Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Hothead Lady's Home Tutor (4)
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"Of course it wasn't you, Young Lady. Anyone could tell it was a man's voice."
"If it was Sevurus, wouldn't he just find some excuse to beat me?"
"Don't make me out to be some lunatic who beats people on flimsy pretenses. I might start wanting to become one who beats without reason."
That aside, what kind of guy spits out lines like that in public when we're trying to educate our Young Lady?
"See this? Dirt from your filthy rags got on my coat—something a beggar like you couldn't afford in a lifetime of work!"
A nobleman was yelling at a little girl.
She looked about eight or nine years old.
She must have been out on an errand, walking alone down the street, when she bumped into the noble. It seemed some dust from her clothes had gotten on his coat, and that's what set him off.
"I-I'm sorry…."
The girl bowed her head, her voice trembling with tears, but the noble's anger didn't subside.
"Sorry doesn't cut it!? If 'sorry' fixed everything, why would we even need courts!"
It wasn't even that dirty. Why was he making such a huge fuss over a kid?
'There must be some other reason—'
Tiona shouted sharply.
"Shut up already!"
"What—"
The noble looked around wildly before spotting Tiona.
"D-Did you just tell me to shut up—"
"Who else is here besides you? Stop yapping with that grating voice! Who the hell are you, anyway!?"
I chimed in from the side.
"Judging by the crest on his shoulder, he's from the Baretius Count family. At his age, probably the Count himself."
"Ha! A mere Count dares to yap like that?"
Tiona puffed out her chest in true arrogant villainess fashion, shaking her bread-like rolls of hair.
"What a noisy, ignorant man! How pathetic! Ohohohoho!!"
"Krishantimaiu Duke's Daughter…."
The Count clenched his fists, trembling with rage.
If this were a medieval fantasy world, he might have swung at her right then.
But this romance fantasy world was based on a modern era that scorned such 'medieval barbarism.' For a noble to punch another noble over an insult would tarnish his dignity—especially if the target was a girl half his age.
Aware of that, Baretius Count could only mutter, "I won't forget this…!" before slinking away.
"Young Lady…."
Honestly, I was impressed.
I thought she was just a hotheaded noble obsessed with status, but she had enough moral sense to help a child being unfairly harassed.
The girl in question approached us and bowed deeply.
"Th-Thank you for helping me…!"
Tiona let out a "pfft."
'Pfft?'
"Don't you dare speak to me so casually, you filthy brat—ack! It huuurts!! Stop! Stooop!!"
"Go on home and rest for today, kid. Give this to your parents, and use the rest to buy yourself a snack on the sly. Got it?"
"It huuurts—aaahhh!!!???"
The girl bowed to me, clutched the coins tightly, and ran off.
"Young Lady."
"Hah… hah… Wh-Why'd you do that all of a sudden!? What did I do wrong!?"
This girl… don't tell me?
"Why did you stand up to the Count?"
"I told you. He was being noisy for a mere Count, so I gave him a piece of my mind!"
"Not to help a commoner child?"
"Why the hell would I help some random kid?"
"…."
So that's it.
She treated the Count and the commoner the same—as inferiors—so she ignored the one in front but complained about the noise from behind.
I rubbed my temples.
Still… even if it was just a byproduct, she did save the commoner girl. Without leveraging her status as Duke's Daughter, she couldn't have resolved it so neatly.
"Young Lady."
So rather than punish her, I decided to turn it into a teaching moment.
"What did you think when you saw the Count earlier?"
"He was annoying, obviously?"
"Right. Yelling loudly in a crowded public place is ugly, and it's natural to feel irritated by it."
But human emotions aren't that simple, which is what makes them fascinating.
"Remember that romance poem I read to you the other day? The scene where the knight protests in the square about his fiancée being stolen unjustly?"
"Of course! It was so satisfying!"
"Exactly. So why did the Count yelling feel noisy and unpleasant, but the knight protesting in the square feel exhilarating?"
"That's…?"
"The Count was a superior lording over an inferior, while in the poem, the inferior knight was yelling at his superior lord. By your status-obsessed values, shouldn't you have felt the opposite?"
"…Huh?"
As expected.
Our Young Lady has potential for redemption.
"Try exploring your own feelings. Figure out why you felt that way."
Tiona pondered deeply for a while, grunting in thought.
It lasted less than thirty seconds, though.
"I dunno…."
"That's fine. No need to conclude now—just mull it over whenever it comes to mind."
I could have drilled morals into her mechanically. If we were in a rush, I would have.
But cramming 'right answers' like that leads to bigger backlash later.
We have a full year.
Short, but enough to dedicate to one person and make her think things she's never considered before.
Besides, getting her into the Academy is just a midpoint.
My real goal is to make Tiona part of the protagonist's group—so they can save the world.
I could teach her to memorize morals quickly and fake being a good girl to pass interviews.
But without fundamental change, the protagonist's crew would never accept her.
"Think about it a lot—why you felt that way. Once you have a hypothesis, any one, tell me. We can discuss it together."
"Anything at all?"
"Yes."
The key to building thinking skills is the thinking process itself.
Organizing thoughts, forming hypotheses, testing them.
Turning vague sensations into words, discovering clashes in your own beliefs, refining your worldview.
That's how thinking grows—like exercise builds muscle.
"I'll be waiting."
"Ugh…."
I held out my hand to the pouting Tiona.
"Come, take my hand for the walk."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Tiona thought to herself.
'What a weird guy.'
About two years ago, Tiona had met various home tutors. That was when the Duke first realized the state of his neglected daughter.
But none of those many tutors lasted more than three days.
At first, Tiona felt curiosity toward these outsiders, but months later, she grew indifferent. Young or old, man or woman, noble or commoner—they all vanished in a day or two anyway.
And above all, they all looked at her the same way.
Like a puzzle in a labyrinth that gave rewards if solved, with greed glinting in their eyes.
However.
This commoner man who appeared a few weeks ago was different.
He was the first to treat her so harshly.
And for a home tutor, he was excessively competent. He handled all sorts of magic, and was erudite in literature and math too.
Above all.
He felt fundamentally different from the others.
There was no greed in his eyes—the same greed every previous tutor had.
And yet, somehow—maybe because of that—she felt irritated just looking at him.
It wasn't really irritation, but Tiona lacked the ability to analyze the emotion and label it properly.
That's why.
"Hmph. If you get lost because of me, I won't let you off easy."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Tiona took his hand—the hand that had already made her experience so many firsts.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The capital was a meticulously planned city of perfect squares, designed to minimize dark alleys and slums.
But shadows arise inevitably. If none exist, they're created.
"That's him, right?"
"Yeah."
They were lowly humans.
Not because of lowly birth or crimes committed.
Being human itself was lowly.
They were followers of the Blood-Dripping Tongue Cult, devoted to an Outer God.
They sought liberation from the sinful, filthy human flesh—to ascend to higher beings.
Society called them heretics.
It was unfair.
Those sinful beings misunderstood them. Their values were right; society's were wrong.
Then one day, a horrific calamity struck the cult.
A boy in his early teens.
A genius swordsman who entered through a door that only opened without the code.
The cult was annihilated by that single boy.
Holy books that shone in light and darkness burned; the underground church collapsed; the pontiff, thirteen bishops, and most followers perished.
In truth, the cult was gone. No one could hear the Blood-Dripping Tongue's voice anymore.
Thus, they were no longer cultists—just survivors.
And vengeful spirits.
After a long search, they found him.
The boy grown into a young man.
The genius swordsman, casually holding a noble girl's hand.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
Revenge would be exacted.