The Countess sat down in a chair a little away from Lynch and brushed her hair back.

Her hair wasn’t messy; a jeweled hairpin held it in place, not childish but like a last grasp at youth.

“My husband was unlucky…” she began, and Lynch listened quietly.

“It was just a fever. We didn’t worry much. After some medicine, it eased. He told us everything would be fine.”

“Can you imagine? That morning he even talked about plans for the children, but by noon he was unconscious. He didn’t make it through the night.”

When she spoke, her eyes held no sadness. At first, there might have been pain or tears, but as time passed, it became just a small mark in a long, brief life.

That mark represented only a page, not the whole story, nor the joy or sorrow.

“I’m sorry, ma’am…” Lynch said the expected words—he couldn’t say he was glad.

She raised a hand to stop him. “It’s nothing. I used to grieve, but now I’m used to facing these things.”

“Some might call me cold, but I know my coldness comes from life forcing me that way.”

“After the old Count died, his brother, sister, and their children all fought over the inheritance.”

“He left no will. We struggled.”

She sighed. “Can you understand that feeling?”

“He left me no power, no power to his son, but let his siblings and nephews control key family positions. We had no chance.”

“I fought with everything to take back what was rightfully ours.”

“Growing up, he was restless. Everyone was stronger, everyone seemed able to crush us. He lacked a father to rely on.”

“It was hard, but we won in the end. That’s the only comfort.”

Speaking of her child, a mix of nostalgia and hope showed on her face.

She paused, then smiled apologetically. “I drifted off…”

Lynch politely forgave her. “It’s okay. I understand.”

She smiled. “He’s been strong all these years. Sometimes he doesn’t seem like a child at all. I know he wants me to feel supported.”

“He’s all I can rely on now. He forces himself to be mature. To many, that’s good—he’s caused me little trouble in life or work.”

“But I know it’s not really him. He seems fine, but he suffers severe insomnia, often not sleeping until two or three in the morning…”

Anxiety.

Lynch immediately understood why the young Count had insomnia—anxiety.

From her simple words, a picture formed: all relatives trying to steal what belonged to him, no one to rely on. Young people often feel lost about the future.

Especially in adolescence, with hormones raging and emotions deepening, he’d feel anxious—afraid of suddenly losing what he held onto or being hurt.

This anxiety had lasted to now. Psychological changes aren’t easily reversed, contrary to the common belief that time heals all.

Sensitive people often trap themselves in dead ends.

When anxiety rules a person lying in bed, thoughts full of family trying to harm him, how to protect himself and his mother, and the inheritance left by his father,

He can’t calm down to rest properly.

Lynch had felt this too. After being captured, unlike others who relaxed, he grew more tense.

Those who say otherwise often have simpler issues—one or two secrets, all controlled.

Even officials know their details better than they do, so they can relax after capture.

But Lynch held dozens of secrets. He was always worried someone would force him to talk. Sleepless nights, hair falling, dark urine.

Later, he realized: he’d never get out, so why torture himself?

What’s confessed is confessed; what isn’t, he ignores. Worst case, they kill him.

No one dared. Some considered silencing him but gave up, fearing failure’s cost.

Instead, Lynch lived comfortably in his small room. People outside regularly deposited money into his bank card, ensuring he had the best.

Except he couldn’t leave or contact others freely, inside was no different from outside.

After the number was sewn into his clothes, he fully relaxed—even indulged.

He treated this life as training, learning, a path to self-improvement.

Thinking back, a subtle smile appeared on his face—a smile only survivors understand, called carefree by some.

The Countess didn’t grasp it, just felt the mood lighten.

She continued, “This time has been his best rest. Around eleven each night, he falls asleep on time, lights off.”

“I haven’t seen him smile in his sleep for a long time, like when he was a child, a baby.”

“No fear, no unease, no sorrow—just a faint smile.”

“That’s all thanks to you, Mr. Lynch.”

She looked at him. “He admires you. He always says you solve problems and trusts you.”

She looked at Lynch, but her mind was on something a high-ranking noble at the Privy Council had said.

That elder was a friend of her grandfather, and their families were close. Recently, when she visited the Privy Council, the old noble spoke with her.

Their main topic was Lynch. According to the old noble, Lynch was special—before anyone else noticed, he had already gained control of a noble faction.

Among them was the young Count.

The Countess worried that if the young Count grew too close to Lynch, it might affect his future inheritance of the title—non-hereditary noble titles were very hard to inherit and required imperial favor.

If their relationship with the emperor wasn’t strong enough, they would have to rely on the Privy Council.

She feared the young Count might fall out of favor with the emperor, ending the title in his generation.

But the old noble offered another perspective: as inheriting non-hereditary titles grows more difficult, why not try to look beyond?

The Federation was developing rapidly and was no longer what people once thought. Even the mighty Gephra Navy had been defeated by them.

If imperial favor was impossible, going to the Federation was an excellent option.

Their family wealth was enough to live very comfortably there, where money was more useful than power.

Even if they didn’t plan to go to the Federation, given Lynch’s relationship with Princess Jania, if a royal family member supported them, there was a good chance the title could be passed on one more generation.

So, whichever path they chose, maintaining a good relationship with Lynch was the best choice.

“No matter what, he will be your steadfast supporter. I also thank you for the changes you’ve brought…”

The Countess stood and approached Lynch. “You’re young and remarkable. You’ve probably seen many things, some I don’t even know about. But I’m sure there’s one thing you’ve never seen!”

The young Count arrived at the racing salon in a daze. He didn’t respond when called several times until someone tapped his arm.

For nobles, affairs were an intriguing game. Affairs and cheating could mean very different things at times.

The young Count vaguely understood what his mother was up to. He should have hated Lynch, but inexplicably, he didn’t.

On one hand, Lynch had solved the financial problems that troubled him since inheriting the title. Now he earned enough to run everything and become self-sufficient.

On the other, Lynch’s ability and presence impressed him deeply. He admired Lynch in every way.

Lynch could already do great things, yet still acted like a child sometimes. This made the young Count feel a bit inferior but also deeply trusted and admired him.

That’s fine—it was a noble tradition, wasn’t it?

He told himself this, easing his unease.