Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony (1)

Camilla had been locked in solitary confinement. Her punishment, as it turned out, was lighter than she had expected.

By rights, it should have been a wretched cell — nearly sunless and pitch-dark, too cramped to even stretch out — but the earnest pleas of the other maids and attendants had gotten her moved somewhere a little less cruel. Though the floor was cold bare stone, it was a space where she could curl up and steal a few hours of sleep. The other maids had even smuggled her scraps of food little by little, and the guard overseeing her had known of it and turned a blind eye.

In other words, for solitary confinement, she had been granted considerable leniency.

But leniency was only leniency.

However deep her favor ran among the servants of the duchy, the fact remained, just as Claire Bagrand had declared, that she was the prime suspect. And even if the servants were helping her now, Karsein would never forgive her for it. Expulsion from House Bagrand was all but certain.

So, resigned to reaping what she had sown, she had pulled out a single leftover bottle of medicine from her personal effects.

A slimming tonic favored by noble young ladies — one that induced the body to burn through calories and break down its nutrients.

But precisely because it dissolved those nutrients, failing to eat within a certain window after taking it produced symptoms closely resembling exhaustion or collapse from overwork.

If she drank it here in solitary and died of apparent overwork, it might well prompt even more money to find its way into her mother's hands.

And it was at that very moment that someone came looking for her — someone utterly unexpected.

"The head butler?"

"Return to your post, Camilla."

"...I'm sorry?"

"I mean that you are to return to being the maid of Young Master Karsein — who remains your master still."

And just like that, Camilla had walked free of solitary confinement.

No — that wasn't all. She hadn't even been cast out of the ducal house. Not a single charge pinned to her name. Not a single punishment. She had simply been returned to her position as Karsein's personal maid.

At the same time, however, she was no longer given anything to do. Or rather, there was nothing she *could* do.

"Ah. Did I tell you to come today? No work this morning. Off you go."

"Nothing for you today. Just head back and rest."

"I'll be reading, then sleeping. Nothing you need to do. Go on."

And it wasn't only on that day he'd said they would talk tomorrow. Morning. Noon. Evening. No matter what hour she came calling, there was never any work waiting for her.

Tidying the bedding. Cleaning the room. Managing his belongings. Laundering his clothes. Every duty that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠should have fallen into the hands of Camilla the maid had already been seen to inside that room.

This was the second day of it.

Today, too. The young master won't let me do anything at all...

Karsein gave her no tasks whatsoever. Every chore befitting his personal maid had been finished before she ever arrived. The most she managed was delivering his meals and collecting the dishes he left out in the corridor — and even that was something any ordinary maid could have done.

At first she'd brushed it off as a passing curiosity, but unease was beginning to creep in. This could not be allowed to continue.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow she would come thirty minutes earlier. She would arrive before the young master had the chance to do a maid's work for her.

Steeling herself with that resolve, Camilla lifted the tray of dishes and made her way down the corridor.

Then it happened. A young lady came striding toward her, hair like spun pink silk billowing behind her, and planted herself squarely in Camilla's path.

"Lady Claire..."

"You and I have a few things to discuss, I think."

Claire jerked a thumb toward an empty room down the hall.

Meaning: let's talk in there.

Camilla swallowed hard and answered that she would follow, meek and obedient.

One day. Two. Then three.

Not a single servant entered the room except to bring his meals, and the family never came at all. Thanks to that, I was living alone in my room without a hitch.

The clothes were unfamiliar, but this much was a fair deal. The mansion was vast — nothing like the draft-riddled holes I'd known — and food arrived without my lifting a finger. No problem there.

No more scraping by on one packet of instant noodles a day. No more grinding through back-to-back part-time shifts only to come home and walk on eggshells around somebody. At most, my whole routine consisted of the cleaning and laundry I'd always done anyway.

But I couldn't afford to rest on that.

It had popped up just this morning — the status window announcing the start of a new episode.

Only the episode number had appeared, no title yet, which meant no branch had been selected. In other words, the next episode was beginning right now.

"The question is how I get through this one."

A while ago, the butler Heron had come to inform me that Isabella had granted permission for me to attend Claire's coming-of-age ceremony. Even my confinement order had been lifted. This game had started with Karsein already under house arrest for some incident or other, so once that order was lifted, my activities within the ducal estate became unrestricted — and the upper-floor map, unusable until an episode was cleared, had unlocked as well.

That was the natural flow of the main story, born of clearing Episode II's condition — rescuing Camilla. It was proof that I had cleared Episode II without incident and was moving straight into the next episode.

And, ever so cunningly —

"Claire's coming-of-age ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow."

Just my luck. Absolutely delightful.

Last night, I'd found a Memorial in this room. One I'd never managed to find while playing the game — a Memorial replaying the day of Arina's coming-of-age ceremony, three years ago.

What had happened there. How Karsein had reacted. Watching it had stoked my fury so badly that I'd gone to bed far later than I meant to.

"That damned coming-of-age ceremony. It must have been pure hell for Karsein."

On the day of Arina's ceremony, family and guests alike — a crowd that did House Bagrand's name every justice — had gathered to celebrate her. The grand ballroom had thronged with nobles, and not a soul among them doubted that the girl was destined to be named the Bagrand heir.

The other daughters were the same. As honored members of the ducal house, all were tipped to one day lead noble society with pride.

But for one person alone, there was only relentless exclusion.

"My, my. How unseemly...!"

"They call him a Bagrand, but the boy hasn't a shred of dignity about him."

"Common trash stays common trash, I suppose."

These were nobles endlessly warm and courteous toward House Bagrand — yet toward him, a mere castoff from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slums, their contempt and loathing knew no bounds.

The only reason Karsein could set foot in the ballroom at all was that the Duchess of Bagrand had brought him there herself and acknowledged him as her child.

But the nobles were meticulous. They used children of Karsein's own age to drive him out of the ballroom — subtly dismantling the duchy's standing through the innocent-looking mingling of children.

Dragged outside under the pretense of playing together, Karsein was thrown to the ground and trampled without mercy by the other noble children, right there where he fell.

Even if he'd fought back, what he got in return was —

"Why, you ask? Because you're not a Bagrand, that's why."

"A gutter-born idiot like you thinks he can stand in the same place as us nobility?"

"Pfft. Did you actually believe you had the same rights we do?"

Nothing but brutal ostracism — treated as a commoner. No. As something beneath even that.

In the end, Karsein could bear it no longer. Gritting his teeth, he fought back. A boy who had survived the brutal slums could bring down at least one noble brat, even if he had to do it dirty.

But that very act became his undoing — the shackle that bound Karsein's feet.

"Arina! Sister, they started it, they—"

— Shink!

"Do not call me sister. You are no brother of mine. You are no family at all."

Having thrown a disgraceful, shameless tantrum and ruined Arina's coming-of-age ceremony, Karsein was sentenced to a month of confinement as the sole culprit.

From that day on, the word "sister" never passed his lips. His mother was no exception — he could not call her mother, could not call his father father. It conjured the tale of Hong Gildong, born unable to name his own parent.

Looking back on it now, it made my stomach turn. He was a boy with no blood ties, granted — but it was Karsein who had been unjustly driven out, and Karsein who had been beaten for the crime of not being a Bagrand.

Karsein, who had nothing, was abandoned even by the family — the only people he had to lean on — beaten and cast aside by their own hands.

"It makes my blood boil."

Even though the past in that Memorial wasn't mine, the reason it stung was simple: I had lived through the same thing.

I'd been bullied at school too, until one day I clenched my teeth and fought back. I'd been taking the beating as it came, but I couldn't stomach it anymore, so I made an example of one of them and left him a bloody mess.

And then — the eldest declared that trash like me was no brother of his, just a stray that brought shame on the family. The slap across my face that followed burned just as hot; from that moment on, I think I understood exactly how Karsein felt.

Anyway — so this happened three years ago?

"Not going is the right call. Yeah. No matter how I look at it, staying away is best."

The prejudice that this time would be just like the last was bound to harden. Under ordinary circumstances, I wanted nothing to do with tomorrow's ceremony — not even to attend.

If I could avoid it, avoiding it was best.

So long as no choices popped up, there'd be no reason to walk into that hall and get cursed at, nothing to draw anyone's eyes. Nobody would welcome me in the first place.

How could I keep from leaving this room? Should I douse myself in cold water the day of, catch a chill, and feign illness while lying in bed?

I was busily cooking up every fake illness in the book when —

"Young Master. It's Camilla. May I come in?"

Camilla? Why would she come by at this hour?

Things were going well, granted, but my dead triggers weren't fully disarmed yet. Short of reaching and clearing a specific episode, I couldn't afford to let my guard down.

Left with no choice, I opened the door.

"Excuse me, Young Master. Um..."

"Just come in."

There stood Camilla, waiting with her head bowed in a posture of quiet deference. I'd meant to ask what she wanted, but told her to come in instead — there might be things better said out of earshot of the corridor.

"Y-yes, Young Master..."

Camilla stepped into my room with a strangely uneasy look in her eyes. Her voice trembled a little too — something was clearly wrong.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, her lips parted and her gaze began to waver.

What? What is it?

When she got nervous, I couldn't help getting nervous too. My life's on the line here, damn it!

What on earth had she seen in my room?

My own eyes rolled after hers, tracking her gaze.

And then...

...My hand?

Of all things, Camilla was staring at my hand.

I was just holding it because I'd stopped midway through cleaning. No, seriously — what kind of person gets anxious looking at a rag? I wondered if I'd misread her, and studied her again, but no. I'd seen it right.

Just as I was marveling at the sheer absurdity of it, Camilla suddenly snatched the rag right out of my grip.

"P-please, leave such things to me, Young Master! This is not work for you to be doing!"

Huh?

That was the moment a question mark bloomed in my head.

Ah. Now that I think about it — I took the path where Karsein refuses to accept a maid, didn't I.

Seeing the choices laid out like this, it was all coming back to me.

Originally, choice two was the correct answer here, and choice three was supposed to have a dead flag hanging off it. But right now, the contents had shifted entirely.

As my standing within the ducal house improved, the choices changed with it. The rule held true here as well.

Hm. Though this branch was one you'd only see before finding something better, so my memory of it's a little hazy...

Well — might as well answer and pick up some information while I'm at it.

I went with choice three.

"What's with the sudden nonsense?"

"I am your personal maid, Young Master. Leave these menial chores to me — please!"

Camilla was still clutching the rag I'd been using, her tone edged with pleading.

And only then did the scenes of this branch come flooding back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into my head.

I see. So this is after Claire chewed her out.

That was why she'd been so rattled. She'd come straight from meeting Claire.

If that was the case, it made sense. Even if nothing much was wrong now, in the game it had been that pink-haired lunatic who triggered Camilla's dead triggers more effectively than anyone.

If the story had flowed down that route...

Considering all that, you could say things had turned out better than expected.

Perfect choices.

Exactly as I remembered them.

"Sorry, but I've got nothing for you to do."

This, after all, was a chance to raise Claire's affinity.

Once the two of them vanished, the corridor stood utterly empty. The left wing, where Karsein's room lay, was one the maids avoided whenever possible, so it saw little traffic to begin with. And with the attendants and workers of every other trade all gone as well, not a soul passed by today.

Which meant silence was called for. Naturally.

— Tap, tap. patter.

Yet in place of that silence, the soft patter of hurrying feet rang out.

"H-how? Why was Camilla let out of solitary?"

The blonde girl had seen it with her own eyes — Camilla, who should have been locked away, walking on two perfectly whole legs all the way to Karsein's room. She'd even watched Karsein beckon the girl who knocked courteously inside.

How could she not be afraid?

It was Flora herself who had instructed Camilla to mix a stimulant and an irritant into Karsein's breakfast. And if the whole scheme came to light — the confession, the hush money on top — then the first domino would topple the rest. Everything, every last thing, might find its way to her mother's ears.

Dadadada—

Her quickening steps carried Flora into her bedroom. She shut the door fast, yanked the covers up over her head, and began to churn through her thoughts.

"No. There's no need to panic. Even if the plan did fail, I can just deny everything. Say I never did it. That settles it, doesn't it?"

There was no one left in Bagrand who would lend Karsein's words an ear. Even the one person who had once listened to him — her mother — had long since stopped coming to her senses about it.

The plan failing was a shame, perhaps, but nothing to be terrified of.

And yet — why?

Why was she so afraid?