me without warning and used his magic on me. . . no.
Of course not. ! .
I clenched my fists with determination.
'Do you hear that, Diana? !’
❖ ❖ ❖
Does he stick to a routine such as logging in to work and arriving at the dining hall 10 minutes before 9?
While I was thinking sarcastically to myf, I realized that it seemed plausible to Ian, and I dropped the idea.
“Good morning, Duke.”
“Did you sleep well? The weather is nice today.”
Yes, this is it. .
The fact that I was a little disappointed by it confirmed that I was probably a little excited yesterday.
As I spread napkins across my lap, the staff immediately brought out the dishes as if they had been waiting.
"Thank you."
Usually, the staff quietly puts the plate down and disappears without looking into our eyes, but today, one of them was smiling warmly at us.
'Huh...?'
'What is this feeling?'
If you think about it, the maids who were standing at the entrance of the dining hall earlier had similar expressions.
When I looked up, I noticed that the other employees were all looking at us with affectionate expressions.
I know this look.
It's the fans' expression when they see their favorite couple getting close.
'So, it's not just the nobles who are becoming more interested.'
I reluctantly turned my gaze to Ian, shooting him a sideways glance.
Unlike me who quickly took notice of the atmosphere, Ian seemed completely unaware of the attention directed at us and was focused on his meal.
At this point, I couldn't help but think that not knowing might be some kind of talent.
At that moment, Ian raised his head and our eyes met.
I shivered, and my shoulders tensed.
“Aren't you going to eat?”
“Oh, no, I'll eat.”
I quickly turned my head and picked up my spoon.
Since breakfast a few days ago, Ian has been matching his eating pace to mine.
If he finished his plate before me, he would give up the dessert, put down his utensils, and wait for me while I read the newspaper.
I thought I was used to it, but at this moment, it was making me feel extremely embarrassed.
'This is driving me crazy. What's wrong with me today?'
Determined to get rid of the embarrassment, I cleared my throat after finishing the first dish.
I decided to try to turn the embarrassment into a conversation.
“I saw we were mentioned in the newsletter again today.”
Ian, who was stirring his glass of water, looked at the newsletter next to me.
“That newsletter again?”
“Yes, I mentioned our outing over the weekend.”
Now, Ian might respond with “I see,” “Is that true,” or “Yes.” I waited quietly for his response, but it never came.
After a short silence, Ian asked
“What was said?”
"Sorry?"
“Content”.
He looked at me as if he wanted to ask again.
She blinked in confusion, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected reaction.
‘…. Why is he asking about that?'
“Are you… curious about that?”
When I asked him, puzzled, Ian asked in return
“Can't I be?”
“No, it's not like that...”
Although Ian usually didn't care about other people's opinions, here he was, suddenly asking about the contents of the newsletter.
While I was confused, Ian sat there, staring at me intently, as if waiting for my answer. His gaze didn't stop until he got a response.
'He only insists when there is something he wants to hear.'
In the end, I hesitated but finally opened my mouth.
“Um…well, it wasn’t important. It was said that the Grand Duke and his wife seemed to be very emotional, and the moment when she helped me put on shoes in the shoe store was particularly highlighted. That’s all.”
Ian, who was unusually attentive, nodded.
“Looks like our training date was worth it.”
Why did you feel like he was emphasizing the “hands-on” again? Maybe I was imagining things.
“You seemed to like the newsletter a lot.”
“Yes, it was rather entertaining. The writer has a talent for telling stories. After only hearing bad rumors, it's nice to hear something positive for a change, don't you think?”
I added some weight to my last words, hoping they would prick his conscience a little.
But Ian seemed completely unimpressed. After a moment of silent contemplation, he spoke in a dry tone.
“I think I should read it myf.”
"… Sorry?"
“I said, ‘I should read it too, because you seem to like it.’”
“…You…the Grand Duke…will read the newsletter?”
Ian Cloud, reading gossip instead of newspapers? To me, it seemed as strange as Diana not graduating at the top of her class at the academy.
“You said you loved her, right?”
“Well...yes, I did.”
But just last week, you said that you don't care what people say about you.
I frowned slightly, remembering Ian's cold reaction when I showed him the article on the front page of the newsletter.
'Has the spinach puree gone bad?'
Did he eat something that didn't suit him?
She examined the table skeptically, but today, as always, the dishes prepared by the head chef were neatly arranged.
As unbelievable as it seemed, Ian was staring at me again, his blue eyes locked on mine, waiting for an answer.
'Why is he looking at me so much today?'
Unable to bear his gaze any longer, I reluctantly opened my mouth.
“Yes, well… It's not just about us; it covers most of the rumors in high society, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to read it.”
“I heard the newsletter was published anonymously.”
“Yes. No one knows whether the author is male or female, or whether it is one person or several people. Considering how well they know the inner workings of society, they are most likely nobles.”
“I understand.”
Ian nodded slowly.
“How often is the newsletter published?”
“Are you really planning to read it?”
I thought he was the type of person who would be too busy to care about such things, even if he signed up.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, no problem...”
I began to feel confused by his gaze, which seemed to be genuinely asking for permission.
Is there a flaw in artificial intelligence? Malfunction? Something like this?
Even as I struggled with these thoughts, Ian continued to look at me, waiting for my response.
Finally, I stuttered out an answer.
“…It is published about once a week, and from what I have seen, there are about ten to fifteen articles in each issue. Some of them are follow-up stories from previous newsletters.”
I had no idea why I was explaining this to Ian.
The strangest part was that Ian seemed to be listening to me with genuine interest.
After taking his eyes off me, Ian picked up his tools again.
"concept."
“I'll tell the server to sign up for me.”