Yuri Harem Project
Silence hung in the air. In the room so profoundly quiet it was almost oppressive, the sisters said nothing for a long while. It was a common occurrence between Frederica and Bathory Mirhane. Conversations often ground to a halt, leaving them staring at each other—Frederica gazing down at Bathory with a serene yet chilling expression, Bathory averting her frightened eyes. The cause varied slightly each time, but the dynamic was always the same in their private encounters.
But now, that dynamic had flipped entirely. Frederica could no longer look down at Bathory. With her head held high, neither bowed nor kneeling, Bathory's eye level was nearly even with her older sister's. The gaze that had always wandered aimlessly now locked straight onto her sister's eyes. It was a cold stare, devoid of even a hint of affection, mirroring the icy smile on her face. The one whose expression twisted in distress was Frederica, the recipient of that gaze. Her face was unmistakably flustered—an unbecoming look for her. That unfamiliar glint in her eyes clashed with Bathory's composed smile, forming a tableau utterly at odds with their usual, or rather their past, dynamic.
"...I'll return to my room and await my punishment. I'm curious what you'll decide this time, Sister."
Bathory took a step back, turned on her heel, and strode out of the room. In the old days, even attempting to leave would have required Frederica's permission, but Bathory departed without waiting for any command.
All that remained was Frederica, frozen like a statue.
"..."
No words came. Clutching her mouth, from which no sound would emerge, Frederica slumped against the wall as if collapsing.
"..."
Bathory's words struck harder than she'd anticipated. A bitter mix of love and hate she'd never fully confronted—or rather, had ignored. It unearthed the faint guilt she'd harbored toward her warped little sister, buried deep beneath a torrent of emotions. The child who should have received the most attention and love during her formative years had been thoroughly neglected and overlooked. Frederica had despised and loathed Bathory's behavior, but she'd never deeply pondered its root cause.
"You..."
Suddenly, Frederica recalled the past. Back when she was fifteen, Urtic fifteen, Urtic Mirhane thirteen, and Bathory nine. That Bathory had always watched Frederica with anxious eyes. Not just Frederica, but their parents, Urtic, and even the servants felt the same under her gaze. Yet no one paid her any mind—not Frederica, not the parents, not Urtic, not the servants.
Back then, Bathory had stirred up trouble as if begging to be seen. As if pleading for someone to talk to her, to ask why she acted out. She always reached out with arms trembling on the verge of tears. And Frederica had turned away. Preoccupied with her military academy entrance exams and worry for her ailing Urtic, Bathory had been pushed to the back burner in her mind. By the time Urtic recovered and Frederica had some mental breathing room...
Why? What's your excuse this time? That lazy girl's better now, isn't she?
Bathory had already changed.
"...Head Butler, are you there?"
"Yes, miss."
At Frederica's call—her hand over her eyes, head tilted back—a dignified elderly gentleman emerged from the shadows behind a pillar.
"Is what Bathory said true?"
"The maids who were close to the injured one are all saying the same. Even if Bathory miss threatened them to stay silent, they wouldn't cover for her out of goodwill."
"So... Bathory did it? Is that what you think, Head Butler?"
"Hardly."
The old butler had served House Mirhane since the days of the current earl's father—Frederica's grandfather. His long tenure without dismissal, rising to head butler, attested to his competence and insight. He was more advisor than mere servant.
"Bathory miss isn't the type. Not soft-hearted, but cowardly."
"I know. A girl who hates getting her hands wet—would she enjoy blood on them?"
"And yet she confessed to it herself."
The butler watched Frederica, lost in thought.
"May this old man venture an opinion, miss?"
"Of course."
"I suspect Bathory miss is hiding something. Whether it's a greater sin or another secret, I can't say."
Frederica agreed. She just couldn't grasp the motive.
Her usual sharp mind would have pieced it together, but now her thoughts were a tangled mess.
"What could that child be hiding from me?"
"Shall I find out?"
Three people. In Bathory, Frederica saw three distinct souls. The impulsive one who looked down on underlings, the oddly shrewd yet petty one, and the serpentine one who ensnared prey with a sinister tongue.
"...No. Let it be for now."
She couldn't tell which was genuine, which performance. More than that, she feared knowing. Which was real.
"...Head Butler. Is it my fault she turned out like this?"
"Not yours alone, miss."
If it was all sincere, or if she'd learned such natural acting...
What had shaped her that way?
"It's all our responsibility, Miss Frederica."
At those words, Frederica lowered her hand and stared at the chandelier overhead.
"...I stopped working to clear my head, and now it's more cluttered than ever."
Gazing at the flickering lights, she forcibly suppressed her stray thoughts. Down to one: I want to rest.
――
"..."
I did it. Or did I? Who knows.
"...Haaah..."
I dragged it into emotional territory and shattered Frederica's poker face. Success so far. Push further, and I'd get burned, so I bolted. Put on a cool act, made a total fool of myself—hope it landed. Would that sharp woman fall for it?
"Best... I could do."
Temporary patch at best. Once she regains composure, she'll snap back to being the original Bathory's hard counter.
Frederica was that kind of character.
But it was my best. Drew some aggro, diverted attention. Peak desperation from me.
Now what?
Problem is, my fragile progress with Frederica's back to square one, and the servants? This incident nuked that.
No solid allies left in this mansion but Urtic Mirhane. Schuett's iffy, Eclair au Chocolat's an outsider.
Hia too, but clinging to a week-old homunculus for backup? Pathetic.
Think positive. Servants hated me anyway, same with Frederica. Eyes forward, on the future.
"...Hmm."
My goal hasn't wavered since possession: survive. Make it to the story's end, snag a peaceful life.
Truthfully, skipping École Verger—the original's stage—would boost odds. But that'd piss off the blacks. Original Bathory enrolled solely due to Moonlight's machinations.
Plus, Gretel Aure's watching me now, inexplicably. Bail like Urtic, holing up? Gretel kills me, or Moonlight exposes my birth secret.
No peaceful life—just coffin or streets.
Can't toss noble status lightly in this class-ridden world.
Recall the plot, key players.
First, the five witches minus Gretel: Beatrice Portinari. Dea Gwynpllen. Carmilla von Karnstein. Bell Pégor. Charlotte Baudelaire.
Protagonist Anahita Clodel, me—Bathory Mirhane. And non-witch roommate Padet.
These eight are the named leads with major roles. Gretel's a lead but late-game. Eclair or Frederica pop up often but as supports.
These eight drive the plot, especially Anahita and Beatrice.
Naturally, not one gets along with Bathory. Steady villain role—no way she'd click with heroes or switchable allies from the start.
For my peaceful life, eliminate the villains. Moonlight, Gretel included.
Gretel's sole death route—abandoning plans—is the true ending: Anahita bonds emotionally with all witches but Bathory, awakens.
Got it. I'll turn Anahita into Casanova. A harem king—no, harem queen, loved by all.
Original doesn't flaunt yuri outright. But all-girls school, all-female leads? They're gunning for it.
Not hard. Just a tiny nudge.
I'll make you Chairwoman of Hearts, Anahita.