Chapter 20: The Green Book

“...Just who are you?”

Bronya’s tone shifted imperceptibly. Her anger toward Venti dissolved into shock after his words.

“Just an unknown bard, that’s all.”

Venti winked playfully at her.

“You can think of me as a bird that doesn’t just sing songs but also carries winds of change and hope.”

“Stop hiding your true intentions!”

Bronya suddenly slammed her hand against the prison bars. The abrupt noise echoed loudly in the silent cell, making the ensuing silence feel even heavier.

Only when Silvermane Guards called out from the corridor to confirm her safety did Bronya regain her composure, responding to them with her usual calm demeanor.

Meanwhile, the ever-smiling bard adopted an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

This inexplicably flustered Bronya, as if she were a child caught misbehaving in front of her mother.

Why do I keep losing my footing around this bard?

He’s just a delusional prisoner lost in his own fantasies…

“I’ve never tried to hide anything. When you asked, I gave you the truest answer without reservation.”

Venti spoke softly.

“Dear Bronya, I sincerely regard you as a friend—someone I can speak openly with as an equal. My words may carry truths you’re unwilling to hear, but I’ll stand by them.”

“...How can I trust you?”

Bronya stared intently at the bard, whose sincerity seemed genuine. Though his candidness was refreshing compared to the usual schemers, as the Supreme Guardian’s heir, she had to discern what was real and what was a façade.

“Haven’t I already told you the way? Go to the Lower District yourself. Only there will you see the truth hidden in this city’s shadows.”

Venti reached his hand through the bars toward her.

“If you’re willing, I’ll take you there myself.”

“So… you’re from the Lower District?”

Bronya didn’t rush to accept. Instead, she coolly countered with another question.

“Sadly, no.”

Venti was an anomaly—a “ghost” with no registered identity who’d suddenly appeared in the city. In a more orderly world, he’d be under investigation. But in Belobog, such figures were all too common.

“Then where are you from? Why speak up for the Lower District? What do you gain from this?”

“So many questions! But I’ll answer them one by one.”

Venti retracted his unshaken hand, looking slightly troubled.

“First, I’m from a distant planet. I wish I could tell you exactly how far, but I lack the details myself, so I’m afraid I can’t fully explain.”

Bronya listened silently, skepticism lingering.

“Second, why speak for the Lower District? How to put this… Is there a saying here about ‘drawing your sword when you see injustice’? If not, just consider me a meddler who can’t stand others suffering.”

Venti scratched his cheek and grinned.

“With my abilities, I’d toss and turn at night if I didn’t try to help.”

“I’m unsure about the first part, but the latter… you’re right. Those with power should contribute to society—just as your mother brings stability—”

As Bronya circled back to her mother again, even Venti sighed inwardly.

Persuading someone so meticulously “educated” was arduous. Her refusal to simply follow him was understandable, but frustrating!

“And the last question? Your explanation?”

Seeing his pained expression, Bronya felt an odd sense of amusement, despite their tense exchange.

“That’s simpler. If life improves in the Lower District, more people will come to my performances. Helping others while thriving in my craft—isn’t that the happiest outcome?”

Though his motives were ambiguous, Bronya sensed his sincerity. It was time to conclude her assessment of this bard.

“I acknowledge your ideals, but your methods are misguided. They’ll only cause unnecessary conflict.”

She softened her tone to persuade him.

“With your talent, entering the Golden Theater shouldn’t be difficult. There, you’ll have a powerful platform. Your earnings, minus taxes, would be yours to use. Whether funding charities or aiding the Lower District through donations, these are lawful, commendable actions.”

Venti’s smile faded faintly, leaving Bronya with an inexplicable sense of distance.

Urgency crept into her voice.

“If you encounter difficulties, come to me. I’ll assist you. But you must ensure your efforts serve righteous causes. Only then will the people—”

“No, dear Bronya. What you see as the right path isn’t what they need now.”

Venti sat back down, weary. Gazing through the barred window, he murmured:

“Let me warn you—some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are too bright. When they fly away, you’ll realize locking them up was a sin.”

As Bronya pondered, conflicted, Venti voiced his deepest lament.

“Your well-intentioned plans won’t ease their suffering or restore the Lower District. They’ll only breed new chaos.

Your approach perpetuates their cage across generations, until newborn birds forget the sky exists.”

Only then did Bronya understand his earlier words.

Her mother’s neglect had stripped the Lower District of education and welfare, breeding guilt within her.

The conversation ended in discord.

Bronya returned, burdened by unease. Soon after, duties called her to the frontlines—she was no idle figure, her responsibilities endless.

By the time she resolved to see the “truth” Venti described, he had already left the prison.

Despite her searches, he always slipped away.

Since then, Bronya felt a missing puzzle piece in her heart. She knew what it was but refused to believe her mother had deceived her.

Now, reunited, she knew—she’d already believed Venti. She’d only lacked the courage to act.

This chance, again, came from him.

Should I seize this bird that brings winds of change and hope… as my heart desires?