Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony (4)
“...Huh?”
My eyes were bleary. I could have sworn I'd been sleeping comfortably these past few days at the Bagrand estate, yet somehow, this morning alone, my sleep had gone completely sideways.
Having tossed and turned all night, I rubbed my puffy eyes and heaved a deep sigh.
“Haaah.”
My mind was crowded with worries. The biggest one, naturally, was how on earth I was going to survive Claire's upcoming coming-of-age ceremony.
I'd figured I could at least scrape together one decent solution by now. Turns out I was wrong.
How does exactly one solution refuse to appear?
Ordinarily, I could have faked an illness and been done with it. If all it took was a cold shower to catch a cold, I was more than willing to do it.
But of course, the problem was that I'd gone to see Claire yesterday and drunk her honeyed tea. She'd confirmed I was in perfect health, and then issued a chilling double-check — as if daring me to try staying away on grounds of sickness.
I could guarantee it: that kind of excuse would never fly now.
And so the situation was barreling toward me, where attendance at Claire's coming-of-age ceremony was absolutely non-negotiable.
This is the closest thing to a reasonable plan I've got.
-Creeeak.
When I opened the wardrobe, the clothes Karsein had owned even before I possessed this body came into view. The word "noble" wasn't for nothing — a row of expensive-looking garments hung in a neat line.
This was, after all, the coming-of-age ceremony of a duchess-to-be of House Bagrand. In aristocratic society, it would surely be a major event.
If I showed up to such an important occasion dressed like a beggar, the people involved would obviously be furious.
So the plan was to argue, "I have nothing to wear. I chose not to attend rather than ruin the ceremony." It wouldn't spare me from blame entirely, but it would at least give me a workable excuse to fight my way out with.
“First things first — a wash.”
Still mulling over what to do with all those clothes, I was about to head for the bathroom.
“Young Master Karsein. It's Camilla. May I come in?”
Camilla, at a time like this.
She was probably too anxious to sit still and had come up with some pretext — cleaning, or whatever.
“Yeah.”
I answered indifferently and waved her in.
But contrary to expectations, when the door opened, it wasn't just one face that appeared.
“...Who are all of you? I never called for you.”
“Well... Lady Claire sent us.”
“Huh?”
Claire sent them?
No way.
I fixed Camilla with both eyes, silently demanding an explanation.
Well?! Say something! Like you said before, those maids could do something to me, couldn't they?! Right?!
Camilla answered with a troubled look on her face.
“Lady Claire has ordered that since you might catch some cold or another again, Young Master, we are to scrub you down thoroughly in hot water. And that if we fail to present you before her in a state worthy of her satisfaction, we should each be prepared to receive a hundred lashes...”
Damn it. In that instant, I knew for certain.
There's no way out.
Whatever she said, it wouldn't change a thing. For those maids, presenting a freshly scrubbed Karsein before Claire was the only path available. There was no alternative from the start.
No matter how much those maids disliked me, Claire had lit a fire under them and piled on the pressure so nothing could go wrong. What could they possibly do to me now?
My head swam, and I pressed a hand to my forehead.
Aargh, that crazy woman. So those words of hers weren't for nothing after all.
I should have seen it coming since yesterday.
With her airtight scheme — demanding my attendance while simultaneously blocking any faked illness — I should have prepared a countermeasure in advance.
-Ding!
Servants have arrived with orders from Claire to assist with your bath. How will you respond?
[ 1. Whether you get in trouble or not is none of my business. All of you, get out. (Choice: Recognition -200, Claire's Affinity -30%) ]
[ 2. Fine. I'll wash. ]
Wow. Even the choices were being remarkably upfront about it.
The moment I refused, my Recognition would explode into shards, and Claire's Affinity would take a monstrous dive. This was the system flat-out telling me to drop dead.
Still, just in case — just in case some crack opened up for me to slip through — I tried voicing it anyway...
“Um... can't I just wash by myself?”
Camilla answered with a long, heavy sigh.
“I'm sorry. If you catch a cold, we're the ones Lady Claire punishes.”
Augh, of course! Of course that won't work!
“Haaah... fine.”
Stricken with terror under Claire's pressure, the maids didn't have so much as a fingertip's worth of leeway to abuse me.
Tragedy up close, comedy from afar — whoever coined that phrase knew what they were talking about.
Would I have looked that way too, if I were watching with the eyes of someone playing a game?
They literally had to present a well-washed young master, so the sight of those maids scurrying about, sweating buckets, made them look like nothing so much as creatures desperately clawing for survival.
Before I knew it, the survival-driven ferocity in their eyes had melted back into something ordinary, and once they judged things were sufficient, my bath was finally, completely over.
Having been subjected to dozens of different fragrances in that bathroom, my sense of smell felt half-paralyzed.
“It's over now, right? Then I'll head back and tell Claire—”
“No, Young Master. What I said was finished was only the bath. The grooming remains.”
“...What?”
“I did tell you. Lady Claire ordered us to present you in a state she would find satisfying.”
“No, wait a moment. If 'a state she'd find satisfying' means...”
“It means you are to be dressed and prepared in advance, in the appearance you will present at the coming-of-age ceremony.”
Feeling the ground tilt beneath me, I pressed a hand to my forehead yet again.
And in that very moment, a sound drifted into my room — the sinister, rattling squeal of wheels rolling across the floor.
I turned toward the noise with a sinking heart. On the cart that wheeled its way in sat what looked like a resplendent set of men's formal wear.
“Th-those can't possibly be for me to wear...?”
A nod.
“I hear a famous designer was summoned to the ducal estate itself.”
Ah... I'm doomed.
At this point, wailing that I had no clothes would accomplish absolutely nothing.
And so, even after the bath was done, I had to endure a full, unrelenting assault of the maids' hands.
After a long while...
The maids murmured among themselves that this would have to do.
They hadn't been particularly fond of Karsein to begin with, so their exit from my room was swifter than it had ever been.
Which left Camilla and me alone together, once more.
Now I can finally ask.
“Why did you do it, Camilla?”
She must have been conscious of it herself — my question made her shoulders flinch.
The other four — everyone except Karsein — would already have their attire for the ceremony prepared as a matter of course.
Claire, the star of this banquet, would have the most painstaking preparation of all, and the remaining two sisters, including my mother Isabella, were family — they wouldn't leave anything to chance either.
Which meant there was no need to summon a designer. If the four of them had already visited the dress chambers and their outfits were ready and waiting, then there was exactly one possible reason to bring a designer directly to the ducal estate.
“The clothes in there really are unsuitable for a banquet. But I don't believe I ever ordered anyone to report that fact.”
My clothes. That was the reason.
The story of the ceremony may have spread through the servants' quarters, but not a soul knew that the garments crammed into my wardrobe were all the wrong size, hopelessly out of fashion, or so poorly kept they could barely be worn.
In other words, unless she herself reported it to someone above her, the designer should never have needed to come at all.
Camilla did not deny it.
“As your personal maid... I judged that your attire for Lady Claire's coming-of-age ceremony was unsuitable.”
“In other words, that was your own call, wasn't it?”
“...Yes.”
The moment I pinpointed the crux — that this had been her unilateral decision — Camilla's eyes trembled violently.
“Why did you take that liberty?”
“You are, after all, a son of House Bagrand, a house that bears its own castle, so attire befitting—”
“No. Forget the formalities. I never once said I would attend the ceremony, did I?”
I hadn't breathed so much as the first syllable of "ceremony." Frankly, the estate could have ignored entirely whether Karsein showed up to a coming-of-age ceremony or not, and the day would simply have passed them by.
Which meant Camilla's decision had other reasons stacked on top of it.
“Tell me. Was this too just you being scared of getting thrown out because of Claire, so you figured you had to do something?”
I severed the formal excuse cleanly and pressed her. Camilla clutched her skirt after a short pause. If she was choosing her words, I was prepared to wait. As long as what came wasn't a lie.
She clutched her skirt tight, her lips fluttered once, twice — and only then did she speak.
“It's because... I didn't want you to be told, Young Master, that you are not of Bagrand.”
“...?”
The answer was far beyond anything I'd anticipated. I'd half expected her to have a better excuse prepared. I'd even thought she might turn on me — the one holding her leash — by doubling down on the formal reasoning.
But she didn't want me — Karsein — to be told he wasn't of Bagrand?
I was about to scoff, but I swallowed the words whole. Camilla wasn't the source of just one or two Dead Triggers; I had to be careful here too.
“Young Master, I—”
“That's enough. Forget the rest. Just explain the process behind that decision of yours.”
At that, Camilla's expression eased considerably, and she began her explanation.
“It was while you were in the bath that I checked the wardrobe, and once word of the coming-of-age ceremony spread among the maids, I went quickly to see Mr. Heron.”
“That crazy pink-haired...”
Damn it all. I'd nearly let my true feelings slip out of my own mouth.
“No, wait. You reported that I had nothing to wear to Claire's ceremony?”
“Yes. Mr. Heron said he would relay it to the Duchess, and by that same morning, word came back that a designer would be arriving.”
So that's how the whole thing tangled itself up.
No — wait. Even without Camilla, my plan could well have fallen apart anyway.
Camilla or no, if Claire behaved the way she had, she'd have checked my wardrobe easily enough. Arina might have come poking around for an inspection. Flora could have been chattering and teasing away while Heron quietly listened and passed word along.
Either way, once it reached Isabella's ears, there was nothing to be done. With my health confirmed and my clothes laid out ready, I no longer had a single thread of an excuse to wriggle out through.
Even if the Karsein of three years ago had utterly wrecked Arina's coming-of-age ceremony.
Fine. I have no choice. I'll just lie low like a dead mouse.
Choices would keep coming at me in the banquet hall regardless. It didn't have to be the ducal estate — wherever Karsein's feet touched, sudden situations would crop up without warning.
I'd simply hide out for a while, watch for my opening, and slip away. Along the way, whatever choices popped up, I could spin them into a legitimate reason to leave.
“Understood. Now get out. It's nearly breakfast, isn't it?”
And yet Camilla kept fidgeting, wringing her hands.
“Um...”
“You still have something left to say?”
“Well... the Duchess has called for a family meal together this morning.”
...Damn it all?
No matter how I turned it over, something about this reeked.
A morning meal. Summoning Karsein — the black sheep of the family — to sit at the same table as the three sisters born of her own body?
No, wait. This must be Claire's doing too.
"Present yourself" hadn't meant drag me there by force — it meant she intended to inspect me, timed to this very meal. Honestly, the woman's relentlessness knew no bounds.
“This way, Young Master.”
So much for wearing comfortable clothes — apparently it was merely "breakfast," nothing more.
There was no scene like this in the original game.
But it had been made regardless. A scene the game had skipped over, and now I had to swallow it whole, as reality.
If I was late, there'd be another scolding. The second sister, who seized on everything and picked fights over nothing, would be doubly eager for it.
I quickened my pace, and following Camilla's guidance, arrived at the dining hall.
Yikes. I'd suspected I was late, and now I was sure I'd catch it. Everyone but me was already seated.
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
But why were all their faces like that?