God, I Want to Fall in Love
Time passed, and the day the household staff were scheduled to arrive at the mansion drew near.
I sat on the outdoor terrace off the study, at a small sun-drenched table, newspaper spread open, and took a sip of coffee.
I'd asked the bank branch manager about it last time. He said it had come over from the southeastern continent.
Must be the beans from a hot climate. The aroma's rich, and it tastes great.
Still, it was missing that last little something. Maybe I hadn't shaken a modern palate — I found myself missing those sweet instant coffee mixes. If I stirred in some sugar and milk, would that get me close enough?
I was lost in those idle thoughts when I glanced through the glass and caught sight of Mariel sweeping inside the study.
Once the servants poured in, this wide, empty mansion would get noisy and chaotic. I liked the quiet, so the peaceful days of just Mariel and me hadn't been so bad...
No. I was the only one enjoying it.
Just thinking about Mariel struggling to care for this huge mansion all by herself made my conscience sting. I didn't do a damn thing, after all.
As a reward for her hard work — and more than that, as a friend rather than a master — I thought we could share a little tea time. We still had the tea set left, and Mariel had probably never tried this coffee.
"Mariel?"
At my call, she stopped sweeping and looked up.
"Yes, Master."
I smiled and gave a little wave.
"Come here. Sit down. Have a cup of coffee."
She propped the broom against the wall and stepped out onto the terrace.
"Yeah. That chair over—"
Before I could even finish, she picked up the empty chair across from me and planted it smack against the seat right beside mine. Then she sat down demurely.
Her cheeks were faintly flushed as she looked up at me and whispered,
"Sitting like this... I thought it would be easier to pour coffee into your cup, Master."
"Uh, uhh... r-right?"
Having her sit so close all of a sudden made my face heat up. Warm. Flushed. Was it the spring air? Why was it so hot?
Mariel lifted the pot and filled my empty cup.
"Thanks."
She naturally tilted the pot toward her own empty cup.
"Ah, wait! Hold on!"
I hurriedly reached out, and Mariel froze.
"Yes? What's the matter?"
I took the pot from her hands.
"You're not supposed to pour your own."
It was a shallow bit of etiquette I'd picked up from seniors at drinking parties, back before I dropped out of college in my previous life. I filled her cup.
"Th-thank you..."
She lifted the cup demurely. The moment she took a sip, saucer in hand—
"Eugh...!"
Mariel's eyes went wide, then her lips twitched.
"Ah, too bitter after all? Here, try some of this sugar."
I quickly pushed the sugar bowl toward her.
"Thank you."
Mariel scooped sugar with a spoon, stirred it into her coffee, and took another sip. This time her brow smoothed out and a smile spread across her face.
"I-it's delicious...!"
"Glad it suits your taste. Drink as much as you like."
And so we chatted, conversation blooming easily between us.
Then a spring breeze drifted in from far away, and her platinum hair scattered on the wind. Mariel swept the stray strands aside with a delicate hand, and I found myself staring at her, dazed. It was like watching the heroine of a classic romance — framed in that single, perfect shot.
Her emerald eyes met mine.
"...Is there something on my face?"
Flustered, Mariel hurriedly pulled a small handkerchief from her pocket, turned her head, and wiped the corner of her mouth.
"Ah, no. It's nothing. I just..."
It was an impure thought, but even her figure — filling out that large, loose maid uniform until the bodice pulled taut — was something else. Mariel's a viscount's daughter, after all. This was the age when she should have been in the thick of the social season, enjoying romances with all those well-bred young lords. What was loyalty even worth, that she'd grind her youth away in this backwater and take on hardship of her own free will? Looks-wise, she could blow every other heroine in every other story out of the water. She was too much of a catch to be stuck in a place like this.
Those impressions of her circled through my mind.
"She really is beautiful."
Yeah. I genuinely thought so.
"...Pardon?"
She set down her cup and asked, looking completely blank.
"Huh?"
"......"
Silence. As if they'd made a pact, we both clamped our mouths shut and just blinked at each other.
Wait.
I watched the flush race from Mariel's pale throat all the way up to her cheeks in an instant.
"Uh, uhh...?!"
Did I just say that out loud? To her face?
"N-n-no! That's not what I— I mean...! Y-you are pretty, but...!"
Cold sweat pouring, I waved my hands frantically.
"I-I mean! A beauty like you is too gorgeous to spend her life as a maid — like your youth is being wasted! Th-that's what I meant. Don't you think so?!"
I watched her reaction, my insides burning with anxiety. I'm going insane. I wanted to build the image of a proper, dignified noble. This was a perfect way to get mistaken for a pervert harboring dirty thoughts about the maid who was trying to repay her family's kindness, living alone together in a mansion...! Not that saying something that embarrassing in the first place hadn't already blown it.
Then—
"M-Master, you..."
Mariel's face was bright red. She kept her head bowed, fidgeting with her fingers, and mumbled in a voice so small it nearly vanished.
"You're... handsome too, Master..."
"Ah..."
The strange pink atmosphere her shy counterattack had created hung in the air. I scratched my cheek awkwardly.
"Th-thanks..."
Silence fell again. It was awkward enough to kill me.
Then she broke the ice first.
"Sh-shall I... clear the cups...?"
"Y-yeah... please."
Mariel gathered the tea set with her face still buried and burning red, then fled the terrace. Only after the study door closed did I let out the breath I'd been half-holding.
"Haaaaah...!"
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart was pounding. A strange, unfamiliar feeling — like a feather tickling the inside of my stomach. I collapsed onto the table.
"...Must be the spring."
I wanted to fall in love.
But what even was dating? In my previous life I didn't even know what it was. I just stared at stock charts, drowning in money games, then drank myself to a pathetic death. And now, in this body, I still didn't have a clue. Either way, it was a life with zero connection to romance. Previous life had, sadly, an appearance problem. This life had a debt problem.
...Wait. I'm not making excuses.
I wasn't ugly.
It wasn't so bad you couldn't stand to look at me. I just had a plain, unremarkable face. No charm. On top of that, I got a taste of money at a young age, got my head turned, and never had the bandwidth for dating. It's true. I swear it is.
Anyway.
"Mariel..."
If I were to date someone... what about her? Setting charm aside, if you judged by character, there was no one like Mariel. Dating someone like her. Just imagining it was so intoxicating the corners of my mouth twitched into a smile.
...Should I confess for real?
"Ugh!"
The thought sent a chill down my spine. I shook my head. Come on, you lunatic. Even so, that's not okay. Confessing to a good kid who came all the way out to this backwater just to help the family that had shown her kindness? I was a lord and a noble, for crying out loud. Could she even openly say she wasn't interested and refuse? That was some kind of abuse-of-power whatever-you-called-it.
Previous life plus this one, my combined age was over forty. Had my mindset gone full midlife crisis? Have some self-awareness. Metacognition, please. I could swagger all I wanted about handling a bit of money, but I was just a landowner in a rural backwater who had barely scraped out of bankruptcy.
"...Though the looks are decent enough, I guess."
I slipped off the terrace and into the study, and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. Pale skin from living like a noble who avoided the sun, a fairly tall and well-proportioned frame, and a reasonably handsome face stared back.
Objectively, it's not an ugly face. Mariel was probably just being polite.
Even a kind girl would turn red having to say something that embarrassing.
"Sigh. Dating, my ass. I need to make seed money."
I dropped into the chair at the desk and skimmed through the pile of territory documents, approving what needed approval and writing reasons for what I was sending back.
"Ugh... I don't wanna do this..."
At least the debt-related paperwork was gone, so it was down by half. But this was my job. Mariel handling all of it until now — that had been the abnormal part.
Hold on. Come to think of it, wouldn't it be weird if Mariel didn't hate me? Household labor for the mansion, plus territory management and administrative work. I'd practically dumped all of it on her. ...The fact that I'm still alive might be thanks to Mariel's mercy.
A knock came through the study door, followed by Mariel's voice.
"Master. There's someone at the front gate who says they wish to see you."
"Hm? Have the servants arrived already?"
"No, I don't think they're servants. Their appearance... looked wealthy."
"...Who is it? I don't have any appointments. What's there to see in a backwater like this?"
Mariel hesitated for a moment.
"He introduced himself as Heath Vesmont. He also asked me to convey that he was terribly sorry for not sending a request to visit, as he came in haste, wishing to see you urgently."
"......"
It felt like my heart plunged through the floor. My whole body went cold. My trembling lips moved.
"Just now... who did you say?"
"Lord Heath Vesmont."
"......"
Oh, fuck.
Am I... going to die?
That was a mistake. I should have warned Mariel in advance...!
"That guy... d-did he come alone?"
"Yes. Aside from the carriage and the coachman, he was alone."
What's he plotting? Heath Vesmont. The real power of House Vesmont — a ducal family that ran the Empire's major corporations — and its vice chairman. A heavyweight like that had no reason to come to this backwater to meet a mere baron who'd been on the verge of bankruptcy. He must've investigated the profits I made from Rachel Mining.
I opened the drawer and took out a magitech pistol, slipped it into my coat's inner pocket, then put the coat on. ...He came alone, but there's no telling what that psycho might do.
Fine. Since it's come to this, I might as well get a look at that bastard's face.
"Show him to the drawing room."