Finally, to the Capital
At last, the capital.
Time marched steadily on.
The nobles who had finished their advance purchases gradually left their territories one by one for the New Year's celebration to be held in the capital, and Viscount Bjorn departed as well.
Of course, they left their private soldiers stationed inside the territory.
They offered the excuse that the soldiers were needed to manage the magical beasts, but if that had truly been the case, the Evergarden territory's own personnel would have been more than sufficient. It was nothing short of a safeguard.
Having another territory's private soldiers inside one's lands while the lord was absent was hardly a pleasant arrangement, yet Freya readily granted permission.
And now the time had come for the Evergarden count's family to finally set out for the capital.
"Ugh! I'm dying. I'm seriously dying."
From the moment she boarded the carriage bound for the capital, Rosaria had done nothing but complain—even as the Evergarden territory faded far enough into the distance to be barely visible behind them.
"Argh, this is so freaking annoying!"
"What's with all the racket already?"
"Yeah, oppa. Keep it down, will you? I'm trying to read."
At first they had simply endured it, but as irritation began to climb, Darian and Felix both furrowed their brows at her. Rosaria, however, kept right on grumbling.
"Hey—Mom, you. Are you seriously saying that while looking at me like this?!"
The problem was Rosaria's outfit.
Ordinarily, whether at the Academy or within the territory, Rosaria lived exclusively in pants and outerwear that let her move freely. She had no interest in looking attractive for any men, and dresses were simply far too uncomfortable.
As a result, her personal maid Bennet—who had initially been at a complete loss—had grown so used to the situation that she now simply tied Rosaria's hair back lightly and laid out the same style of athletic clothes, freshly pressed, without a second thought.
But showing up at a New Year's celebration hosted by the Emperor of the Empire looking like some wild colt would not merely make countless nobles frown—it could get her thrown out entirely. So before departure, she had been dressed up with the help of the maids.
On top of that, Rosaria had lately been rolling around the training grounds every day like a wild animal, smeared with dirt and grinning like a tomboy. Every detail had been meticulously adjusted: the way her hair was bound up, the brooch on her chest, the sash at her waist. She had been dressed, undressed, and redressed until she felt exactly like a doll being played with.
And the end product of that process was this.
A black dress that complemented her black hair beautifully. Delicate handmade frills lined every cuff and hem, and countless jewels dangled from her skirts like stars scattered across the night sky.
Upon her chest sat a red ruby that matched her crimson eyes perfectly. Her hair had been elaborately piled high and adorned with every ornament imaginable.
Her face had been coated with powder and every skin-benefiting product under the sun, and rose-scented oil had been worked into every single strand of her hair until her nose stung from the fragrance.
Having to ride in a carriage dressed in something so uncomfortable, so awkward, and—again—so uncomfortable was driving her absolutely mad with restlessness.
And then there was this:
"I have to wear this outfit for four days in a carriage? Just kill me already!!"
She could barely stand an hour in this getup, yet she was expected to sit endlessly in this carriage for a full four days or more. Rosaria wailed in despair.
Ordinarily they might have simply flown there in an instant on Tene's back, but for this New Year's celebration they could not arrive alone. As the head of the family and his kin representing their house, they were expected to travel with a splendid carriage and a host of attendants—and some even brought private soldiers along (who, of course, would wait outside the venue in pure showmanship).
The preparations had taken so long they could not be finished in the capital, so throughout the entire journey from the territory, the moment anything fell even slightly out of place the maids would rush over to reapply powder to her face, fuss with her hair, and adjust her clothes. Rosaria was thoroughly sick of it.
"Easy for you and Mom to say—you're dressed comfortably! As if you'd understand how I feel!"
Rosaria turned a glare on Darian and Felix.
Unlike her, the two men had dressed more formally than usual, but they were still only in trousers and formal coats—vastly more comfortable than what Rosaria was wearing.
"Hey! Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this is? The slightest movement and I feel like the whole thing's going to burst!"
"Then why don't you have Mom try wearing it?"
"...If it bothers you that much, you should've just been a guy. Pfft!"
"You think I wanted to be a girl?!!!"
"Ugh, quiet down. Oppa, it can't be helped. Besides, look at Dad. Dad's in the same boat and he's not complaining at all."
"Haha..."
Darian's provocation had flipped Rosaria's switch completely, and as she raised hell, a thoroughly fed-up Felix brought up Freya.
Freya was a woman as well, and as the count's wife she paid even more attention to her appearance, not less.
A dress even more voluminous than usual, laden with countless jewels. And more striking still was the deep, clear valley of her ample chest—beautiful enough to leave any man who looked upon it momentarily dazed.
"I'm used to it by now, so I'm fine. But our son never dressed like this ordinarily, so of course it's uncomfortable."
"Hey! That's because Dad is the weird one!"
"Ah, son?"
"Well... Dad really does seem more like a mom than a dad. Ah—I don't mean he looks like Mom. I mean he's feminine—"
"Daughter...?!"
"So does that mean I wasn't feminine?"
"Mom was manly even back in the modern world."
"Hmph. What do I care? I gave birth to you two, and that's enough. Anyway, our husband is a bit feminine, isn't he?"
"Honey?!"
But Freya looked so devastatingly good in the dress that the three of them realized almost at once that the comparison had been completely wrong—and Freya, catching their reactions, bristled.
"While we're at it, can't we just change the titles? We can't keep calling me Mom forever, can we?"
"Uh... Mo... but we've already called you Mom and Dad for over twenty years. Changing it now would feel way too weird."
"Besides, if we change the titles... that means I'd have to call that guy oppa! No way! Absolutely not!"
"...Oh ho? This could be fun. Go on, try it. O-ppa. Oo-ppaah—"
"Has this bitch lost her mind."
"Ack! You hit me?! You did, didn't you?! You're dead!"
"What is this...! And you call yourself the younger sibling—ack! Wait, my hair!! My hair, my hair!!! That's a half-day job!!! Ack!!!"
"Mmph-mmph mm off my cheek! (You get your hand off my cheek first, oppa!)"
"Will you two be quiet?! If you're going to fight, get out and settle it properly!"
"Is that something Mom should be saying? Ah! Aaaah!!! You bastard! My hair!! Fixing this again will take hours!!!"
"Mmjust die today...! (You're dead today...!)"
"Kids, kids...? Calm down a little...? Honey?! Stop laughing and help me stop them!!"
Three hours after leaving the Evergarden territory, the inside of the carriage was already a complete uproar.
"So those people are coming now, is that it?"
A man lounged in a bathtub, water sloshing and rippling outward as he addressed a crystal orb.
"That's right. They say they'll arrive in time for this New Year's celebration."
"I just don't get it. Do we really need to test the waters like this?"
"Rather than 'need,' use the word 'caution.'"
"Oh, please... Stuck in a territory where it snows every single day—has your brain frozen solid?"
"You and 'that person' are both way too skittish, aren't you? They're reincarnators just like us. Ask them straight out what they want, and if the answer's no good—snick. Wasn't that always our way of doing things?"
"'That person' appears to have taken an interest in this potion production. Do not do anything unnecessary."
The bathtub he occupied, and the chamber itself, were the height of luxury—yet the man's speech was thoroughly crude, without a scrap of courtesy to be found.
Even so, his golden hair, damp and gleaming from the bathwater, and the handsome face that went with it were fine enough to earn genuine praise.
Jin Bores, conversing with that man through the crystal orb, was already finding little reason to continue the exchange.
"It is 'that person's' command. Carry it out diligently."
"Tsk. If that smug face of yours were in front of me right now, I'd have thrown a punch without thinking. Oh, right—you're coming this time too, aren't you? I ought to get a good look at that oh-so-impressive face of yours."
".....I'm hanging up."
Click.
"What? Hello? Haah—this bastard, seriously... Tsk...!"
Crash—!
The moment Jin Bores unilaterally cut the connection, the man hurled the crystal orb in his hand to the floor in a fit of temper.
In an instant, a crystal sphere worth roughly 150,000 Dinars became nothing but garbage.
And a short while later—
Knock, knock—
"Pardon me, Your Highness the Third Prince. I heard a loud noise. May I enter for a moment?"
"Ah, please do."
Click—
"Forgive me. I dropped the crystal orb by accident."
"I shall clear it away at once."
The moment the man's permission was given, the attendants entered the bath chamber without delay.
"Thank you for always working so hard."
"Not at all, Your Highness. Such words are far too heavy for a mere servant such as myself. I beg you to withdraw them."
"How could I? You are one of my precious people as well! Think nothing of the sort."
"I am deeply honored, Your Highness."
As the attendants bowed their heads and gathered the shattered fragments of the crystal orb—destroyed in the man's fit of temper—he offered his thanks in a manner so transformed that no one could have believed it was the same person who had just been snarling into the orb.
Dignity and benevolence, nowhere to be found mere moments before, now poured from him in abundance.
He was the Third Prince of the Obina Empire.
And the man Rachel was certain had murdered the Ninth Prince.
Ganix Obina.