Surviving My Half-Sister (1) 11

A few days had passed.

Ever since I let slip the words "my one and only Chloe," the distance between us had noticeably shrunk.

"Teacher, I hope you're doing well today as always?"

Ding-a-ling—

She entered as usual, her vibrant blonde hair swaying brightly.

Normally, it was just "teacher."

It was a relief that "my Isaac" didn't come up every time—my heart wouldn't have been able to take it.

But something about her looked different from usual.

I took a closer look, and there it was.

A vivid black ribbon pinned to one side of her hair.

It stood out starkly against her golden blonde locks.

She gazed at me with eyes full of expectation.

I knew what she wanted without her saying it.

She was asking if I noticed anything different.

The problem was, this was subtly tricky.

—Oppa, do I look any different?

—Yeah, you put on a ribbon.

—Oh, so you do notice.

In my imagination, my girlfriend would pout and storm home after that.

...Was it just me?

The ribbon was blatantly placed to catch the eye, so noticing it was obvious.

But I had to come up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with something more than that.

What kind of compliments could you even give someone who showed up wearing a ribbon?

Well, I had to improvise something.

I'd decided to play the role of the Isaac from her imagination, after all.

Start with the praise.

"You look even more beautiful than usual today."

"…!"

"The elegant ribbon really brings it all together, making you stand out even more."

"……!!"

Chloe's cheeks flushed faintly.

Her lips twitched upward, but she tried to suppress it.

It must have been a better response than she'd hoped for.

"Wh-what about the color? Does it suit me?"

"Yes."

I had no idea if it actually suited her.

But compliments always worked on someone weak to them.

"I went to a tea party the other day."

The conversation began over tea.

Drinking from the teacup she'd gifted me, with the tea leaves she'd gifted, brewed by her own hands, as I listened to her stories.

...Come to think of it, I wasn't sure what in this counseling office wasn't hers anymore.

Ah, the sofa—I bought that one.

I'd defend this one at all costs.

It felt like she was gradually encroaching on my territory.

"Marchioness Ceylon served tea again."

"Oh, that awful tea?"

"I never said it was awful."

I was pretty sure she had.

She looked ready to sulk if I argued, so I quietly sipped my tea.

"...I wonder what you really think of me, teacher. I'm a proper countess's lady outside, you know."

It was hard to respond, so I just took another sip.

She smiled brightly again and continued.

"The lady next to me kept striking up conversations."

Then she gave me a sidelong glance.

She wasn't trying to stir jealousy toward some random lady, so it was probably just casual talk.

Still, I should ask.

"May I ask what you talked about?"

"Just ordinary things. She said I seemed brighter lately, asked if I was going somewhere nice."

"I see."

It was a dry response, but she didn't seem disappointed.

After showing her the everyday version she wanted, normal chit-chat stayed just that—normal.

But I clearly remembered.

That chilling gaze as she memorized every item's position.

Worried about any possibilities, I said,

"To your eyes, a toast."

A cringey line out of nowhere.

Chloe froze upon hearing it.

Mid-sip, teacup in hand.

She blinked her aquamarine eyes a few times, then,

"...Oh my."

A soft exclamation escaped her.

Her eyes rimmed red, she closed them as if savoring my line.

"Hearing that..."

Her voice trembled.

"I really am a happy person."

"……."

Seeing her react so intensely to someone else's line left me feeling oddly awkward.

But if it made her happy, that was good.

I wasn't sure how long I could keep this up with borrowed words, though.

After that day's session ended.

I saw Chloe off with a satisfied smile, then flopped onto the sofa.

"...These famous lines really hit the mark."

In reality, I'd get cold stares for lines like that.

But in this world, they worked weirdly well.

What was it? People's thinking revolved around romance?

As expected from a romance fantasy—reactions were different.

"I don't remember the original story well anyway."

I barely recalled what the original plot was.

I'd read the first volume for free.

Being a romance novel aimed at women, I couldn't push through to the end.

The protagonist and the villainess lady.

Their names might ring a bell if I heard them.

But without hearing them directly, it was hopeless.

"I wonder how the plot unfolds."

No matter how hard I tried, nothing came to mind.

Having only read martial arts novels before, that figured.

But one thing was certain.

It was a pretty famous work.

Dozens of volumes, even a webtoon adaptation.

So that meant events on that scale would happen in this world.

"...Probably got nothing to do with me."

The ones handling the original story were over there.

I was just the duke's fourth son who might not even appear.

Chloe didn't come every day.

She had her social season duties and such.

No matter how obsessive she was, a countess's lady couldn't frequent a rundown alley daily.

On days she didn't come, the counseling office was business as usual.

Pick three from the line of maids.

Hypnosis—snap.

Knead knead.

Done.

But today, a familiar face was in line.

"……."

Tall stature. Maid uniform. Not a single wrinkle in her attire.

Helen, the head maid of the Levantia countess family.

She stood out clearly from the other maids in line.

No one dared stand right behind her, leaving a natural gap of one person's space.

Splitting the line with sheer dignity.

It reminded me of Chloe, direction aside—kind of funny.

Anyway, I included Helen in today's three, counseled the first two first.

Snoooore—

Knead knead.

Snoooooore—

Squeeze squeeze.

After sending off the second maid, I opened the door, and Helen entered with precise steps.

I sat on the opposite sofa and opened as usual.

"Shall we begin, then?"

Before she even sat, Helen spoke.

"That's not why I'm here."

"...Pardon?"

Her seated posture wasn't her usual counseling stance.

Straight-backed, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠businesslike.

Not the air of someone here for a session.

She pulled something from her bosom.

A single letter.

A faint fragrance wafted from the neatly folded stationery.

The wax seal bore the Levantia family crest.

"From the young lady."

"……."

I took the letter.

Even holding it conveyed the luxurious paper texture.

I broke the wax seal and unfolded it.

Neat handwriting.

Textbook-perfect script.

The content hit my heart from the first line.

What the hell.

This thing I'm reading right now—what is it.

My face burned.

Content I'd never dreamed of seeing in my lifetime.

Every line was a critical hit.

Could I survive if I stopped here?

I swallowed a sigh and set the letter down.

Then I felt a silent gaze from across.

Helen stared at me with an expressionless face.

No movement in her mouth or eyes.

Not a word—just her gaze saying,

Read it to the end.

"…………."

I picked up the letter again.

My face was on fire.

My hands trembled faintly as I folded it.

I barely managed to place it on the table.

Awkward silence.

Helen remained in the same posture.

I cleared my throat with effort.

"Did you... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know the contents?"

"Yes."

A sharp reply.

"The young lady asked me to confirm it several times."

Screeeeech.

A scream erupted inside me.

Several times? That meant she'd read "the star in my heart" multiple times.

Just kill me.

I wanted to shove the letter into a corner.

Anyway, I'd read it all, so time to start the session.

But Helen didn't budge.

She sat motionless on the sofa.

Her business was done, yet no sign of leaving.

"Um."

"Yes."

"You've delivered it, so... you can go now."

"?"

Helen blinked in confusion.

As if I'd said something nonsensical.

"I need to receive a reply first."

"……!!!"

I'm writing a love letter right now.

For the first time in my life.

With another woman watching.

"……."

My grip tightened on the pen.

What the hell was I supposed to write.

Thank you for the letter. I've received Lady Chloe's feelings. I hope you stay well.

This should suffice, right? Safe, polite, no issues.

But Helen, reading over my shoulder, said,

"The expression is too weak."

"...Is it?"

"Considering the sincerity in what the young lady sent."

It wasn't her sincerity—it was my lack of any.

Anyway, I rewrote it.

Reading Lady Chloe's letter warmed my heart. I look forward to sharing tea next time. Of course, brewed by Lady Chloe herself.

Helen read it.

Looked at me.

"Too weak. You are the 'star in her heart,' so match that..."

Screeeeech.

Star of the heart.

Match the star of the heart, she says.

Of course I planned to act, but.

Honestly, star of the heart was a stretch, wasn't it?

Setting aside everything else, without a romance brain, it was impossible.

Then Helen briefly looked away.

As if recalling something from before.

Helen tucked the letter into her bosom and thought quietly.

...What was so great about it.

Of course, from the counseling stories, he seemed better than expected.

But did he match the young lady?

She pictured the counselor briefly.

A man with neat black hair.

His looks weren't bad.

"Ahem."

His manners were... frivolous, perhaps.

Not lowborn, but not formally educated either.

Yet during counseling, he'd speak with such refined poise it dazed her.

"Ahem."

Yes. He changed during sessions.

That warm listening attitude.

The warmth from his fingertips.

That strange urge to care for him while relying on him...

"Ahem."

"Huh? Helen, what are you thinking?"

"Nothing, young lady."

Concluding he was surprisingly good, yet feeling a twinge of regret, Helen boarded the carriage.

Her gaze, which had drifted to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠void in thought, returned to me.

She'd seen Chloe acting like a lovestruck girl firsthand.

Her standards were high as a result.

"You could use more passionate expressions toward a lady."

Helen said calmly.

"Like wanting to hold her right now."

"Th-that's a bit..."

"Then try being the 'star of her heart.'"

Can't you just write it for me?

...I couldn't say that, so I picked up the pen, utterly drained.

Cringey lines piled up, one, two.

My fingers trembled with each word.

Screams echoed nonstop inside.

But to pass Helen's stone-faced inspection, no choice.

Finally.

"...Done."

I folded the letter.

Exhausted.

Three sessions would've been better.

I handed her the folded letter; she tucked it politely into her bosom.

"I'll deliver it without fail."

I sighed in relief.

Finally over.

Letter done, this torture ended.

Once she left, I could collapse into bed and rest thoughtlessly.

But.

Helen didn't stand.

Letter secured, still seated on the sofa.

Gaze fixed on me, waiting.

"Um."

"Yes."

"Aren't you going to deliver it?"

"?"

Helen tilted her head, as if I'd said something bizarre.

"I don't understand."

Then, as if it were obvious, she said,

"I need counseling too."

Ah.

Right, she did.