Chapter 84

Chapter 84
“How ridiculous…?”

Hearing herself called shameless left Daphne looking completely bewildered.

“You explicitly stated you were going to break our marriage…”

“That is correct. I am dissolving the union between you and my father so that you can be paired with Meursault. I will not go back on that word.”

“Yet moments ago… didn’t you claim we were acting shamelessly?”

“That is also true. It means neither of you can simply sit around idly expecting a joyous conclusion to magically manifest. A second ago you questioned whether all these steps were truly necessary…”

I intentionally allowed a cynical smirk to shape my mouth as I continued.

“Had I not pushed matters to this extent, the two of you would have remained frozen in place forever. Exactly like the way you were forced into marrying my father. Exactly like the way Meursault did nothing more than watch you wed another man.”

Daphne appeared to grasp my underlying point instantly, her cheeks tinting with a distinct look of mortification.

To be frank, up until this point I had viewed them as mere digital entities, meaning delegating the divorce to me hadn’t felt particularly shameless. After all, players exist purely to execute the tasks assigned by non-player characters.

Yet the moment I understood that Luna Moon was my mother—and that the Safe Zone functioned as a simulation reconstructing everything she had witnessed and heard—their appearance shifted. The realization that they were breathing, real individuals began to take root, step by step.

Naturally, Daphne and Meursault had every reason to feel ashamed. For all I knew, their passive inaction was part of the reason my mother ultimately perished within this virtual world.

I observed Daphne silently for a moment before speaking once more.

“The positive news is that at least one of you has already taken a forward step. You seem aware of it yourself—Meursault is not the sort of person who would execute such a stunt simply because I gave the command.”

That statement held absolute truth.

Meursault had initially pushed back, labeling it insanity, but upon confronting his own lack of shame, he had gone ahead and arranged a marriage proposal entirely on his own initiative. I certainly hadn’t anticipated him setting up a heart-shaped display of candles unprompted… though kneeling in the pouring rain at least fell outside my direct instructions.

Daphne no longer carried the air of someone harboring resentment toward me.

“You look as though you’ve grasped the situation adequately… so I will pose the question again. What is our next move? Should I send Meursault away?”

Rather than offering a reply, Daphne stood from her chair and stepped outside. Instead of tracking her movements, I leaned back against the window frame and gazed downward.

“Meursault…”

Crouched and kneeling amidst the downpour, Meursault initially believed his ears were deceiving him. He could never have conceived that the highborn lady he deeply cherished would step out into the fierce storm without even an umbrella, halt directly before him, and utter his given name.

He had remained stationed there solely out of a sense of moral obligation—not because he genuinely anticipated Daphne would emerge to grant an answer to his proposal.

“D-Daphne…!”

“What on earth are you attempting to accomplish?”

Naturally, the initial words leaving Daphne’s lips were far from an acceptance of his romantic plea.

“Even if Heydam desired this outcome…! You should have adhered to the proper sequence.”

“The proper sequence…”

Meursault stood up, using his open palm to shield the crown of her head. It provided virtually no protection against the water—both of them remained thoroughly drenched—yet he felt compelled to make the gesture regardless.

“Is strict adherence to that sequence truly essential?”

“Explain yourself?”

“Must a divorce precede a proposal? Could one not propose first and dissolve the prior marriage afterward?”

“What kind of absurdity is—”

She had evidently anticipated a rational line of reasoning from Meursault; Daphne stood frozen in place blankly for a second before knitting her brows together.

“Even you, Meursault? Cease uttering nonsense!”

“I voiced the exact same sentiment initially. However, I was informed that the institution of marriage is inherently a form of madness.”

“That is hardly—”

“Therefore, I offer my apologies, Daphne.”

Meursault extended the ring held within his alternate hand.

“If you would be so inclined… would you care to accompany me in this folly?”

“…You cannot possibly classify that statement as a genuine proposal.”

“Would Pendleton not constitute a far more endearing surname than Goodman?”

“That easily ranks as the most abysmal proposal I have ever encountered…”

“I offer my sincere regrets.”

“What gives you the audacity to propose in such a manner? Did Heydam lead you to believe I would consent if you acted thus?”

“Yet Daphne—you traversed the entire distance out here through the rainfall and currently stand right before me, do you not?”

A subtle grin flickered across Meursault’s mouth.

“Observing you here leads me to conclude that a touch of madness is not entirely undesirable. How about you, Daphne? Having made the journey all this way… did you harbor even a flicker of hope?”

When Daphne merely stared back in absolute silence without offering a response, Meursault flinched visibly, his face flushing crimson.

“Ah—o-of course, given the weather, you may simply have experienced dampness and discomfort—”

“Are you aware of a particular detail, Meursault?”

“Ah—w-what might that be, Daphne?”

“The rain is entirely absent behind your position.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

Only then did Meursault pivot to glance over his shoulder—and instantly turn completely pale. Unblemished, clear skies dominated the landscape behind him. Had he retreated by so much as a single pace—had he turned his body around even once—he would have completely avoided standing exposed to the rain for upwards of several dozen minutes.

He uttered in a hollow, defeated tone.

“The erratic atmospheric conditions recently must be leaving residual effects… wha—?!”

He never managed to conclude the sentence. Daphne had flung her arms tightly around his neck, suspending her weight entirely from him.

“D-Daphne! What if bystanders observe this—!”

“Does such a remark befittingly come from a man who staged a public proposal in plain view of everyone?”

“Well, that point is indisputable, but…”

With his ears burning bright red and his mind completely blank regarding how to conduct himself, Meursault realized Daphne was gazing intently at him from a distance where their faces were separated by mere millimeters. She whispered softly,

“Indeed. That is correct. This exact trait is why you remained my preferred choice.”

“…Pardon me?”

Daphne released her grip, smoothing down her dampened strands of hair as she addressed him.

“I must go confer with Hayden presently, meaning you ought to retrace your steps as well.”

“Ah… in that case…”

Interpreting her remarks as a definitive rejection, Meursault began bowing his head in disappointment—only for Daphne to interrupt him further.

“I cannot bring myself to agree that Pendleton possesses a superior charm, but retaining Hayden’s surname is equally out of the question, so Pendleton it shall be.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“I shall proceed to finalize the divorce and return. Come hell or high water.”

“D-does that signify your acceptance of my proposal—?!”

Meursault’s expression lit up brilliantly for an instant before he abruptly checked himself, voicing an anxious concern in a trembling register.

“…You are not intending to storm directly into His Excellency’s presence to demand an immediate dissolution right this second, are you? I, ah—I actually abandoned my designated post without securing authorization—”

“I never claimed I would be the one letting hell or high water deter me.”

“Wait—D-Daphne!!”

Observing her break into a full sprint toward the commander’s quarters with a remarkably athletic stride, Meursault reflected that the current date might well establish itself as the official anniversary of his demise.

Though it had morphed uncomfortably into an unseasonal romantic melodrama, the commander granted approval to Daphne’s petition for a divorce with startling expedition.

He did, however, hold Meursault strictly accountable for deserting his assigned post without permission.

Had Daphne’s emotional affection truly been the primary factor occupying his thoughts all along?

Had she initiated the request initially, the separation process would have been remarkably straightforward. The root cause of her profound terror stemmed from the belief that forfeiting her elevated status would simultaneously equate to losing Meursault’s devotion—driven by the assumption that Meursault valued her lineage above all else.

Given that he consistently proclaimed his ultimate aspiration was marrying the most aristocratic woman within the Zone, her apprehension was entirely logical.

Yet Meursault had knelt on her doorstep fully prepared to witness every fragment of prestige he had meticulously accumulated collapse entirely—even if it meant incurring the full wrath of Hayden. That profound demonstration was precisely what ultimately swayed Daphne’s heart.

Naturally, that ill-conceived candlelit display had the potential to freeze a romance spanning a millennium… yet the fortuitous downpour arriving at the exact optimal second extinguished every single flame, somehow rendering the entire spectacle even more endearing. The fact that the meticulously cautious Meursault had executed such an utterly irrational gesture without possessing the common sense to seek shelter from the weather appeared more than sufficient to convince Daphne of his absolute sincerity.

Regardless, this entire fiasco would undoubtedly place me in the commander’s disfavor, making it wise to keep a low profile for the foreseeable future.

Entertaining these thoughts, I reached out to grip the office door handle, intending to pacify the commander’s temper—when a languid, unhurried voice drifted outward from the interior space.

“It never crossed my mind that Daphne harbored romantic inclinations toward you as well.”

“Precisely how many offspring do you intend to sire?”

Pardon?

My fingers slid slowly away from the doorknob.

From beyond the barrier came Meursault’s vocal cords, vibrating with a degree of panic matching my own internal state.

“Excuse me? Ch-children…?”

“You surely are not planning on having none whatsoever, am I correct? A child inheriting traits from both yourself and Daphne would indisputably be exceptional.”

Could he possibly be…

…interrogating the man who had literally just dissolved his marriage regarding his family-planning intentions with his newly acquired partner?

“W-we have not even conducted a formal matrimonial ceremony as of yet. M-more importantly, children are hardly a matter I possess the unilateral authority to decide independently, are they? Naturally, any progeny of Daphne’s would undoubtedly possess exceptional qualities across all domains, but—!”

Meursault appeared to be stumbling over his words, entirely incapable of masking his deep dismay.

Could this constitute… some bizarre form of hazing ritual?

Yet the commander was not the type to harbor lingering resentments once a definitive verdict regarding a divorce had been reached. His level, unperturbed tone persisted.

“Naturally, it represents a mutual decision to be reached alongside Daphne. Nevertheless, surely you possess some ideal quantitative figure for offspring in your own mind?”

“U-um…”

Meursault appeared to deliberate for a brief moment before issuing a cautiously measured response.

“R-roughly one child, I should surmise.”

“A single child? Unexpected. I was under the impression you held a strong fondness for juveniles.”

“Myself, sir?”

“You manage to establish a remarkably smooth rapport with Heydam.”

“Ah… viewed from that perspective, I suppose my fondness for children may not be particularly profound after all.”

Beg your pardon?

A subdued chuckle emanated from inside the room, immediately succeeded by another inquiry.

“A solitary child, then… Very well. Would you harbor a preference for that descendant to manifest as a son, or a daughter?”

Hearing the exchange framed in such a manner bore an uncanny resemblance to a senior relative grilling a younger family member during a holiday dinner gathering…

Because the commander’s tone conveyed pure intellectual curiosity entirely devoid of any malicious intent—Meursault visibly relaxed, causing his subsequent replies to arrive with greater celerity.

“A female child inheriting Daphne’s likeness would represent the ideal outcome.”

“Favorable. An exemplary reply.”

I remained entirely oblivious as to what specific aspect gratified him to such a degree, but the commander’s voice radiated absolute satisfaction.

“That constitutes a binding promise, Meursault.”

“A promise, Your Excellency?”

Meursault echoed the phrase, expressing clear confusion.

“I beg your forgiveness… what precisely do you imply?”

“Namely, that upon your eventual marriage, you will restrict your family to precisely one daughter bearing a resemblance to Daphne.”

An icy chill had permeated the vocal register that remained so mild mere moments prior.

“I shall refuse to authorize any quantity exceeding that limit.”

Consequently, that explained his persistent interrogation regarding family size…

He must have harbored deep anxieties that the prospective offspring of Daphne and Meursault might eventually challenge my standing within the hierarchy. It constituted a pragmatic caution for a military commander to enforce, however…

Experiencing the threat firsthand provided remarkably little comfort to my nerves.

Meursault, for his part, exhibited no overt signs of offense and delivered a straightforward confirmation.

“I fully comprehend your underlying meaning. You need harbor no concerns. I have already pledged my absolute allegiance to you—and I fully intend to extend that oath of loyalty to Lord Heydam as well.”

Meursault…

He might ultimately qualify as an unhinged individual who engineered the marriage of his direct superior’s spouse—yet one had to hand it to him; his personal integrity was undeniable.

I assumed the dialogue was drawing to a close on that relatively cordial note—when an entirely unanticipated declaration slipped past the commander’s lips.

“Now that I reflect upon the matter, you previously undertook an obligation to locate a suitable romantic partner for Heydam, did you not?”

“You possessed awareness of that arrangement, sir?”

Of all possible subjects for that specific conversation to breach the commander’s awareness,

“With your explicit permission, I would welcome the opportunity to secure an appropriate match for Lord Heydam.”

“I maintain full confidence that you would unearth a descendant worthy of Heydam’s station. Naturally…”

The commander’s tone shifted back to one of warmth.

“Even if the candidate happened to be your own progeny with Daphne, I would readily embrace the arrangement. Your offspring could hardly be classified as outsiders to our inner circle.”

“Your Excellency…”

…Hold on. What?

Why is the discourse veering off in that direction?

Most emphatically not!

If I failed to halt this trajectory immediately, I was in imminent danger of transforming into the protagonist of a narrative titled My Girlfriend Hasn’t Been Born Yet.

Bracing my resolve to fling the office portal wide open and confess that I had been actively eavesdropping—

“Most emphatically no.”

Meursault’s uncompromising voice cracked downward like a sudden bolt of lightning.

“…What terminology did you just employ?”

“On what conceivable grounds would I surrender my daughter into the custody of a cold-blooded individual such as Lord Heydam…? On what possible basis?”

…Meursault, you absolute scoundrel?