A Butterfly Through the Mist - Side Story 8

After work, Tilia devoted all her time to studying, except for when she ate and slept. Or to be precise, since she kept a book beside her even while eating, it could be said that only her sleeping hours were excluded.

Ilex quietly supported Tilia’s exam preparations at her side. Like the fountain pen or paper she used, he silently assisted his wife.

However, the always-reticent Ilex had once intervened—on the day her bedtime had been pushed so far back that it passed well beyond midnight.

When Tilia entered the bedroom at dawn, he looked at her with eyes that hadn’t seen a wink of sleep and said just one thing.

“Studying by cutting sleep—it’s inefficient.”

Though briefly choked up at his words, Tilia soon answered with a sullen face that she’d come in earlier from tomorrow.

The first reason was that she thought he was right. The second was because she could read the loneliness hidden behind the word “inefficient.”

From that day on, Tilia entered the bedroom before midnight. True to his way of expressing “don’t leave me alone for too long” as study advice, Ilex wrapped his entire body around her the moment she got into bed.

Is he trying to turn me into a cocoon? Even as she thought that, Tilia let him enclose her in his arms.

He merely wanted to have every inch of his skin in contact with hers, and never attempted any other physically demanding act.

Those days raged on with an intensity as if defying the season’s approach toward winter. Despite the disadvantage of juggling work and study, her environment was better than anything she’d ever experienced.

Yet even in her private study made just for her, Tilia sometimes struggled with anxiety and impatience.

Was it because she had taken too long a break from studying? She couldn’t fully absorb the theory. She understood it, but applying and memorizing it proved difficult.

The graduate school at Arkansis Royal Academy was an advanced institution where top academy graduates typically enrolled immediately after graduation. The gap between undergrad and graduate studies rarely exceeded a year.

Other test-takers, whose minds weren’t as rusty, could probably interpret this stuff with their eyes closed.

That day, Tilia was particularly unable to concentrate with such thoughts circling her mind.

“With Dyer, it’s easier to just memorize the frequently used rhetorical patterns and apply them mechanically.”

Bringing up neatly sliced fruit as a snack, Ilex glanced at the page she was stuck on and casually offered some advice.

“Trying to understand it only makes it more complicated.”

At his words, Tilia suddenly lifted her head—she had been staring down the entire time—and looked at her old rival.

Why? As she stared intently at that polished face as if to ask, a dusty memory began to rise.

Right. He’s Ilex Davenport. The top entrant I could never beat, no matter how hard I tried—always looking down on me from above.

Just remembering those desperate days from long ago, Tilia finally spoke words she’d always wanted to say but never could because of her pride.

“More.”

“Huh?”

“Teach me more.”

“……”

“Not just Dyer—how do you interpret Williams? I want to know how to approach every poet listed in this table of contents.”

Shoving the thick book close to his face and demanding an explanation, the former second-ranked student made Ilex burst into a laugh.

He probably had intended to just drop off the snack and quietly leave like he always did so he wouldn’t disturb the test-taker. But at his wife’s persistence, he gave in and took a seat.

“You don’t have to memorize every individual work. There’s no time for that. Study literary history and build a broad framework, then connect it to individual works—that’ll be easier.”

With a calm voice, Ilex shared his own methods.

“And the most important thing is to understand the patterns of the test. I’m not saying to memorize the previous questions exactly, but…”

Tilia, now the model student absorbing her former rival’s tips with care, suddenly looked up again with curiosity.

“But why didn’t you go to grad school?”

At the unexpected question, Ilex, who had been selecting the prettiest orange slice on the plate, raised an eyebrow.

“You’re way better at rhetoric than I am. You’d do great in grad school…”

“I hate literature.”

He said it with such emphasis, as if he truly despised it, that Tilia’s expression turned a little sulky.

“Then why are you so good at it?”

Even though I like it, it’s still difficult. Hiding that honest thought behind a blunt tone, Ilex lifted his gaze from the fruit and looked at Tilia. His quiet stare turned into silence, and then ended with a soft chuckle.

“What? Are you mocking me?”

Irritated by a sudden rush of self-consciousness, Tilia tried to pick a fight, but the man simply popped a piece of fresh fruit into her grumbling mouth.

“I hate rhetoric.”

Looking calmly at Tilia, who was still chewing, Ilex repeated his earlier statement once more, as if to emphasize it.

“It’s not rhetoric I like. It’s you.”

At the sudden confession that followed, Tilia, having hastily swallowed a mouthful of fruit juice, made a face like she just couldn’t understand.

“What does that have to do with me and rhetoric?”

He’s just trying to dodge the question because he has nothing else to say.

But despite her grumbling retort, Ilex only smiled in silence and fed her the next piece of fruit.

***

As a top graduate of the Royal Academy, the document screening was no challenge at all. The real problem was the second stage: the subject-specific written exam. Since the third round—the interview and oral evaluation—was based on the written responses submitted during the second, the pressure leading up to the written test was immense.

No—even if the third round had been just a basic interview, Tilia would have still felt extreme tension.

Because Tilia Ambrose desperately wanted to pass this entrance exam for the Royal Academy’s graduate school.

For a week leading up to the second exam, Tilia could hardly sleep. Seeing her like that, Ilex kept reassuring her that there would be another chance. He even tried to persuade her that applying for the fall semester might actually be easier in terms of scoring.

But even with Ilex’s calming words, Tilia couldn’t shake the pressure.

She wanted to pass. She wanted to pass in one try, brilliantly—and show Ilex, who had trusted and supported her, that she had done it.

Until now, Tilia Ambrose’s desperate studying had always been inwardly directed. She had always studied for her own survival, for her own security.

But this time, it was different. She wanted to be a wife he could be proud of—a smart wife who passed the graduate school exam in one go. Even if Ilex didn’t want that, she did.

Maybe it was a selfish wish. A childish desire, born from her unfortunate childhood, now that she finally had someone who looked at her with pride.

So when the chill wind that stung her ears brought a letter bearing the Royal Academy’s seal, Tilia picked up the knife with trembling hands.

Shrrk. The sound of the wax seal breaking felt stickier than usual. At last, she forced herself to crack open one eye.

“Gasp.”

When she saw the word “Passed” written in elegant cursive, she couldn’t stop the shout of joy from slipping past her lips.

With a reserved exterior and an inward scream of joy, Tilia dashed out of the room without hesitation.

As she stumbled down the stairs in time with her wildly pounding heart, she could feel the maids glancing at her with knowing smiles.

But she didn’t care at all. All she could think about was showing Ilex this letter as quickly as possible.

She dashed off toward him like a bird in flight.

But just as she reached the floor where the duke’s office was, Tilia abruptly stopped, like a carriage braking before hitting a child in the road.

Ilex was still working. The evidence was the group of gentlemen in fedoras standing in front of his office.

Recognizing the situation, Tilia smoothed her pace as if she hadn’t just sprinted with her skirt flying.

Such undignified behavior was only permissible in front of trusted household staff. Tilia didn’t want to tarnish Ilex’s name, so she quietly stood on the landing, waiting for him to finish.

But even while she waited, her heart bounced around in her chest like a toy ball. Her excitement leaked into her legs, making her shiny shoes tap nervously on the floor.

When will it end? After about the fourteenth time glancing down the hallway and the fifteenth glance at the acceptance letter, she finally saw the elderly gentlemen begin to disperse.

It must be over. As soon as they disappeared, Tilia dashed eagerly toward the office.