A Coat Worth Eight Months' Salary
Pingdeok is such an idiot. I don't hate shopping, per se—it's more that I can't stand wandering around with bags dangling from both arms. I've never been a fan of crowded places anyway. I'm not big on spending, either. I'm not uninterested in fashion. After all, being an actor means drawing eyes, and to do that, you have to take care of your appearance.
"Why do you look so grim?"
"Well... you see..."
But... my sense of money won't allow luxury goods. No matter how stylish or beautiful they are. My mind immediately flashes to how many OO that money could buy—that's the stubborn bastard in me. So, I'm weak to expensive things. Food, clothes, jewelry—it doesn't matter. The moment I touch something pricey, my strength drains right out, like Kryptonite.
"How much... is this?"
"It says 6,700 orlons right there."
"...Is that expensive?"
"Roughly... about eight months' salary for a bank teller at the Orléans National Bank."
A coat that a bank teller could barely afford after slaving away for eight months without spending a dime. And that coat was hanging right in front of me, perfectly straight against the wall.
"...My god."
That's not clothing. That's gold. Gold isn't meant to be worn—it's meant to be locked in a vault.
"N-No, I can't wear it. I absolutely can't."
I waved my hands frantically and backed away, terrified even my fingertips might brush it.
"Didn't you love luxury brands?"
"Th-That's true, but... no, not anymore. I-I started hating them yesterday."
Forget acting—this was beyond me. A commoner like me couldn't shoulder a bundle of cash shaped like clothes.
"It's my money anyway, so why refuse?"
"The fact it's not my money is the problem..."
If it were my own cash—well, I wouldn't have eyed these prices to begin with, but at least my heart would be lighter. But a gift like this from someone else? The old me would've died of guilt, and nothing's changed now.
"Just try it on. I'll wait."
"I-I'm not really into this kind of..."
"Now."
But my sugar mama didn't care about my commoner trembling. She acted like it was nothing.
"...Ah."
Before I knew it, a lump of gold was in my hands. The epitome of extravagance, its price incomprehensible. Shoved half-forcibly into the changing room, panic overwhelmed me.
To faithfully play Bathory, I should wear it without a second thought. But the real me beyond the role couldn't. With acting and reality blurring more than ever, I froze, unable to choose.
"..."
Should I? Shouldn't I? Could I even drape this over my body? Was someone like me, who didn't grow up pampered, worthy?
"You're taking too long on one coat. Need help?"
"N-No! I'll do it myself!"
Right. I'll wear it. What's the big deal? When else would I try an eight-month coat? Eight months... eight months...
Thud.
My legs gave out.
"...Bathory?"
Looking up at Frederica's eyes—slightly widened in surprise as she parted the curtain—I could only whisper in a voice barely audible.
"...I can't wear it..."
"The Bathory Mirhane I knew loved expensive things."
I know that. I know how much the original Bathory splurged. I've acted the spoiled rich kid, the reckless heir—throwing money around, throwing tantrums, smashing attendants. Done it all.
But that was fake money. Props you could burn after the scene. This was real. Acting while spending real cash—even if it's someone else's, real stays real.
"Sorry..."
I just couldn't.
"...Pfft, pffft...!!"
Apparently, my pathetic display was hilarious and absurd. Frederica burst into laughter, sweeping back her hair.
Of course it was baffling. The Mirhane family wasn't some nouveau riche who bought their title or a bumpkin lord with a fancy name. We were nobles, close to the imperial family—even if I was the rolling stone. A lady of such a house trembling at pricey clothes? Bathory, no less? Absurd.
"Pfft, heh, khh... truly... utterly pathetic."
Yet, oddly, she didn't scold me harshly. The intimidating aura she'd always exuded even softened a bit.
"You really... were cuter back then, huh."
"...Pardon?"
"Nothing. Get up now. You can't sit there forever."
With a smile that felt almost affectionate, Frederica extended her hand.
"We'll look at other clothes. Take off the coat for now."
"C-Can I take it off now? This?"
"Do you need my permission to undress? Just do it."
Finally, I escaped the crushing weight of money.
"Haa... jeez."
"Was it... that funny?"
Tears welled in her eyes from laughter—my misery was prime entertainment for her.
"Yeah, it's been a while... since I had such a good show. Never thought watching you—instead of Urtic—would make me this happy..."
Not mockery, but genuine delight.
"..."
Mockery or not, the embarrassment was all mine.
After that, I trailed Frederica, buying various clothes. Maybe because I'd failed the pricey coat so spectacularly, everything she picked afterward was far cheaper.
"..."
"Don't like the clothes?"
"No, they're pretty. Really pretty, but..."
Still too pricey for me.
"You used to wear even more expensive stuff. Finally growing up?"
"Not sure about growing up... but I've learned the weight of money, bone-deep."
"Hehe. Really..."
Amusing, huh. I was dead serious.
"Shopping's done, then. Time to head back? The capital's air is foul—I don't want to linger."
With that, Frederica approached the family car parked nearby and opened the door.
"Told the driver to wait with tea nearby, but he's gone."
"Maybe he went for a drink."
The driver had vanished, but luckily Frederica had the keys, so we loaded the trunk.
"Ah, there he is."
"Running like mad. Maybe he did grab a drink, like you said."
After waiting about five minutes, the driver came sprinting from afar.
"Sorry, miss!! Ran into an old friend from home—just chatting, and I lost track..."
"If it happens again, expect a pay cut. I'll let it slide this time—get ready to head home."
"Yes, ma'am. Safest and fastest."
No booze on his breath. Figured he'd had a quick one with the friend, but nope. Makes sense—drunk driving would've been a disaster.
"Come to think of it, I was so focused on clothes I forgot other stuff."
"...Other stuff?"
"Pens, notebooks, that sort. You're going to school—can't go without a fountain pen."
No, I'm fine. I need them, sure, but I didn't want to borrow her hand anymore. She'd buy the priciest ones. A pen just needs ink; a notebook just needs pages. That's all I ask.
"It's too much..."
"Compared to what you've blown before, this is a drop in the bucket."
"Even drops add up to fatal blood loss."
Frederica looked at me with eyes mixing surprise and a hint of joy.
"You really have grown up. Hard to call it acting."
"You thought it was acting...?"
"Of course. I've seen the real you all these years."
True. The Bathory she remembered wasn't like this. The one she'd lived with for over a decade wasn't some commoner buckling at luxury. Like the Bathory I knew: the Mirhane headache, a lifelong tumor rotting from within. Frederica must've hated her. Loving family as she did, she'd turned a blind eye but never fully cut ties.
"I'll keep watching you from now on."
"...I have a private life, you know."
"You know that's not what I mean."
I know. Just a dumb joke.
"As long as you stay a good girl..."
Clunk.
"...Huh? What's this?"
Suddenly, the car halted after leaving the city behind.
"Problem?"
"Not sure. Something caught?"
After fiddling with the wheel, the driver stepped out.
"Miss, could you step out? Front wheel's stuck in a rut."
"...Even with all the talk of rural roads, this is ridiculous."
Frederica got out, and I followed. Watching her glare at distant hills, fumbling for a cigarette, I turned to the front wheel.
"...?"
And saw it. A perfectly fine road. A perfectly fine tire.
"...!?"
And saw it. Something in the driver's coat pocket as he brushed past me.
"—Sis!!!!!"
No time to think. The driver drew a gun from his inner pocket and aimed at Frederica—
Bang—!!!!!!!!