Blanc
“You don’t have a name?”
“In Yeoro they called me M, but can that really be called a name?”
“So what kind of place is this Yeoro, then?”
“I do not know.”
“What were you doing before you entered Yeoro?”
“I have no memories from before Yeoro.”
“And what did you do inside Yeoro?”
“I spent my days carrying out the missions they assigned me.”
“What sort of missions?”
“There were various kinds, but they were mostly assassination work.”
“Then why did you betray Yeoro?”
“Simply because I no longer wished to remain there.”
“I see. That concludes the interrogation. You’ve done well.”
The grand mansion of the Leonhart family.
Upon hearing that M had awakened, Lucius and Knight-Captain Makel conducted a brief interrogation. Noir had opposed it, insisting that the girl needed more rest, but the questioning proceeded without incident under the condition that Noir herself be present as an observer.
“So, Makel. What do you make of it?”
Having finished the interrogation, Lucius closed the door to the room where M lay and asked Makel beside him.
“She knows far too little. The only thing we’ve learned is the organization’s name. Their headquarters are sealed by a binding oath that prevents her from speaking of it, so there’s no further way for us to extract information. Assuming the child isn’t lying.”
“Oh? You think she was lying?”
“Ha. Of course not.”
Makel had accumulated years of experience as knight-captain, and that experience included interrogating prisoners. He could distinguish the eyes of a truth-teller from those of a liar, and the girl’s gaze had been that of someone speaking the truth.
“Unforgivable.”
“The girl?”
“Are you going to keep this up?”
Makel glared at Lucius. The duke merely shrugged, feigning innocence. Before the girl woke, Makel had demanded she be confined and questioned. Lucius had been needling him about it ever since, clearly enjoying the reaction.
“Haa. Obviously I’m talking about that Yeoro organization.”
Lucius had a granddaughter in Noir. Makel had finally been blessed with a child after five long years of marriage. Both men understood the preciousness and purity of a child better than most, and so the atrocities of Yeoro filled them with a bottomless fury.
A name proves the worth and meaning of a being’s existence; it is the word that records that one lived in this world. Humans—and animals as well—naturally give one another names in their own tongues. Yet those people in Yeoro had not even granted a common name to a child, raising a twelve-year-old as little more than an assassination tool.
How much pain must she have endured to gain that power at such an age? How many people had those innocent hands been forced to kill?
Adults exist to protect children and guide them toward proper growth. They must never exploit a child or raise one as a weapon for murder.
Makel could not even begin to imagine the suffering the young girl must have endured in Yeoro.
Damn it… what the hell was I about to do to a child like that?
He had intended to lock up a girl who had only just escaped that organization. Granted, because she was a child he had planned to handle the questioning far more gently than with an ordinary prisoner—but that did not erase the fact that he had meant to confine her.
“Makel. Unclench your fists.”
“Ah…”
Fists clenched in self-directed rage had dug into his palms, carving wounds whose blood now stained the floor. Makel had not even noticed he was bleeding until Lucius spoke; only then did he come back to himself.
“Your Grace… what do you intend to do with the child?”
“Even if her circumstances are pitiful, she was still a member of Yeoro. We’ll have to keep her under watch. Moreover, if word gets out that she betrayed the organization and survived, they may come for her. We’ll ask the girl her opinion, of course, but she will need to live somewhere the eyes of Leonhart can reach.”
A child who had finally gained her freedom would now have to be watched under the pretext of protection. The thought pained Lucius deeply, yet no better arrangement came to mind.
The library of the Leonhart mansion, befitting a prestigious ducal house, held an immense quantity and variety of books. Yet to Noir, the collection still felt insufficient.
“Hmm… not this one either…”
Biographies, dictionaries, even fairy tales—Noir examined every volume she could lay her hands on, regardless of genre or title. When even that failed to produce the result she wanted, she summoned the servants waiting outside and ordered them to bring every book circulating in Preas.
“You never thought of giving yourself a name? There simply wasn’t any particular reason to.”
“Th-then… would it be all right if I made one for you?! I-I mean, I owe you, and if you don’t plan to make one yourself, I can just invent one, right?”
“Hmm… Yes. That is fine.”
The reason Noir was tearing through the library like this was the conversation she had shared with the girl after the interrogation. The suggestion had been impulsive, yet once the girl entrusted her with a name, Noir felt an obligation to give her the finest name possible.
Creating the name a person would carry for the rest of her life proved far harder than Noir had expected. Whenever a candidate pleased her, she immediately began fretting over whether it truly suited the girl, and the cycle of searching for yet another name had already repeated dozens of times.
“Young miss, shall I help as well?”
Three hours had passed since Noir entered the library. When she still showed no sign of emerging, Makel came to check on her. Having already been told why she was barricaded among the shelves, he arrived as someone who had recently named a child of his own, intending to offer advice.
“Mm, it’s fine. I want to do this myself.”
She refused. That girl’s name, at least, she wanted to craft with her own strength alone. Even if she accepted help, nothing would technically be wrong—yet Noir wanted the girl to bear a name decided solely by her.
I alone must decide it.
She had been the first in this mansion to meet the girl, the first to fight alongside her. From the moment she learned the girl had no name, the conviction had taken root: only she should bestow it. Noir herself did not understand why she felt this way, only that the thought of the girl wearing a name given by someone else filled her with a deep sadness.
That was why she had abandoned the idea of borrowing names from novels. Even if she chose something common like “Siwoo,” that name, too, had been invented by some author. The girl’s name must never, under any circumstances, contain another person’s claim. It had to be decided by Noir alone.
The feeling was a kind of obsession, a possessiveness—but Noir did not yet realize it.
Dawn arrived.
“Hehe… hehehe… Found it…”
Having spent the entire night in the library, Noir had at last discovered a name that suited the girl.
“You never thought of giving yourself a name? There simply wasn’t any particular reason to.”
A name. A word attached to distinguish one thing from another. A word that bestows identity upon a person. Looking at Noir as she asked the question, I realized something.
Ah, right. “Mu-myeong” wasn’t a name, was it?
I already possessed the firm identity and conviction of a maid, and I had labels like Mu-myeong or M that people used for me, so I had completely forgotten. How on earth did I forget something so basic? Calling myself Mu-myeong and letting others call me M had simply become too familiar.
Even I found it embarrassing. So when Noir asked my name, I had no choice but to hesitate. How was I supposed to introduce myself? Could M or Mu-myeong truly count as a name? In the end I admitted I had none and explained that I was called Mu-myeong or M.
If I’d known it would come to this, I should have prepared something magnificent beforehand—Chunja, Sunja, Bongsun, Malsuk… Hmm. Should I invent one now? But even if I suddenly claimed such a name, Noir would never believe it was genuine.
Back in my previous life working at the maid café, I had wanted my maid name to be Sukhee. The owner and the other maids had collectively vetoed it and forced “Maria” on me instead. That incident taught me that my personal aesthetic regarding names was a tiny bit different from ordinary people’s. Still, that was merely a difference in taste; I never considered the names I chose to be problematic.
Right, Bokja?
Even Bokja— in the original game the shadow had simply been called “Shadow,” an English translation of the word for shade. The naming sense was so rustic and catastrophic that I bestowed the new name Bokja, and Bokja adored it. That alone proved there was nothing wrong with my naming sense.
Kiiing…
Hm? Why is Bokja suddenly making that pitiful sound? Did it eat something wrong? I looked at it quietly. Bokja merely shook its head as if to say it was nothing. Good. If it had been complaining about the name I gave it, I would have spent the entire day force-feeding it cucumbers—its least favorite food.
“Th-then… would it be all right if I made one for you?! I-I mean, I owe you, and if you don’t plan to make one yourself, I can just invent one, right?”
She wanted to give me a name? Just like that? The sudden offer made me pause. Was it truly right to leave my name in Noir’s hands rather than my own? Even if I had never decided on one until now, a name was not so light a thing that one casually entrusted it to another.
“Hmm…”
Yet there was no longer any reason to be stubborn about it, and when looking at oneself, an objective eye was often better. Somehow I felt certain that Noir would choose a name that suited me more than I ever could.
“Yes. That is fine.”
At my answer Noir’s face lit up. Declaring she was going to the library, she rushed out of the room. Is giving someone else a name really that enjoyable? Come to think of it, I had been rather delighted when I named Bokja as well.
Hiiing…
Dawn broke.
“Um… are you awake…?”
Noir’s voice came from beyond the door. For some people, a visit at this hour might be an imposition. But as one who would become a maid and who practiced perfect self-discipline by rising at five every day, I had ample leisure to receive an unexpected guest at six.
“Yes. Please come in.”
The door opened and Noir entered, exhaustion plain on her face. Had she stayed up all night? Dark circles sat heavily under both eyes, and her usually sleek black hair was now a disheveled mess.
“Listen… um…”
After entering she kept glancing at me, stumbling over her words. Whatever she had prepared in her mind seemed unable to leave her throat; she could not even find the beginning of the sentence. Yet a maid must never rush a guest who has entered her room. I simply waited in silence until Noir, eyes filled with resolve, finally opened her heavy lips.
“I’ve decided on your name!”
“A name?”
Even though yesterday’s conversation had prepared me somewhat, her words still surprised me. She had stayed up until dawn thinking of a name for me? After all, Noir and I had only just met; we were still little more than strangers. I had expected her to toss out some common name from books—something like “Siwoo.” Honestly, even “Siwoo” itself wasn’t bad; it was neutral and the sound was pleasant enough. Still inferior to the Chun-sun I had considered, of course.
“Hoo… I really stayed up all night thinking about this, so if you don’t like it you can absolutely refuse. I’ll go find another one right away. I only want to hear your opinion—I’m not trying to force a name on you. If you truly hate it…”
“I trust you. I am certain you have found the name that suits me best.”
I meant it. By now I regarded the Noir before me as a different person from the one in the original story, yet through that story I still knew how kind and earnest she was. A name she had spent the whole night pondering could never be bad. And the fact that she had poured so much thought into something as small as my name made me happy.
“Ah…”
At my words Noir’s eyes wavered. Her face flushed deeper and deeper; she ducked her head as if to hide the color.
“Yeah! It’s definitely the name that suits you most!”
She recovered quickly, lifting her chin again and meeting my gaze with clear, upright eyes.
“Blanc.”
“Blanc…?”
“It means white. White can be painted over with any color, and any story can be written upon it, right? So I thought it was the perfect name for someone about to begin a brand-new life. And your hair is that beautiful silver, too.”
Blanc. If I translated it into Korean it was something like “Whitey,” wasn’t it? White hair, so Whitey… Quite an intuitive name.
“Is it… not good…?”
When I remained silent, turning the name over in my mind, Noir grew anxious again; her voice trailed off and she lowered her head once more.
“No. It is an exceedingly fine name. Thank you very much.”
“Really?!”
I hated to admit it, but “Whitey” actually sounded better than Chun-sun. The name suited the former Mu-myeong rather well, and more than that, the deeper meaning Noir had given it stirred something in my chest.
A maid’s story newly written upon a pure white canvas. Ah… that story would surely become more sacred and magnificent than any scripture recording the creation of the gods or the lives of saints. Fufu… truly… truly wonderful… ♥
Moreover, pure white also signified purity, innocence, and integrity—every word most befitting a maid. I could be thoroughly satisfied with the name “Whitey.”
“Yeah! Then I’ll be counting on you from now on, Blanc!”
“Yes. I look forward to working with you as well, Noir.”
Watching Blanc accept with clear satisfaction the name she had agonized over all night, Noir felt a deep sense of pride. Blanc. She was convinced it was the name that suited the girl best. Had Blanc refused it, Noir was certain she would never have found anything better.
Even after being forced into a vile criminal organization, the girl had never lost her nobility or goodness; she still retained that pure bearing. What name could possibly fit her more perfectly?
From this day forward Blanc would write countless pictures and stories upon that name. Yet there was one more reason for the name that Noir had not revealed to Blanc—and never would.
Noir’s mother had named her daughter Noir, meaning black, so that she might become a place of rest for many people, like the night itself. And Blanc meant white. Black and white. Ebony and ivory. They stood in opposition, yet together they created the most beautiful harmony. White exists together with black, and black exists together with white.
“Hehe… hehehe…”
Whatever lofty reasons she attached to it, in the end Noir had simply wanted the girl’s name to form a matching set with her own. And that truth was a secret Noir alone would carry for the rest of her life.