009: A Storm Had Swept Through, Leaving Only Silence in Its Wake
3. Getting caught sleeping from the first class and trash-talking the professor like a ranked game savage.
A storm had swept through, leaving only silence in its wake. The acrid smell of burning trash and the incessant chirp of crickets. Beneath it all, a pink-haired saintess stared blankly at the empty sky.
Lily gazed down at the half-eaten jerky in her hand.
The afterimage of that storm-like man who'd been here just moments ago wouldn't fade. A guy who'd never registered in her previous life, suddenly popping up in this second one.
...Why on earth?
Question marks chained endlessly in her mind.
Why would he go that far for me?
It was too perfectly timed to dismiss as coincidence. The moment Crown Prince Louis appeared, Kasian had raised his voice as if he'd been waiting, announcing his presence. It felt exactly like a signal for her to slip away right then.
And another thing.
Besides... he knew.
Lily's eyes trembled faintly. Kasian had pinpointed her desire to avoid the crown prince.
Impossible.
At this point in time, rumors of discord between the crown prince and his fiancée Elisia von Rosenberg were only whispered in shadows. The fact that Saintess Lily was the cause? That was known to only a tiny circle even within the imperial court.
By her past life's timeline, no one should know until a massive scandal broke in a few months.
Yet this bumpkin noble fresh from some rural estate knew?
...Ah!
In that instant, a flash of realization streaked through Lily's mind.
Right. His father is Palace Count Corinth del Parne!
The name Parne hadn't clicked because the image was so mismatched. The empire's shadow, the emperor's eyes and ears. Corinth del Parne, the king of information.
Suddenly, a hypothesis dawned on Lily.
All the rumors of Kasian's eccentricities. Posing as a barbarian, his antics at Victory Day, slacking in class, and that clownish performance just now.
What if it was all meticulously calculated camouflage?
As the second son of Corinth the Palace Count, he'd draw heavy suspicion, so he was deliberately playing the brainless hick?
"Good lord..."
Chills prickled her skin; she hugged her arms—then froze.
"But... he didn't seem like the type...?"
Recalling the loose pants he wore, she let her hands slide back down.
Given Corinth the Palace Count's obsessiveness and precision, it was logical to assume Kasian's every move was an act.
But Lily's gut strongly rejected the sudden whim.
Crown Prince Louis draped her in burdensome titles like "noble saintess" or "my savior" every time he saw her. His eyes gleamed with possessiveness and obsession; even his polite speech choked her.
The other noblemen were the same. Dazzled by her saintess halo or scheming to use her as a power tool.
But Kasian was different. Utterly indifferent, even rude. He'd laughed off her calling him a barbarian on first meeting, tossed her jerky, and scolded her to eat it with her hands.
Could you fake that?
Not by her common sense.
"Tricky... really."
Even combining her past life and pre-regression one, this was a first.
His curt, prickly speech shouldn't have charmed, yet his rudeness didn't sting. Instead...
...It feels freeing.
Treating her not as a saintess, but a hungry kid. That gruff care, no strings attached, just "eat up and get going."
These novel actions comforted her like nothing before.
"Rude, but kind."
That bizarre contradiction tickled a corner of her heart.
Lily propped her chin on the bench and sighed deeply. Sentimentality brought a wave of guilt.
"If I'd known he was hiding because of the rumors... I should've warned him sooner."
What she'd planned to tell Kasian was about his new nickname, added after Professor Iris's first class yesterday.
'Parne's Ignoramus.'
A slur meaning "unlearned oaf"—and aimed at a Parne, no less. Overtly malicious, childish. Unprecedented in high society to bury someone with such crude phrasing.
Proof the nobles had made him their whipping boy.
Yet the guy himself was casually haunting the incinerator site.
"I've only received help... and done nothing in return..."
Lily's shoulders slumped.
"Of course... telling him wouldn't help much. But he deserved a heads-up..."
Then.
Tap, tap.
Something persistently poked her side. Lily wiped her teary eyes and turned.
A squirrel. The one that had shared her jerky from Kasian earlier.
...Ah.
Lily smiled faintly.
"You trying to comfort me 'cause I look sad?"
Beasts better than people, huh? Touched, she reached out gingerly.
"Sorry. I got too mopey alone? Thanks..."
Just as her hand neared to pet it—
Whoosh!
The squirrel nimbly dodged.
"Huh?"
It approached again, pawing her thigh harder. Then extended a paw demandingly. Its bright eyes sent a clear message.
Quit the sob story. Hand it over. Nicely now.
"..."
Lily blankly eyed the jerky pouch on her lap. Glancing back, a rabbit had joined the squirrel sniffing eagerly; a sparrow perched on a branch, watching her.
Not comfort. Organized extortion.
"Ah..."
Lily pouted.
"You're too much..."
She clutched the pouch to her chest.
"I gotta survive on this today too..."
But the squirrel held firm, chittering threats like 'Gonna share or nah?'
In the end.
Saintess Lily, shoulders hunched like she bore the empire's fate, tremblingly tore off a piece.
"O-okay... here. I'm giving."
Crunch, crunch. The animals' munching sounded annoyingly cheerful.
The moment I stepped through the mansion door, instinct made me tug my collar tight.
Spring weather, yet Siberian gales howled in the entry hall.
No usual "Welcome home, young master! Snacks are sweet potatoes today!" from Aunt Marie.
Ah. Wait, there she was. Peeking from behind a pillar, shaking her head with the world's saddest face.
Aunt Marie telepathed: 'Young master, can't cover for you this time. Play dead.'
...Why the funeral expression? Spooking me.
Bad vibes. Then old Alfred slinked up, mourning director style.
"Aigoo... Why'd you do it, young master."
"...Big trouble?"
"Big? You said big?"
Alfred chuckled hollowly. Deep shadows creased his wrinkled face.
"No clues?"
"..."
I rubbed my chin, seriously scanning my brain logs. Today's karma list.
1. Yelling "Please kill me!" while prostrating before the crown prince, then trash-talking the Guard Captain's daughter. Kinda major.
2. Not today, but yesterday—locked eyes with the Duke's daughter Elisia and bolted. She won't blab; too embarrassing.
3. Caught napping first class, trash-talking the prof like a ranked game savage. Looks bad, but nah. Fixed it, solved the problem. Dad loves my genius vibes, right?
"...Nah?"
Maybe not. Damn. Too many options; can't pick the winner. Multiple choice hell—no reading the setter's mind.
"...Not sure since there's more than one."
"Haa..."
Alfred sighed like the earth cracked. Taking my coat and bag, he intoned gravely, like farewelling a convict.
"Go up. Master awaits."
"Hey, old man. Human advice: bolt out the back to the estate now—smart move?"
"Yes. Very big trouble. Might feed you to the hounds."
"Wha—"
Rock solid. Dragged to slaughter like a cow, I trudged with leaden steps.
Thud, thud. Stairs to the second floor felt steeper today. My precious potato field shimmered in my mind.
Ah, potato blossoms blooming. Should've watered once more.
Before the family head's office. Deep breath, knock.
Knock knock.
"Enter."
Surprisingly calm voice. But why did that low, heavy bass sound so lethal?
Creeeak—
Opening the door, Father's back faced me, gazing out the window. Sunset shadows stretched grotesquely across the room.
Door shut; he turned slowly.
"You're here."
"Yes, Father. You called?"
Maximum politeness, innocent face, navel-bow executed.
Corinth leaned on the desk, arms crossed.
"What's with that uniform?"
Forgot the extra reason groveling wouldn't work. His gaze scanned me head to toe.
No. Is this how a dad eyes his kid? Speaking up would hasten my doom.
Yeah. Right.
"Heard a bizarre rumor."
"Rumor? Oh, me eating a lot? Growth spurt. Twenty's prime time. Yes."
"Open insubordination to a professor? Nearly expelled?"
"...!"
Ah, that!
Not the crown prince clowning! The prof clash?
Clean solve, though. Iris said "Correct." Good results whitewash processes.
Relief sigh swallowed; shoulders relaxed.
Phew, saved. Potatoes secure.
Expulsion dodged in the report, so Dad's probably 'Not bad, kid.' internally. Prime time.
Innocent outrage tone: "Oh, that? Insubordination? Just heated academic debate; voice got loud. Prof acknowledged my skill."
"Skill?"
One eyebrow twitched.
"Yes. Skill..."
Finger tapped desk. Tap, tap. Pace quickened; my heart raced in sync.
"And now it's academy-wide gossip. Overnight, from barbarian starving fool to Parne's Ignoramus."
"...Pardon?"
Blank stare. Ignoramus? No-learning ignoramus?
"No learning? I solved it! Nailed it so hard prof was speechless!"
"You idiot!!"
BAM!
Father slammed the desk.
"Napping before class starts, challenging prof's authority, daily noble etiquette void—that's ignoramus!"
Hm. Spot on. No false rumors.
Damn ink-snob bastards. Nailed the phrasing.
Then.
Father's right hand gripped the crystal ashtray. Blue veins bulged on his hand.
Wait. That grip ain't casual. Index and middle spread, wrapping the edge—that hold.
"No, Father! Talk it out! Not that! Hit with it and I'm dead! Your son dies!"
"Shut up."
WHOOSH—!
Heavy crystal tore air toward my face. In that split second, I admired the ashtray's trajectory at my brow.
Spin on it. Sharp slider curving in.
Problem: I'm the catcher, no helmet, glove, gear—bare.
...Whoa, control's insane.
CRACK!
"Gahk!"