The house was unusually quiet as dusk settled over the hills.
Eiran stood by the hearth, stirring a pot slowly while the faint scent of herbs and roasted vegetables filled the kitchen. Dinner was nearly ready when he heard the door open behind him
He turned just in time to see Sion walk in.
"Ah—young master," Eiran said immediately, setting the ladle aside. His brows furrowed with concern as his gaze swept over Sion from head to toe. "How are you feeling?" He stepped forward instinctively, already reaching out to help him sit.
Sion smiled.
It was the same familiar smile—eyes half-lidded, corners of his lips curved in a way that never quite revealed what he was thinking.
"I'm fine," Sion said lightly, waving his hand dismissively as he sidestepped Eiran's help. "I'm not sick, you know." He took a seat on his own and glanced around the room. "How long was I out?"
Eiran hesitated. "Two days."
Sion blinked once.
"That long, huh," he muttered, leaning back slightly in his chair, gaze drifting toward the window as if counting lost time.
Dinner passed quietly at first. The two of them ate side by side, the sound of utensils against ceramic the only thing breaking the silence. Sion ate neatly, calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened—no trace of the chaos from days before.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"The worker," Sion said casually, as if asking about the weather. "How is he?"
Eiran stiffened just a little before answering. "He woke up not long after collapsing."
"Oh?" Sion glanced at him. "And?"
"He apologized profusely," Eiran continued. "He said he didn't understand what happened—that it was strange, because he shouldn't have been entering rut yet."
Sion let out a quiet hum of understanding.
"So it was because of me," he said, resting his chin against his hand. "My pheromones, huh. Irregular heat periods really are troublesome."
Eiran nodded, expression troubled. "Yes… that seems to be the case."
Sion's gaze sharpened slightly. "What happened to him afterward?"
Eiran sighed. "I administered an alpha suppressant immediately. And… unfortunately, I had no choice but to compensate him with his remaining salary and an additional bonus—to ensure his silence. I also dismissed him."
Sion raised a brow. "Fired?"
"Yes." Eiran lowered his gaze. "He understood and agreed. But after that, the other worker resigned as well."
Sion paused.
"…They were friends," he said slowly.
Eiran nodded. "The only reason they came to work here was because he persuaded them."
"I see," Sion murmured. He tapped his fingers lightly against the table. "So you had to clean up my mess again."
"No," Eiran replied immediately. "It's my responsibility. This is my job."
Sion looked at him for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
After dinner, the two of them cleaned up together, moving in comfortable silence. Once everything was put away, Sion finally spoke again, his tone shifting—lighter, but sharper.
"We have two problems now."
Eiran straightened. "Two?"
"First," Sion said, lifting one finger, "we're short on workers. Even if the smallhold aren't massive, managing them with just the two of us is unrealistic."
Eiran nodded grimly.
"And second," Sion continued, lifting another finger, "we still don't have a proper buyer for our produce. On top of that, compensating the workers drained our funds more than expected. Our finances are… tight."
Eiran exhaled slowly. "You're right."
Sion fell silent, gaze lowering as he sank into thought.
Then—
A smile appeared.
It was subtle at first. A slow curl of the lips. A glint of mischief in his half-closed eyes.
Eiran felt a chill run down his spine.
"…Young master?" he said cautiously.
Sion looked up.
"Come to think of it," he said smoothly, "we still haven't sent a proper letter of gratitude, have we?"
Eiran blinked. "Ah—right. But what does that have to do with our situation right now?"
Sion leaned back, clearly amused. "Because the visitor who might come… could be very useful."
Eiran's eyes widened as realization dawned.
"…Ah!"
He straightened immediately. "Then I'll write the letter right away."
Sion held up a hand. "Wait."
Eiran paused.
"And while you're at it," Sion added casually, "ask if he can increase the dosage of my suppressants."
Eiran froze.
"…Young master," he said carefully, "the physician already warned us. Increasing the dosage further could seriously harm your body. You might not even be able to conceive in the future."
"I DON'T HAVE INTEREST IN THAT KIND OF THING RIGHT NOW!"
The shout echoed through the room.
Eiran flinched, eyes wide in shock.
Sion realized it instantly.
He froze, then exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "…Sorry."
He turned back toward Eiran, his expression shifting almost comically fast. His shoulders slumped, eyes softening, lips pouting ever so slightly.
"…Please?" he said, voice quieter, almost pitiful. "The suppressants I'm using now aren't helping anymore."
Eiran stared at him.
That look.
That face.
"…You're impossible," Eiran muttered.
"…So you'll do it?" Sion asked hopefully.
Eiran sighed, defeated. "I'll ask. But I won't promise anything."
Sion's face lit up immediately. "Thank you."
He stood, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm heading to my room then. Good night."
"Good night, young master," Eiran replied, watching him leave.
Once inside his room, Sion closed the door quietly behind him.
He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin. Above him, the moon hung full and distant, casting silver light across the fields below.
Sion leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the sky.
For a long time, he said nothing.
The sly smile returned—smaller this time, edged with something lonely.
"…Visitors ,huh?" he murmured softly.