Everyone present at the funeral wiped away their tears.

It wasn’t because the spring rain grazed their faces, nor because they suddenly felt pity for the short life of twenty years that lay buried beneath the earth.

"Anna, Anna... how could you do this to me?"

A man who could not yet bring himself to place the gravestone, even after dirt had covered the coffin.

It was the heart-wrenching sobs of Jack Luck, the husband of the deceased Anna, that tore at the hearts of those who witnessed it.

"Without you, what dreams am I supposed to live for now? What should I live for, now that you've left me behind? Please, answer me, Anna."

He raised his trembling, large hand, and gently caressed the tombstone.

The words "Anna Xavier" were engraved in relief. The sight of him tenderly stroking the name, as if she could still feel it, was so pitiful that a few of the onlookers couldn’t hold back their tears any longer and turned away.

Jack kept asking, again and again, as though refusing to acknowledge the undeniable truth that no voice would ever come from the ashes.

"Do you remember? These are the clothes you picked out for me. You said they would suit me well."

The spring rain was relentless.

The once sturdy man's broad shoulders finally collapsed under the weight of grief.

"If I had known this would happen, I would have shown you this side of me earlier. Maybe then, you would have smiled at least once more. What was it that drove you to such loneliness over such trivial things..."

The women, dabbing their tears beneath their black veils, whispered softly.

"Will we ever see another tragedy like this? It seems even the heavens are cruel, separating such a deeply loving young couple like this."

"My heart feels like it’s tearing apart just watching. By the way, do you think something was wrong with the Lady?"

"I’m not sure of the details."

One of the women, fanning herself to dry her tears, nodded toward a man.

It was Anna' father, Duke Xavier, standing at a distance. His face was pale, almost haunted, as he explained the situation to those offering condolences and asking questions. His expression suggested it wasn’t just an explanation, but almost a defense. “It seems the Lady had some psychological issues. She struggled greatly after the passing of the Duchess.”

“She was sent to a convent for the same reason during her childhood, wasn’t she? In the end, she couldn’t overcome it…”

Each of the women began recalling the fleeting images they had of Lady Anna from afar.

The woman had resembled a classic oil painting. Not just because her features seemed picturesque, but because there was always a fragile stillness to her, like a lifeless object. Had anyone ever seen a glimmer of vitality in her pale, delicate face?

The women, shaking their heads, suddenly paused in unison. There was indeed a time when she smiled—only when her husband, Jack, was by her side.

“They say she took poison, didn’t she?”

“What a cruel thing to do. Leaving such a burden for the ones left behind.”

“Oh dear, don’t speak like that, Madam.”

"You're absolutely right. She might feel relieved, but what about those left behind? Just look at him."

It seemed that while Jach may have been a reason for her smiles, he wasn’t enough of a reason for her to continue living.

No, in truth, for someone who lacked the strength to endure life, no one, not even Jach, could have saved her. No matter how much love he poured into her during their two-year marriage, if the vessel meant to receive it was broken, what could he have done?

Funerals, after all, are for the living. The women turned their focus from the suffering of the deceased to the grief of the one left behind.

Jach Luck had done all he could. Everyone at the funeral thought so. “Yes, he’s been standing in the rain for too long. Let’s bring him inside now.”

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"The ceremony is almost over. Holding on like that won’t bring peace to the departed. Would Lady Anna have wanted to see her husband like this?"

"Yes, let him rest now. We'll sing the final requiem ourselves."

"You can only grieve properly if you stay alive."

As each woman added her thoughts, a secretary gently supported Jach's body. It wasn’t easy for even a grown man to hold up someone as large as Jach, who seemed more like a statue than a person. As the secretary struggled, Jach slowly straightened his body. He waved the secretary away and looked down at the tombstone.

"It’s raining, the way you liked it."

Whispering this, Jach kissed the engraved name on the tombstone.

"Sir, please calm down. At this rate..."

Just as people's thoughts began to grow heavy, the secretary appeared at the right moment. Even as the secretary shook his shoulder, Jach remained completely still. A drop of rainwater fell from the sharp tip of his chin.

"It's a relief, isn't it?"

Everyone felt a deep sense of pity as they watched Jach's lonely figure turn and walk away.

As the mournful funeral song filled the garden, Claudio, the secretary, followed behind his staggering boss, who looked as though he might collapse at any moment. After dragging the heavy front door shut and locking it, Claudio realized that Jach had already disappeared.

Where could he have gone? As Claudio glanced around, he noticed a trail of wet footprints. At first, the footprints were staggered and unsteady, but as they led to the second floor, they became more precise, as if nothing had happened.

The trail stopped in front of Jach's office. Taking a few deep breaths, Claudio knocked on the door.

"Come in." The previously sorrowful and hoarse voice was now calm and indifferent, granting permission.

As soon as Claudio opened the door and saw Jach, he couldn't quite understand why he felt such an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

"…"

This was the man who had been sobbing just moments ago, devastated as if he had taken on all the world’s sorrow after the death of his wife.

Now, he sat at his desk, legs casually stretched out. The jacket his late wife had chosen for him was tossed carelessly to the side, and he lit a damp cigar as though relieved that the troublesome ordeal was finally over.

Jach Luck, it seemed, had done all he could.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Claudio asked, knowing full well what the answer would be, but hoping for a denial.

However, Jach’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed slightly beyond the flickering match flame, as if he had just heard something utterly ridiculous.

"If I don't look alright, bring me a towel. And the Cynthia Lake bid documents, too."

Returning with the towel and documents, Claudio took in the scene before him. Aside from a few scattered, damp cigars, nothing had changed in the room.

It had been a long time since Jach had smoked cigars, Claudio realized.

But the thought was meaningless. Pushing down his emotions, Claudio asked,

"Wasn’t the Cynthia Lake bid previously rejected? The location is good, but the land price is too high, and the Marquis selling it is firmly against any negotiations."

"That was then."

Jach responded briefly, flipping through the documents as he unbuttoned his shirt. "But do you think the Marquis will be just as firm with a man who lost his wife yesterday?"

Claudio felt a shiver run down his spine, even though there was no more room for shock.

He had admired Jack, a man who had amassed unimaginable wealth at such a young age. Claudio had hoped to learn the secrets of Jach’s success, wondering if ten or twenty years under his wing would be enough.

Now, he realized that Jach's methods were beyond anything that could be taught.

How could a person be like this? How could someone use even their wife’s death as a tool?

Jach’s face was slightly pale. His eyes, which had been tearful and swollen just a short while ago, were now far too clear to belong to someone who had been weeping.

"The words 'It’s a relief that it’s raining'… could it be..."

Had the rain been to hide his dry eyes all along?

Claudio shuddered. Trembling, he finally spat out the words.

“This is too much, sir.”

Without looking at him, Jack continued signing documents and replied.

“What is?”

“I—I simply can’t do this! Out of guilt for the late Lady! This… this is too much…”

“Who said she was dead?”

Claudio couldn’t tell if Jack had gone mad, or if it was him who had lost his mind, hearing delusions after working for such a man.

“What do you mean by that? Are you suddenly refusing to believe your wife is dead? The head maid found the body, and her father, the Duke, personally sent it to the crematorium. What part of that is uncertain to you?” Claudio was about to storm out in disbelief when his feet stopped abruptly.

“They confirmed a body. Not death.”

“…What?”

“I’m doubting her. She isn’t someone who would die so easily.”

It wasn’t mere suspicion, it was a conviction. And conviction carries weight. Claudio hesitated, feeling as though his feet were bound.

Had anyone else said it, he would have dismissed it as nonsense. But this was Jack Luck, the new legend of the West, the silent predator.

A gambler who had never lost.

Jack sealed his point.

“Bring me the head maid. I have something to confirm.” Claudio, confused and unsure if this made sense, eventually nodded. If what Jack said was true, then the kind lady he knew might still be alive somewhere, having never surrendered her life.

But whether that was a fortunate or unfortunate thing, no one could say.

After Claudio left and the door closed, Jack was finally alone, gazing out the window.

He could almost hear the swish of mourners' black garments dragging against the ground, the squelch of wet earth, the cold rainwater, and the faint stench of damp decay rising to meet his feet.

Suddenly, an old wave of nausea surged within him.

"Do you love me?" It had been three days ago.

She had asked him this while playing with one of his cigars.

Jack had replied without hesitation.

"Yes, of course I love you. How could I not?"

Anna had smiled at his words.

The news of her death came two days after that.

“I’m not fooled, Anna,” Jack muttered under his breath as he picked up a cigar that had been less soaked by the rain. He cut the tip, lit it, and inhaled.

The crackling sound of the burning cigar and the smoke filled the heavy air.

Even this cigar smelled faintly of water and decay. Jack stared at his trembling hand for a moment, then tossed the last cigar away without a second thought.

Amid the solemn notes of the requiem, a voice—so soft it seemed misplaced—occasionally echoed in his memory.

"Do you love me?"

"Why don’t you know that by now?"

Jack's bloodshot eyes glistened as he turned away from the window.