Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony (2)

"Sorry, but I have no work for you."

What would have happened if the other maids had heard those words?

-Whoa, amazing! Since when do jobs this sweet even exist?

-Good heavens. A personal maid who doesn't have to lift a finger. I'm jealous, so jealous.

-Let me do it—let me! I'm completely confident in my ability to do absolutely nothing!

Within the bustling ducal estate, where the maids were run off their feet, the mere prospect of a lighter workload was cause for celebration. A position that promised nothing but rest would have been snatched up by anyone without a second thought, and the chatter would have sounded exactly like that.

The pay kept rolling in. The work barely existed. And as a bonus, neglecting the young master they all despised would be entirely justified.

They would have accepted it gladly, the corners of their mouths curling up to their ears.

But Camilla could not afford to feel that way.

"You were released due to insufficient evidence, is that right?"

"Y-Yes..."

"I suppose it's possible. That the other maids did it, just like you said—or like Mother and my sisters said. But I don't believe you. In my head, you're still the one being named as the culprit."

Claire's chilling voice still echoed in her memory.

"So I'll be watching. Every single detail of how you attend to Karsein—I'll be checking it all, without missing a thing. Understood?"

An unmistakable warning.

A firm admonition that if the same thing ever happened again, this time there would be no letting it slide.

Which meant this situation could not be allowed to continue. Never—absolutely never.

As a maid—and not just any maid, but Karsein's personal maid—she had to do her job properly.

"B-But you were cleaning just now. Surely there's plenty you could order me to do...?"

Trembling, soaked in fear, Camilla managed those words. Karsein simply took the rag back, his expression unchanged.

"I told you I didn't need it."

No. It couldn't be.

That couldn't be it.

Wrapped in anxiety, Camilla reached once more for the rag in Karsein's hand.

"What are you doing? Let go."

"Cleaning isn't something nobles do. It should be me—your maid—who handles it..."

"Ha."

Karsein let out a single sigh, then repeated those same words from before.

"Which is why I said I don't need it. I can do all of this with my own two hands, so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠why would I need to borrow yours?"

Camilla's heart plummeted.

This was bad.

If things went on like this, she would be dismissed.

If word got around that she let her own master toil at menial chores, and it ever reached Claire's ears, there would be no coming back.

There was no other option.

Thud!

"Young Master. I'm sorry. I was wrong!"

She had to kneel. It was the only thing left to do.

The moment Camilla dropped to her knees and confessed her fault, the choice window had appeared.

The fact that option three wasn't quite identical to option two suggested I was still following the branch I'd chosen last time.

Still, there was no need to feign indifference here.

"What? What could you possibly have done wrong by coming here?"

"Y-Young Master..."

"If you came here to say something that pointless, just leave. You're interrupting my cleaning."

Like I'd ever want to hear it.

All you need to do is avoid creating a Dead Trigger, and that's it.

The moment I turned away, Camilla grabbed the hem of my trouser leg and cried out.

No. To be precise—

"I did it! I was the one who did it!!"

She had confessed.

A second-tier choice, was it?

If I pressed her further here, I could wring a full confession out of Camilla.

That she had deliberately drawn the bathwater cold. That she had slipped something into my food. Given the chance, she might cough up every single thing she'd done.

But I'm not Karsein, am I?

A careful shuffle of the options had produced a rather serviceable line.

"Did what? If you're just going to spout nonsense, you're only getting in the way. So would you kindly leave?"

There was no way she couldn't understand this.

She had bathed me in that cold water herself. She had done the winter laundry with her own bare hands. She had personally eaten the food drowning in salt.

So why was she playing ignorant when she knew perfectly well?

'Because this is exactly what it's for.'

I shifted my gaze toward the door as footsteps drew near.

"I've brought your meal, Young Master."

Right on cue, the Head Maid arrived with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠food.

Tray in hand, the Head Maid fixed her gaze on Camilla. Then, as if she'd just seized the perfect opening, she flashed a smile—and her expression shifted in an instant.

"Why are you sitting there on your knees, Camilla?"

"Pardon? I, um, that is..."

Today was the day the Head Maid herself delivered the meal in place of the usual maids—which was precisely why I had deliberately avoided pressing Camilla.

Had that conversation progressed even a little further and reached her ears, I might well have been staring down a bad ending before long.

'I've dodged the dangerous scene.'

And now, the choices had appeared.

I could answer right away, of course—but here, I would wait a turn.

Until that line made its appearance.

"Don't tell me you scolded Camilla, Young Master? No—she's already been confined to solitary as a suspected culprit, poor thing, when the situation was quite unjust to begin with...!"

Yes. That was exactly what I'd been waiting for.

"How cruel of you. Tormenting innocent maids yet again!"

"Planning to report this to Mother? Be my guest."

"What did you say? Young Master, are you certain you can afford to be so brazen?"

"Of course. Because I didn't torment anyone. I was simply cleaning my own room with my own hands. And let me make this perfectly clear—I didn't order anyone. I cleaned it myself."

"Then why on earth was Camilla on her knees...?"

When I held up the rag in my hand, I wasted no time filling in the choice for a bewildered Emma.

[ 4. Beats me. Ask her yourself. ]

"How should I know? Ask her yourself. She shows up thirty minutes early and just starts this out of nowhere—what am I supposed to make of it?"

Now came the counterattack.

"But why do you assume I was scolding Camilla? You do realize I'm in a rather unfair position here, don't you?"

"...!"

"My, my. I never once called Camilla the culprit, I was merely cleaning my room—and somehow I've become the wicked master who abuses an innocent maid?"

Emma glanced sideways at Camilla.

"Is what the Young Master says true?"

After a brief silence, Camilla's head gave a small nod.

Emma's expression hardened in an instant.

This isn't right. How on earth did it come to this?

Those were surely the thoughts spiraling through Emma's head at that very moment.

Emma had walked straight into the line she would have given anything not to say.

"My mistake. It seems I misunderstood."

The crumpling of her face was almost entertaining to watch. But that's it? That's what passes for an apology? There was no way I was stopping here.

"A misunderstanding? Ah, so this is something that can be brushed off as a mere misunderstanding, is it?"

She had crossed the line far beyond anything a misunderstanding could excuse.

She had made her own assumptions, passed her own judgment. Trace the chain of cause and effect, and this was a situation where someone entirely innocent had nearly been branded guilty.

That was not a misunderstanding by any measure.

Emma herself seemed to realize it, for she couldn't manage a rebuttal.

"...I apologize."

Just before the words of apology came out, a strangled sound of frustration slipped through. Her pride was quite wounded, apparently.

But so what? Karsein suffered far worse, didn't he?

"Is that all?"

"Karsein. I have clearly apologized for my error."

"I'm asking if that's all. Is there nothing else?"

"I don't know what you mean..."

"Emma. It seems to me you didn't bow when you entered my room. Or are my eyes deceiving me?"

"...!"

"Heh heh. When the Head Maid herself behaves this way, I suppose things end up in my food, don't they?"

With a smirk, I brought up the past meals as if I knew every last detail of the estate's inner workings.

So apologize again. Properly this time.

Mean it.

Make sure nothing like that ever ends up in my food again.

That single remark forced all three of those sentences out of her.

This was, after all, the Bagrand Ducal House—a family name that alone could leave mouths hanging open across the entire Pecellos Empire.

An adopted son perhaps, but one who had completed his formal entry into the family. A mere Head Maid had no right to suspect him, much less look down on him.

Karsein's meal here was the perfect seasoning to bring out the main dish. Pointing out that the chaos in the hierarchy was her own doing completed the flavor beautifully.

There was no rebuttal to be had. In the end, Emma bowed her head.

"I beg your forgiveness, Young Master Karsein, for my insolence and my suspicions."

Perhaps this much would do for now.

For a lowborn commoner to demand an apology from a noble—and a bow at that—required dragging one's pride all the way down to the floor.

No doubt this moment would be seared deep into Emma's memory, an unforgettable humiliation. One day, she would come for revenge.

After all, she was one of the vilest villainesses who tormented Karsein even within the game itself.

But that was fine.

I had already seen through even that.

Through dozens, hundreds of trials and errors.

Emma had withdrawn, her face twisted in barely concealed frustration. But this room wasn't mine alone just yet.

Camilla was still here.

She remained on her knees, trembling where she knelt.

"You... you knew all along, didn't you, Young Master?"

"Knew what?"

"What I... what I did to you."

Leaving things as they stood wouldn't do either.

I dried my hands ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on a towel and took a seat at the table.

"Camilla. How long does it normally take you to clean my room?"

"Pardon? Ah... u-usually it takes just under an hour."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"And if we include the bathroom and tidying the bedding?"

"You keep the bath so clean, Young Master, that it takes almost no time beyond hauling the water... and the bedding is done in five minutes or so, so it would be much the same..."

"Then wring out that rag and sit here for thirty minutes before you leave."

"Y-Young Master...!"

Camilla jolted, her anxiety spiking.

So I threw her the blunt truth.

"It's Claire you're terrified of, isn't it? Am I wrong?"

"Th-that's...!"

"No need to explain. You only became a suspect in the first place because of Claire. So as long as you watch the clock, there's no problem—right?"

"..."

At my matter-of-fact attitude, as if I saw through everything, Camilla began to crumble.

"Then... what should I do? Please, give me something—anything—to do."

So that was what she feared all along.

I'd held my tongue because I didn't know exactly how Claire had pressured her, but now I could guess.

'It's about her duties as a maid, then.'

Judging by her reaction—desperate to the point of madness over having nothing to do—the most likely scenario was that Claire had threatened to throw Camilla out if this ever happened again.

Which meant I had no choice but to solve this myself.

First, let's settle that anxious heart of hers.

"Just quietly pretend you're working, then leave. That way, you'll stay clear of Claire's suspicion."