I'm Going to Be Eaten Alive
Frederica Mirhane from the original story could be called a character created solely to counter Bathory. Unlike Bathory, who was nothing more than a fake playing the role of a noble lady, Frederica was the epitome of a perfect lady in every way. Unlike the counterfeit Mirhane that was Bathory, Frederica was the genuine article—a true lady of the Mirhane bloodline. While Bathory leeched off other noble children to act as their front, Frederica was the one who led people. While Bathory had no respect due to her foul temper, Frederica was even admired by students from the old central nobility of Orléans, despite their inevitable opposition. While Bathory obsessed over the title of noble more than anyone yet lacked any nobility in her personality or speech, Frederica bore her status with effortless dignity without a hint of arrogance. The real deal that a fake villainess could never aspire to. The authentic original that a knockoff could never catch. In short, they were polar opposites in every single way.
That's why the original Bathory both envied and revered Frederica. Frederica embodied the true noble lady that the fake Bathory had always wanted to be. In her presence, Bathory always felt insignificant. No matter what Frederica said, Bathory could only tremble silently, averting her eyes without a word of protest. A mouse before a cat. An insect trapped in a spider's web.
And now, I was feeling exactly that same sensation.
"When you were little... I optimistically thought you'd at least grow some sense with age..."
A predator.
"But lately, I've come to feel firsthand that a person's true nature doesn't change so easily."
A natural-born predator cloaked in human skin, superior in every respect.
"So, Bathory, what mischief have you gotten into this time to be out here like this...?"
A viper that devoured people not with claws or fangs, but with words and sheer presence.
"And what has you so scared that you're calling me 'sister'—a word you never use?"
I could understand now why Bathory had always frozen up like that. The atmosphere was terrifying. I felt like I was about to be eaten alive. My spine chilled as if I were prey under a hunter's watchful eye.
"I-I..."
Words wouldn't come. Even forcing them out of my throat, no sound emerged. Was it because of the body's memories? The fear etched into Bathory's flesh. It felt like that terror was crushing me.
This was different from with Urtic Mirhane. I couldn't even dream of acting here—opening my mouth felt impossible.
"Well, we'll figure that out later... But at least your body's all healed up, it seems. That wasn't an injury you should recover from so quickly."
"...Ur-Urtic sister gave me some tea..."
The words barely squeezed out amid the overwhelming pressure.
"...Ur?"
At that, the invisible weight pressing down on me lightened just a fraction. Only then could I look straight at her face—Frederica's face. Eyes that observed people coolly, an expression serene and detached.
"...To you?"
I could see the tiny crack in that serenity.
――Frederica despised Bathory. In her eyes, her youngest sister was vulgar and violent to the point where it was hard to believe they shared the same blood. Someone like Urtic Mirhane, with flaws but a kind heart at core, could be embraced no matter what. But Bathory was rotten from birth, down to her very nature. Mistreating servants was the baseline; she spewed insults even at her parents and sisters. She'd grovel pathetically before Frederica, who had once crushed her properly to teach her the gap in their standings, yet she relentlessly bullied the docile Urtic Mirhane whenever she got the chance. Weak against the strong, strong against the weak. That was the type of person Frederica loathed most.
Having seen countless examples of human nature in her intelligence work, Frederica particularly despised and reviled those who only acted tough around the vulnerable. And that person just happened to be her sister. Her baby sister. Bathory, who exploited their parents' guilt over giving her less attention in childhood like some compensatory tantrum, filled Frederica with deep disgust. The last time, she'd deliberately provoked Bathory to lure her out on a hunt, intending to punish her with a display of superior skill. But Bathory had tumbled down a slope before even reaching the hunting ground, wasting Frederica's hard-earned vacation on nothing.
So when she first spotted Bathory with that bumbling maid and a child—looking unusually clumsy—Frederica assumed she was tormenting easy targets again. Only upon approaching did she realize Bathory wasn't bullying them; she was amiably watching ants with them.
Frederica's mind held just one thought: Question.
Did she hit her head that badly? The injury had looked pretty severe.
"How strange."
"...What's strange, ma'am?"
"From one to ten, start to finish."
The Bathory Frederica knew wasn't the type to enjoy watching ants. She'd sooner stomp them flat.
"Calling me 'sister,' and getting tea from Ur, no less."
Moreover, the way she addressed Frederica and Urtic Mirhane was all wrong compared to her memories. She'd always omit titles when talking to Frederica to downplay the hierarchy, and with Urtic Mirhane, she didn't even bother—just "you," "that woman," or worse insults.
For that Bathory to suddenly tack "sister" onto her name—and to Urtic Mirhane, of all people—felt utterly alien to Frederica.
"I'm a little jealous, even. That the most recent tea from Ur went to you, not me."
Considering the vicious relationship between Urtic Mirhane and Bathory, she couldn't imagine anything passing between them besides curses and scorn. So Frederica was inwardly quite flustered. Her sister Urtic Mirhane wasn't one to give things away easily.
"Have you finally grown up? I hope so, for your sake."
She'd have to ask around. The servants, her other sister.
"Enjoy your picnic in moderation, and be back before sunset."
Tonight was shaping up to be a long one.
――
"...She's gone."
I stood frozen in place like a statue until Frederica left. Only after she vanished completely from sight did the tension drain away, and I collapsed to the ground.
"I wasn't even mentally prepared yet..."
I hadn't expected to run into her this soon. I certainly hadn't wanted to. I wasn't some diehard fan of this game, memorizing every character and plot thread. Having possessed the story's troublemaker, all I'd hoped for was to avoid conflicts as much as possible.
Somehow, I'd gotten on decent terms with Urtic Mirhane, and the servants weren't much of an issue. But with Frederica back at the estate, things changed. Unlike Urtic Mirhane's ambiguous attitude, Frederica's feelings toward Bathory were clear-cut contempt. And unlike the lazy, passive Urtic Mirhane, Frederica was extremely proactive.
To breathe easy in this mansion, I couldn't afford to irk her. But I'd already done it. No—Bathory had. The problem was that I'd possessed that Bathory.
"Haa... Schuett, let's head back..."
No longer in the mood for an outing, I turned to leave—
"...Schuett?"
"..."
And saw Schuett, frozen even stiffer than me.
"...Oh, right."
Come to think of it, Frederica must be even more terrifying to her than to me. Sure, she earned respect from the servants rather than hatred like I did, but respect and fear were different beasts. With the viscount couple away, Frederica was the lady of the house. She commanded the staff, managed them, paid their wages, issued orders—all authority rested with her. Including the power to hire... or fire.
Frederica was kind to her inferiors but strict too. Those who fell short of her standards faced reprimands. And given that predator's aura that could devour anyone, getting chewed out by her would shatter anyone's mental fortitude.
For mentally fragile Schuett, she was a natural predator to avoid at all costs. We hadn't done anything to upset Frederica right now, but sloppy Schuett could catch her eye anytime—in the worst way.
"...Haa..."
Not that I was in any position to worry about others. My own problems were piling up, and I'd already been marked by the one person I absolutely didn't want to face.
The servants might fear dismissal, but for me, that made it scarier. No escape route. Not until I enrolled at École Berger.
"...Hia."
What to do with her, though? Stroking the head of Hia, who stared up at me blankly, I pondered.
"Haa..."
With a sigh, as the sun dipped lower. My worries deepened with the lengthening shadows.