Surviving My Half-Sister (4) - 14. After That Day
After that day, the counseling office never returned to its old chaotic state.
There was still a line, of course.
But everyone stood quietly now.
The maid at the end of the line fidgeted with her hands nervously.
Just a few days ago, it had been utter pandemonium.
When had it changed like this?
She pondered deeply.
Thinking back, it wasn't a completely sudden shift.
It started with one person.
"So why do I have to stand in line?"
A blonde lady whose name she didn't know.
She'd been irritable while waiting, acting like the very idea of queuing was an insult.
But after being called in and coming back out, her reaction was entirely different.
"You're right—standing in line does make sense, doesn't it?"
A meek voice.
She even bowed politely toward the closed counseling room door before leaving.
The next day was similar.
"You mean I might not get in even after lining up? That doesn't make any sense!"
A silver-haired lady griping at the front.
She emerged from her session all demure and said,
"It's up to the counselor to decide whom to see as a guest."
And today.
The overall atmosphere had changed.
No one was complaining upfront like before.
Well, precisely speaking, there were still some.
But now those ladies were the ones stepping up to organize the line.
"We should all follow the rules, right?"
"We have to do as the counselor says."
The maid was staring blankly at the scene when—
Tap tap—
Someone touched her shoulder.
Turning around, she saw a noble lady in lace gloves standing there with a hesitant expression.
"...This is where we line up, right?"
"Y-yes! That's correct!"
The maid hurriedly bowed at the waist.
She wasn't her lady, but a noble was a noble.
When one approached and spoke so closely, her body stiffened like this.
The noble lady took her place behind her.
Soon, other noble ladies gathered one by one behind her.
No one voiced complaints.
Standing in line had already become the accepted norm.
Ding-a-ling—
The familiar bell rang as the counseling office door opened.
The counselor scanned the front of the line.
"You, and this lady here."
The two called ladies looked satisfied.
His gaze slowly moved backward.
And met the maid's eyes.
"And finally, that one there."
The maid blinked twice.
"...M-me?"
The counselor nodded.
Then he approached quietly and whispered so only she could hear,
"You've been coming for days now, haven't you? Thank you."
Thump.
Her heart jumped at those words.
What was this?
So he'd been watching her all this time?
Her face grew strangely hot.
The maid quickly bowed her head.
"...N-no, not at all...."
Her voice barely came out.
Her cheeks flushed in an instant.
She couldn't lift her gaze as she entered the counseling office.
If she did, everyone would see right through her.
They'd see this pounding heart from that one kind word.
I looked down at the line from the window.
The orderly queue was dispersing quickly.
The departing guests looked regretful.
But no one was venting frustration or protesting like before.
Fleur Viscountess had played evangelist, for one.
And I'd deliberately taken in the rowdy troublemakers midway through,
"Hypnosis snap—."
That had helped.
Now the issue was elsewhere....
"The maids have really thinned out."
Before, most of the line had been maids.
Regulars centered around Marie and Lize.
They'd practically built this counseling office.
Now, one or two squeezed among the ladies was the best we got.
The reason was obvious.
Line up, and there were nobles in front and behind.
Waiting in the same queue on equal footing must feel burdensome.
Thinking about it, I felt a bit guilty.
Lately, I'd focused my care on the nobles.
They might feel pushed out entirely.
"Should I expand the place someday and split into courses?"
Counseling courses.
And massage courses just for loosening muscles.
I could hire staff for those and make it work....
I set aside the thought and opened my notebook.
Today's clients: two ladies, one maid.
The maid was typical—overwork, sleep deprivation, muscle aches, etc.
The problem was the ladies.
Headaches.
Yesterday, the day before—every single one without exception.
All the ladies except Chloe had the same symptom.
"...Isn't this a bit much?"
No matter how I thought about it, something was off.
Symptoms too skewed to one side.
It was funny that a non-doctor like me was digging deeper, but....
"There is something going on."
I closed the notebook.
I'd look into it properly later.
Not something I could do right now.
...And it wasn't like I was hurting or anything.
In front of the mirror.
As the maid fixed my hair, I frowned at my brow.
A stabbing pain inside my head.
This damn persistent headache.
At first, I'd brushed it off.
Social season fatigue was common.
I'd thought making a fuss over it was for ordinary folk.
But the pain didn't fade.
If anything, it worsened day by day.
I finally called a doctor.
The body of Duke Sinclair's eldest daughter was more precious than anyone's, so the most reputable one.
But his response was pathetic.
"It's overwork."
Overwork.
What a convenient word.
Cause unknown? Blame overwork.
Perfect cover for incompetence.
"Miss, the tea party is about to begin...."
"As scheduled."
I took a deep breath, composing my expression.
I couldn't skip the tea party anymore.
That would spread worse rumors than just being unwell.
I had no intention of becoming fodder for petty gossip.
The tea party venue was as usual.
Familiar faces, familiar smiles.
As I entered, parting them like the Red Sea, one waiting lady asked cautiously,
"Is your health any better?"
Some baron's daughter, probably.
No memorable name meant she was no better than common blood.
"...Somewhat."
I slowly turned my gaze.
Faces pressing temples, barely smiling.
Faces with eyes closed against the pain.
Seeing them made it less unpleasant.
I wasn't the only one suffering.
But today was different.
Everyone looked relaxed.
Casual laughter over the tea party's vapid chatter.
My stomach twisted suddenly.
Why?
Why was I the only one still like this?
"I'm glad to see everyone looking so well."
I swallowed the thought of you all looked half-dead before and tossed out a light comment.
"Oh, you mean that?"
One lady perked up at my words.
Sparkling eyes.
A face free of pain, like a bad tooth pulled.
Infuriating.
"There's this counseling office in a back alley."
Counseling office.
That topic again.
From the maids.
From the social circles.
Rumors ringing in my ears nonstop lately.
"Going there eases the headaches a lot. The counsel—he said I worry too much."
"I heard something similar. And they say Lady Chloe Levantia goes too."
"...Lady Levantia does?"
My grip tightened on the teacup at that name.
Of all people, her.
Not someone I could dismiss lightly.
Always living up to her name in society.
That made it grate even more.
If even she was going, I couldn't write it off as mere gossip.
"The line is a bit much, but the results are real."
The ladies laughed lightly.
Relaxed laughter.
I couldn't join in.
A nail drove into my temple again.
And besides. A line?
Don't you all know how pathetic you look?
But I had no leisure to say it.
This head-crushing pain made even keeping my eyes open a chore.
The next morning.
I donned a plainer coat than usual.
Not the family carriage either.
A rented one.
Minimal measures to seal unnecessary lips.
Forcing me to come to a dump like this.
I scowled as I stepped down from the carriage.
A shabby alley.
Damp stone pavement.
Unkempt buildings.
No place for people to linger.
A line already stood before the rumored counseling office.
I halted.
Familiar faces.
Things that once debated elegance at social gatherings, now waiting their turn.
No shame at all?
...Of course, I wasn't much different, sneaking to the end.
"Oh, it's over."
"Too bad—shall we come back next time?"
"...They say leaving a gift increases your chances of being called."
The ladies chattered.
I kept my head down to avoid notice.
Feeling it quiet down, I looked up— the line was gone.
...What?
Where'd they all go?
I shrugged it off and approached.
Then I saw a man hanging a sign from inside.
Today's counseling is closed.
My steps stopped.
Closed?
After I came all this way?
Rented carriage, plain coat, trudging through this pathetic alley.
All for nothing over a wooden sign?
I wanted to argue on the spot.
Invoke the family name, crush this lowly shop owner.
But.
The moment I did, word would spread that I'd come here.
Rumors of Duke Sinclair's eldest throwing a fit in front of a back-alley office.
That was worse than any headache.
I gritted my teeth.
Go back.
Just bad luck today.
Come again next time.
...Come again? To this place?
I loathed myself.
As I turned to leave—
The man hanging the sign caught my eye.
Black hair.
Nothing like the vivid red of the Sinclair line.
Just looking stirred unpleasant memories.
Father's study.
A shabby shadow in the corner.
The name Mother wouldn't even utter.
...No way.
The man turned.
Our eyes met.
"......"
"......"
Time froze.
A face I could never forget.
The blemish that should have been erased from the family.
Isaac Sinclair.
Of all places, here.