The Key Under the Flowerpot
Laval was proving he was always that kind of man. With a smile plastered across his face, he was trying to explain a reasonable justification for nabbing Count Orlan as our first target.
Of course, it was a pretty tempting pitch from my perspective too. I just needed a "target to smash" regardless of whether the charges were trumped up or not. But Laval, thinking along the same lines as me, had gone one step further and found a pretext that would hold up publicly.
So naturally, I had to hear what it was.
"Let's start from the beginning. All the crap you're dealing with right now is because you got hit with that prepaid rent scam, right?"
I hated even thinking about it. But how could something be so blatantly obvious?
I didn't want to fight anymore—that's why I'd chosen retirement. Yet here I was, forced back into it. And that was entirely Orlan's fault.
"As you know, the Orlan count family is a prestigious central noble house whose lineage doesn't pale in comparison to us Lagranges."
Laval adjusted the Inspection Corps badge on his chest and continued.
"So why would a guy like that resort to a prepaid rent scam?"
"Because they thought we'd get our asses handed to us, so they invested in military supplies betting on it, right?"
"—Exactly. No matter how prestigious they are, basing everything on the defeat of a hero appointed by the emperor's will? Greed is one thing, but that's not something you can pretty up. It's a blatant mistake that can't be spun any other way."
"Treason."
"Right. Treason."
And the moment I heard that, it clicked.
Aha! So it wasn't some frame job after all. To outsiders, it really looked that way.
"Spot on. No need to overcomplicate it—we can just call it treason on those grounds alone."
"Perfect answer."
"There could be other possibilities... like the count having inside info, or maybe even ties to factions hoping for a failed subjugation."
"It's the perfect excuse for the Inspection Corps to bare its teeth."
Of course, having read the original story, I knew that was bullshit. There wasn't a single line in the novel about the Orlans pulling something like that.
But who the hell cares? This was straight-up rom-fantasy supply and demand. They'd unwittingly supplied the goods, and we'd spotted the demand—so now we'd sell.
Laval had handed me exactly what I'd been hoping for, complete with a shiny justification. I was genuinely touched.
But even as gratitude welled up, I hesitated to fully commit.
Thinking it over, I realized I couldn't just nod along blindly.
…….
Revenge on Count Orlan—that rush of satisfaction.
Protection for Alrun Orlan—that sense of duty.
I didn't know the full extent of the Inspection Corps' authority, but if they had imperial warrant to draw swords, uprooting a decent family should be child's play.
In that case...
"Laval, thanks for coming to fill me in first."
"No big deal. Word is you helped set up this outfit from the start. So consider this my way of repaying the favor—straight to the point, telling you the target outright. Which means... you say no, and it doesn't happen."
As if. Even if it was a hat I'd forcibly shoved on his head, it'd still do its job just fine.
I had zero interest in getting tangled up in it.
"Truth be told, I'm not in a position to call the shots, so feel free to do whatever you think best."
"Is that so."
"But."
At that, my brother fixed me with a steady gaze.
"Alrun from my class has done nothing wrong. That girl's been through hell from her father, Alfred Orlan."
"………."
"Heard she even tried to protect me from the prepaid rent scam out of respect for my service. So if the Inspection Corps' blade ends up at her throat... it just doesn't sit right. Feels off."
"You don't want that."
"Obviously. So I'm asking politely—leave her out of it."
Laval fell into thought, rubbing the sunken hollows under his eyes—a habit he'd had since way back.
"Got it. I'll make sure no sparks fly her way. Trust me."
But I wasn't sure where those boundaries lay, so it felt like an incomplete promise at best.
Today had been a real spectacle. Learning Sion was under surveillance had already weighed heavy on my heart. And now Alrun too.
Something was rippling beyond the limits of my rationality, swelling up.
I figured I should tell him about Sion's surveillance, but every time I opened my mouth, Lulua's face—the one who'd bravely tipped me off—flashed in my mind. So I swallowed my words.
"Well, I think that's everything. I'll head out. Looks like you're about to clock off anyway, and I don't want to hold you up..."
Just dropping the business and bouncing? Nah, that's pure Laval. I did pull that stunt with the emperor, so if he chewed me out now, I'd have no comeback.
Whether he sensed my thoughts or not, Laval finished up quietly, stood, and made to leave.
Seeing that, I couldn't hold back. I shot to my feet.
"Laval!"
"What, your fly open?"
"No, it's not that... Just one thing I want to ask."
I sighed and got it out.
"...I snuck into the palace alone, so why aren't you reaming me out?"
"Oh, that."
Honestly, guilt gnawed deep. A good thrashing would clear the air, but him acting like I'd just been sitting in my rightful seat made it awkward as hell.
But Laval's answer was short.
"If I was gonna chew you out, I'd have done it already."
"After I got back from the palace...?"
"Yeah. But the second I was about to dump the consequences of your stunt on my shoulders... the way our daughter and I got treated flipped completely. You think I'd chew you out after that?"
With a mischievous lilt, Laval flashed his badge.
"You made this, didn't you? No one but you."
"………."
"If the Demon King Slayer, Swordmaster of Muser, deems me fit for this badge... it'd be weirder to reprimand me."
"Laval..."
Somehow, "sorry" wouldn't come out. Seeing him so unflappable, it felt like it'd kill the vibe if I said it now.
"Just one thing, Joseph."
"Yeah."
"Don't go alone next time."
"...Got it."
"Trust me a little more from now on. Just like you try to do things for me and Sion... I'm the guy who wants to protect our family too."
Those words hit like a ton of bricks. I drowned my feelings without a word.
Back at the Professor's Residence, I cracked open a bottle.
Kreeeak—
"………."
Alrun had been clearing out my bottles and nagging me lately, turning me into a proper teetotaling uncle these days.
But tonight, I couldn't hold off. I poured a glass.
Or tried to.
"Eh, fuck it."
No need. I just swigged from the bottle.
Late into the night, just before curfew, Sion Lagrange sat in the park right by the Dormitory, gazing up at the stars.
The feel of that cute uncle's pot-lid-sized hand, which she'd slyly grabbed, still lingered vividly.
Today, her magic book had been confiscated, but becoming his official disciple had thrilled her no end.
This was just her way of savoring the day's afterglow.
Well, if it were only the good stuff, she probably wouldn't have come out here.
She'd have buried herself in her dorm bed, giggling over fantasies.
But tonight, she'd ventured out longer because—for the first time in her life—she'd stepped into her uncle's personal boundaries.
No, that was the biggest reason. Definitely.
—A boy soldier who'd endured war.
—A veteran who'd ended it.
The capital elite might see him differently, and society worshipped only his shining side.
But today, alone with her, he'd revealed an inner world far more complex than she'd imagined.
"Seeing a comrade's death through that magic book stirring up weak memories..."
She'd heard vague stories from her father and uncle about how common that was in war.
But as someone who hadn't lived it, Sion's understanding had always been abstract.
Yet seeing her uncle—who had lived it—utter the words with such utter disgust...
How had his face and emotions looked? He was deliberately playing it cool.
But it felt like if he didn't, he couldn't even process it.
A flat tone, like recounting someone else's tale. Yet his eyes trembled in a way she'd never seen, quivering with fear.
That was Sion's assessment of Joseph today: a man whose wounds fractal-layered into agony.
He looked so pitiful, so heartbreaking. To the point where she might've just wanted to hug him right there.
Sion had always burned with possessive desire for her uncle.
But had she ever once tried to uncover the reason for that decadent vulnerability?
No. Not even once.
...Embarrassing.
While her classmates all vied to get closer to him, Sion— who'd known him longest—had thought she knew and loved him best.
But really, she'd only grasped the outline of her affection. Never once peered inside.
Her pride stung.
It was fine for others, but unacceptable that she'd devoted her life to the Lagrange name, to the man who loved her—and yet been blind to his pain.
So Sion quietly resolved.
I'll dig it all up... I want you, so I'll have you. But first, I'll understand you... I'll be the first to reach the uncle no one else knows.
Where did that pain truly come from? Why did he secretly drink every night, unable to quit smoking even when they first met?
She had to know.
But the moment that thought crossed her mind—
Swish—
A tall, skinny purple-haired woman in the distance caught her eye, walking away.
"……!!"
In her black dress, Sion mistook her for a ghost or monster at first, gripping her ever-present fan in shock.
But it was Alrun.
Yes, Alrun Orlan. The witch from the family that had shattered her uncle's peaceful retirement.
Expecting forgiveness just because she'd survived her injuries.
"What the hell...?"
The girl who only spoke in class when roll was called or at the end-of-day dismissal—what was she doing out this late?
Surely off to dig up some slush fund she'd honey-trapped away.
With that thought, Sion found herself lightly tailing Alrun.
The path shifted. Streetlamps flickered by.
And finally, the footsteps led to the Professor's Residence.
Sion hurried to catch up and confront her.
"Lady Alrun Orlan!"
"Kyaa, you scared me...! Lady Sion? What brings you here at this hour—."
"That's my question. You barely speak in class after getting treated for your injuries. So where are you rushing off to in the dead of night? To the Professor's Residence, no less!"
Alrun replied in a soft, moonlit whisper.
"To tidy up Professor's residence..."
"…………."
What. What?
A mere student, coming and going from the Professor's Residence?
And "Professor" meant... her uncle, right? Daring to enter a domain even she hadn't breached.
This useless scion of his enemies was slinking in to play housekeeper?
Invading his daily life?
Grrr...
Sion had shared intimate dinners alone with him. Just recently, he'd acknowledged her maturity by sharing the palace incident.
But she'd never tidied up at his place.
Rage boiled. How dare an Orlan target her uncle... no, act chummy with her uncle.
Without thinking, she fanned herself furiously.
But her next words were pure Sion.
"Perfect timing, Alrun Orlan. I had business with Uncle anyway. Mind if I tag along?"
"...Ah, sure. Of course."
It was a flimsy excuse. The real reason? She couldn't stand sending Alrun alone.
But she couldn't say that outright.
So the two walked the rest of the way—Sion seething with edge, Alrun flustered but unable to escape the hostility.
Until they knelt before the door of the Professor's Residence.
But.
Knock knock knock—
"Professor Joseph, Professor Joseph—it's Alrun..."
"......What, is he already asleep?"
No answer, even after knocking.
"No, he usually sleeps at dawn... He should be up at this hour."
How do you know that— No, focus.
"—Is that so? That's weird then. Lights are on, so he must be inside."
"...Um, but it's fine. He said if the door doesn't open, there's a spare key under the flowerpot, so I can just go in."
"Wh-what?!"
Perhaps they shouldn't have opened that door.
Kreeeak—
Inside: toppled bottle. Unextinguished light.
And slumped over the desk—the most self-destructive sight imaginable.
From the strongest man Sion knew.
Seeing it, her fanning stopped. Her chatter halted.
Sion just froze in place.