Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 103

The nobles were visibly thrilled. The area in front of the royal palace bustled with carriages, and each guest had dressed as flamboyantly as a peacock, eagerly awaiting the Saintess from the Empire. Some were even secretly hoping to receive her blessing, if luck was on their side.

The Saintess’s blessing, typically given at the birth of royal children could also be granted at her personal discretion.

No one knew what the Empire’s temple was thinking by sending her abroad. But if it were anything dangerous or unfavorable, there was no way they would’ve let her leave the Empire. The Saintess was a symbol of virtue, fortune, and peace, after all.

“They say the Saintess is stunningly beautiful.”

“Knights are said to soak their handkerchiefs with tears over her at night.”

“Well, of course. She’s the Saintess. Who would dare dream of approaching her?”

Covering their lips with elegant fans, the nobles whispered and gossiped, building an image of the Saintess in their minds based only on rumor.

Among them stood Calliope, arm-in-arm with Isaac.

Her goal was simple: keep Isaac out of the Saintess’s line of sight.

She had no choice but to attend the banquet — it was a royal obligation — but she would do everything she could to keep him hidden from the Saintess. That was the only thing she could do now.

Not long after, the herald’s voice rang out across the hall, announcing the arrival of the king and queen. The main guest, the Saintess, would likely appear next.

Calliope leaned in toward Isaac.

“Isaac, should we head out to the balcony?”

He looked puzzled but nodded without question. She turned to lead him away — only to be blocked by someone.

Duke Glayderth.

The first time they had seen each other since their tense exchange not long ago.

“In quite a hurry, aren’t we?” he said, wearing that ever-lazy smile.

Calliope swallowed a curse and responded with a polite smile.

“I haven’t been feeling well today. Standing too long is making me dizzy, so I was just going to step outside to the balcony for a moment.”

“But the Saintess is about to enter. Wouldn’t you rather stay and see her?”

“…She’s not someone important to me.”

“They say the Empire’s Crown Prince and their greatest swordsman are coming too. Since we have our kingdom’s finest swordsman right here, it should make for quite the show.”

Calliope’s expression sharpened.

“The so-called ‘greatest swordsman’ of the Empire wields a spear as his main weapon. Hardly a fair comparison, don’t you think?”

Glayderth’s brow rose slightly.

“Interesting how well-informed you are.”

“I know just enough to guess what you already know, Duke. And now, if you’ll excuse me—I really am feeling unwell.”

“We agreed to forget what happened last time.”

That out-of-the-blue statement made Calliope pause and glance back at him.

“…Pardon?”

“I don’t fully understand the things you say,” he said casually. “We’re all born into different places, and those differences divide us. Still, I value patience as a virtue. I may not grasp everything you said that day, but I’ve decided to respect it.”

Calliope’s face turned cold.

“I never expected you to understand. You’re not in a position to.”

“And you? What does that make your position?”

Still holding Isaac’s arm, Calliope let out a quiet, involuntary scoff.

“How much do you really know about me?”

Her crimson eyes gleamed with a strange intensity.
You know nothing. Not about my past life. Not about this one.
He acted like he understood everything, as if his narrow worldview could define the whole of who she was.

She was about to say more — but the herald’s voice boomed once again:

“His Highness, the Crown Prince of the Empire, and the Saintess of the Temple, enter with Sir Wolfgang Perta!”

Calliope’s head snapped toward the doors. The grand entrance opened, and the polished, arrogant face of the Crown Prince appeared first.

Immediately, she gripped Isaac’s arm.

“Excuse me — I’m truly not feeling well.”

She pulled him behind the curtain to the balcony and quickly shut the door. Isaac sensed something was off, but he didn’t ask. His fiancée was a woman full of secrets — he’d learned that by now.

Instead, he took off his outer coat, draped it over her shoulders, and gently guided her to the bench inside the balcony.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

“You mean with Duke Glayderth?”

Calliope let out a long sigh.
Talking with someone who would never truly understand — it was just a waste of breath.
She knew that.
But even so, she couldn’t hold back her words earlier. Not in front of him.

She looked into Isaac’s pale eyes, reached up, and gently brushed his cheek.

“There was a conversation once… about how the patience of those who have nothing and the patience of those who have everything are not the same.”

Then, as if drained, she leaned against his shoulder and told him what had happened in the palace’s art hall that day. Afterward, she held his hand tightly and looked up at him.

She wasn’t just talking.
She was asking him to understand.
To stand with her.

Calliope thought he would agree with her.
After all, the words she had just spoken were ones he had once said.

Always dressed in his black uniform, always at the top through his swordsmanship, he was the kind of man who always looked first to those below him. When she had once asked him about it, he had replied:

“It’s not hard to become a knight when you’re a noble. It’s only slightly harder for a poor noble. For wealthy commoners, it’s even harder. And for poor commoners… harder still.”

“Is it about what they have?”

“It’s the difference between what they were born with and what they’ve been allowed to enjoy.”

He had said this while she was seated on his lap, trying to explain it gently.

“The patience of the privileged and the patience of the underprivileged are not the same. And those who have more have no right to judge those who don’t—when they can’t endure. Because…”

He had kissed her on the cheek then and said:

“Because unless they shout, cry, or wave their arms… no one will ever see them. No one will ever wait for them.”

Everything Calliope was — could be traced back to Isaac. And everything Isaac was — had been shaped by Calliope. That was the truth.

And Isaac, sensing her heart, nodded slowly.

“I believe that too.”

“…Isaac.”

But there was no feeling in his eyes when he said it. He had only agreed because she had said it. Calliope, who knew him better than anyone, saw it. She could read the blankness in his expression, the disconnection in his thoughts — the fact that he didn’t truly understand what she meant.

Isaac thought quietly. He had lived his whole life as if he were invisible. Breathing quietly. Existing as though he didn’t. But she — Calliope — had found him. Reached out to him. Breathed life into him like a divine miracle, like a reward for enduring so long in silence.

Though born into a noble family, he’d grown up worse off than most commoners. A boy who didn’t even know how to raise his voice. And then, one day, salvation came: Calliope Anastas.

And yet now, a distance had begun to form between them.

He had only met her because he endured. Like a prophecy fulfilled. And now, seeing her eyes tremble…

“Do you really… believe that?” she asked.

The Saintess’s visit. Duke Glayderth’s words. The emptiness in Isaac’s eyes.
Calliope felt a crack run through her already fragile mental state.
Deep down, she’d known. She had seen him stop liking the things he used to love. Heard him speak about once-familiar books as if he were reading them for the first time.

“You were the one who said those things to me.”

And now… he was changing. He was no longer the Isaac she remembered — the one who used to walk beside her in perfect harmony.
She had known. And yet, she had looked away.

When she said those words, Isaac instinctively furrowed his brow. His lips parted, then closed again. He lowered his gaze briefly, turned his head to the side, and dragged a cold, dry hand down his face — trying to manage his expression.

And in that moment, he remembered what Berchia had told him: You need to become her true happiness.

And so, he finally said—

“I never said those words to you.”

“…Oh.”

Only then did Calliope realize: she had repeated something the past Isaac had said.
But his next words shattered any lingering doubt.

His face twisted as if he were about to cry, his emotions spilling out from where he’d been holding them down.

“I never gave you wildflowers.”

“Isaac, that’s—”

“I would never have given you something like that.”

Her hand, halfway to his cheek, froze mid-air.

“What… did you say?”

“If it were me, I would have given you only the most beautiful things. The rarest. The most expensive. I would never give you something as shabby and unworthy as wildflowers.”

Calliope’s eyes widened.

“No, Isaac. You… you always did the best you could. You gave me what you could—”

“I have given you nothing!”

His voice rose — loud, for the first time. Startled, Calliope stood up and instinctively stepped back.

“Who do you see… when you look at me?”

“……”

“Who are you thinking of — when you look at me?”

“…I… only see you…”

“No.”

His pale eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Inside the grand ballroom, the noise rose with the Saintess’s arrival — but here on the other side of a thin door, the balcony had gone cold and silent. The chill clung to the floor and bit at their ankles.

“I…”

Isaac spoke as if his throat were closing from emotion.

“I’m not that man.”

“…No. You are him.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s not true.”

“Lady Anastas,  no—Calliope.”

His hand reached out and gripped her forearm.

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