Engagement Ceremony (1)
“Tch, damn it.”
Diego Alverich clicked his tongue as he stood before the mirror, adjusting his clerical robes. He was preparing to head to the Imperial Medical Office.
“Why the hell won’t this thing fit right?”
He snapped irritably at his zucchetto, which didn’t sit properly. Truth be told, it wasn’t that the hat didn’t fit—it was the accelerated hair loss recently pushing his hairline back, creating an unnatural look.
Living in an expensive mansion right in the heart of the capital, he was the leader of the largest faction at work. Wealth, honor—he lacked for nothing. But lately, one single healer had been ruining his peace of mind.
Ras Gotberg. It’s all that bastard’s fault.
‘Even His Majesty Heike, who values practicality, is tolerant of those petty tricks. Fine, whatever.’
He’d heard even the emperor was now eating food Gotberg had developed and taking his medicines. Not only had Gotberg absorbed Georg’s faction, but several from his own had already jumped ship. They’d been volunteering with Gotberg and “rediscovered their original aspirations as healers” or some nonsense.
“A healer’s original aspiration is faith, I say!”
Grumbling, Alverich finally yanked off the zucchetto and tossed it aside.
“Ugh.”
A gentle hand picked up his zucchetto and smoothed it out neatly.
“Getting angry first thing in the morning is bad for your wrinkles, dear.”
His wife soothed him with her mild tone.
“Hmph, fine.”
As she tenderly placed the zucchetto back on his head, Alverich calmed down. When he’d quit his bishopric in the Holy Kingdom, she’d trusted him silently and supported him ever since. He didn’t want to snap at her, of all people.
“Everything will work out.”
“It will, of course. Do you know who I am? Diego Alverich, chief physician to Wood Palace.”
“Of course. The most admirable husband in the world.”
No matter what, his wife always affirmed him. She was a woman of deep faith.
“That Gotberg punk’s just riding on youthful vigor. I’ve seen plenty like him. He’ll trip over his own feet soon enough and smash his nose flat.”
“Then you can heal him up, dear.”
“No, I mean it figuratively, not literally…”
Alverich cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Anyway, starting today, a new chief physician for Crown Prince Kunter arrives at First Star Palace. A healer with faith as profound as mine in my prime.”
“Oh? That’s wonderful.”
“Aye. Once Gotberg gets a proper scolding from him, he’ll shrink a bit. A wind of true innovation will blow through the Medical Office.”
“Don’t forget lunch.”
His wife handed him a lunchbox. Alverich took it and set off for work.
“Good, now suture the left coronary artery there. You’re doing well.”
“Ngh, hngh.”
I was having Chloe practice surgical techniques. Obviously, we couldn’t use real patients, so I’d gotten a pig heart to teach vessel handling. She was surprisingly quick—maybe more surgeon than nurse material.
“Doctor, we appreciate your attention to the Medical Office, but is everything alright at Moonlight Palace?”
Hugo asked me mid-procedure. “The engagement ceremony—doesn’t it require preparations?”
“The engagement, huh.”
Asella’s sudden insistence on a formal ceremony now was unexpected, but her reasoning made sense. Our betrothal was arranged by our parents without any public announcement, so rumors of it being “just business” were inevitable. Dissolving the negative image of being parent-puppets would boost both her and Moonlight Palace’s standing.
‘But that’ll make the eventual breakup even messier.’
If it was a love match and we annulled it, wouldn’t that hit her image just as hard? Hmm… not sure.
Curious, I asked Rauga.
“Love betrothals among nobles? Oh yeah, they exist. Super romantic in this day and age, right? Let’s see—recently, the second son of Baron Klurk and the eldest daughter of Viscount Mernsdorf…”
Big mistake. Like loading a magazine into a machine gun.
Rauga rattled off every scrap of social gossip in seconds.
“Ah, so they do happen.”
“Totally. Society showers those couples with blessings. Everyone’s marrying for family alliances these days—kids are prime contract fodder, so heads push for strong matches.”
“Standard stuff.”
“Not super common. Even if noble kids fall for each other, families need compromises. Heard about that pair who eloped because the families wouldn’t approve? The guy got hurt crossing the swamp.”
“The eldest son of Viscount Alberta? Hit by a basilisk? He came to me.”
“You fixed his leg? Anyway, the viscount caved eventually. I was totally moved. Someday, I want a guy that passionate.”
To endure Rauga’s chatter forever, you’d need superhuman patience or be stone deaf.
“I see. So love betrothals rarely end in annulment.”
Rauga burst out laughing and playfully smacked my arm.
“Ras, you’re so naive. Love matches break as often as political ones.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Marriage is from adulthood, betrothals in the teens. Hard for both to hit adulthood together—one matures first.”
“True.”
“Then temptations hit the adult one, and boom—affair. Our age group’s got hormones raging.”
She said “our age,” but Rauga chasing gossip felt auntie-ish.
“Ah, so annulments from love betrothals aren’t that weird.”
“Nope. But why ask? Spill.”
Quick on the uptake and loose-lipped—dangerous to share more. I changed the subject.
“A noble friend’s considering annulment, worried about family shame. Good reference.”
“Reaally? Hmm.”
Rauga leaned in, peering under my chin. That piercing gaze was pure Asella.
“Something fun smells fishy…”
“Speaking of smells, I’ve got a new cleanser. Foam Cleanser—for face and hands. Gentler than soap, keeps skin moist, great scent.”
“Really? Show me!”
Distracted by the product, she forgot the annulment talk. We signed a cosmetics deal for Golden Book Palace that day. My mind eased a bit.
Our formal engagement was basically declaring a love match. Asella was now using fake romance to conquer high society. Peak business couple—fooling everyone.
I figured the adult ceremony prep would be low-stress and was heading out for afternoon rounds when—
“This is the main building. First Star Palace’s office is located… Ugh, Gotberg.”
Alverich spotted me and puffed his cheeks like a toxic toad. Palkenhain, trailing me, greeted first—with a jab.
“You look full of vigor, Bishop Alverich. Handling menial tours too? Exemplary.”
“Naturally. Unlike some, I’m physician to imperial blood—must lead by example.”
“Heh, your receding hairline leads the retreat splendidly.”
“Yours is just a bald pate.”
“My, the heat today.”
Palkenhain slyly removed his zucchetto, flaunting his full head. Alverich’s M-shaped baldness widened his forehead, veins popping.
These geezers would bicker forever.
“Hmph, meet your new colleague. Libio, newly appointed chief physician to His Highness Kunter.”
Alverich introduced the man he’d been guiding. Long hair to his chest, neatly groomed; priestly robes to his jaw.
“Greetings. I am Libio.”
Adjusting his monocle, his flat tone held no emotion.
“Libio? The Oracle Libio?”
Palkenhain reacted like he knew the name.
“So I’m called. Overly gracious for a humble priest.”
Libio nodded politely. Alverich boasted proudly.
“Sent by the Holy Kingdom as atonement for Simon’s mess. Famous for immense faith, divine power, and prophecy. Rising star there.”
The ex-Holy Kingdom man puffed his chest.
“We expect great things in the Medical Office. He’ll show true healing via divine power. Especially to you, Gotberg.”
Alverich jabbed a finger at me. Before Palkenhain retorted, Libio spoke.
“Doctor Gotberg, I presume. I’ve heard much. You heal not just with healing arts, but medicine too.”
Libio’s lips curved mechanically toward me.
“I’m lacking, but I look forward to learning. I’d love to hear about this ‘medicine’ technique too.”
Polite enough, but no urge to shake hands.
“Hmph.”
Simple reason.
The Oracle Priest Libio. I knew this face well.
‘Emperor’s assassin.’
He was the true culprit behind the upcoming imperial assassination.
‘Simon exited early, so this guy debuts sooner.’
Originally, he’d arrive in two years. Polite words hid emotionless evil behind a machine smile.
Diagnosis
[Status: Borderline Personality Disorder]
[Status: Addiction]
Not a shred of sincerity in Libio’s words. His infiltration of the Imperial Medical Office aimed solely at massive chaos and destruction. He’d masqueraded as normal his whole life for one cataclysmic moment.
‘The emperor won’t live long anyway.’
But Libio escalates it deliberately.
‘The assassination framed our family. Gotberg’s downfall trigger.’
Fooling even me with saintly facade and top-tier healing—pure evil.
“Priest Libio.”
I replied.
“You’ve come to the Medical Office too early. Or should I say… too late?”
My faction already dominated. No room for freeloaders.