Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony (5)

How long had they been staring at me like that?

Thirty seconds, maybe... no, that was just how it felt. At the very least, a solid ten seconds must have passed. And still, the four of them hadn't taken their eyes off me.

Whichever way I looked at it, I had no idea how I was supposed to respond. In the end, it was I who broke the silence.

"My apologies. I came as soon as I was called, but it seems I'm rather late."

Only then did Isabella's slightly parted lips close again.

"You're not late, so there's nothing to apologize for. Have a seat first."

"Yes, ma'am."

So I wasn't late after all.

At least that meant the atmosphere wouldn't turn hostile over it. My seat... ah. She hadn't said where to sit, but given that a chair had already been pulled out for me, that had to be my place.

Of all the spots, though. Right next to that prickly pink-haired one. If it were Arina or Flora, I might have gotten off with a jab or two, but I could already picture a future where Claire picked a fight over some nonsense and I couldn't even finish my breakfast.

And sure enough, no sooner had I sat down than it began.

"Finally looking a bit more like a Bagrand."

Claire's voice, chin propped on her hand, had an unmistakable edge of mockery to it. Something along the lines of, why don't you dress like that all the time?

"So, satisfied now? You threatened the maids half to death just to get this done."

"Passable. But 'threatened'? Really?"

"You can wash yourself, yet you dragged the maids in by force. What else would you call it?"

"What are you even saying? Maids serving their master is only natural. Today's a special occasion, so asking them to put in a little extra effort to dress me up isn't exactly a crime."

"And yet someone said the maids were wasted on you."

"Wow. Look at this sneaky bastard. We agreed that was off the table...! I only said that because I figured if they didn't send them, you'd come stinking in here like a beggar!"

"Claire."

Isabella had clearly caught on that Claire was needling Karsein, and a small rebuke followed. Arina shot the same warning look.

"Oh, come on, Mother. I'm not wrong."

"Beggar is still going too far, no matter the circumstances."

"He looked like a beggar in what he usually wore, that's all I meant. If he'd dressed properly like this from the start, there'd be nothing to complain about."

Years of experience had taught me that when it came to trivial things like this, ignoring them outright was the best policy—whether someone chimed in or not—so I kept my silence. The exchange between me and the pink-head died out with nothing more than a scolding about the profanity.

Meanwhile, I stole sidelong glances to check the intimacy levels of the four of them.

Isabella and Arina must have risen thanks to the episodes going smoothly. Claire's is decent too—she got a little luck on top of yesterday's incident.

If I counted the maids as well, a question mark or two might be warranted, but the fact that the dark boxes had shrunk at all meant my reputation had improved considerably. Compared to the early-game intimacy optimization methods I'd grown so used to in the game, the numbers were a touch lower—but they were being managed quite well.

I hadn't picked a single wrong choice for any character, the episodes had proceeded more or less without a hitch, and I hadn't shaved off so much as a sliver of the reputation values the system reported. In other words, even if it wasn't optimal, I was carrying the run along on a perfectly solid track.

Somewhere in all of that, the final main course arrived at the table. Honestly, the other dishes had already seemed main-course-worthy, but the moment the one placed dead center came into view, I understood that this was the real deal.

It felt wrong to say this, but looking at that breakfast spread—a veritable feast laid out beneath the lavish dining hall—every meal I'd swallowed over the past few days suddenly looked like dog food. The smell alone told me this was no joke. The refined aroma wafting from each plate stimulated my salivary glands until my throat ached with longing.

The glistening juices, the fresh vegetables, the harmony of seafood layered on top of one another—even my eyes felt like they were dining like a lord. It was almost enough to wipe thoughts of intimacy scores and the rest clean out of my head.

But I realized almost immediately.

This breakfast banquet—even if I'd been seated here as a rightful son, invited by the Duchess herself—none of this food had been prepared for me.

"Oh, wait. Karsein, can you eat this?"

"Don't worry, Mother. I had Shayden check on it himself. He said I've improved enough that it's fine to eat now."

"How wonderful. Then, everyone must be starving—let's eat."

"Yes, ma'am."

With Isabella's declaration, the meal began.

Suspicion, born of past experience—that perhaps there was a ringleader here after all. And really, only one person at this table would have been in a position to touch the food. So I kept my eyes fixed on the little brat across from me, slicing away at her dumpling.

"...!"

Our eyes definitely met.

The instant Flora met my gaze, she flinched hard, and as if something was weighing on her conscience, she averted her eyes.

But no.

Not this time. There's no trace of that here.

If Flora were the culprit, she'd have been wearing a smug little smirk, provoking me outright. Her goal would be to push me into an emotional outburst, into causing a scene, and in doing so drive my standing in the ducal house into an endless decline.

Granted, she'd noticed my stare and was pretending not to—but that's not the same thing. Having been on the receiving end of countless pranks, this much I could tell apart.

Which meant the answer was obvious.

Blindingly obvious.

So, then—how do I deal with this?

Reacting like an idiot, flailing emotionally the way Karsein would—absolutely not an option. But just letting it slide?

Not a chance.

I'm no fool who'd sit still after having this pulled on me twice.

"What's the matter? You haven't touched a thing. Not eating?"

"The head chef went all out when he heard the whole family would be together. It's only polite to eat and enjoy it, Karsein."

Since I kept leaving the food untouched, Claire clicked her tongue in displeasure, and Arina chimed in.

It's polite to eat it, apparently.

Yes. That's exactly the kind of people you are. That's what you'd say—while not caring in the slightest. Your only thought was that it'd be a relief if I didn't cause a scene, and that prejudice was precisely why all eyes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were on my every small movement.

But you know what? I didn't hate it.

if anything, I was grateful for it.

Because you couldn't care less about me. And that's exactly why I can stay this cold.

I'd learned it through plenty of trial and error in the game too—Karsein is bullied relentlessly, over and over. In those moments, reacting, whether in word or deed, only made things worse, so the correct play was to hold back. But this situation was different.

"Karsein? You haven't even eaten, why are you getting up all of a sudden?"

First. This scene was skipped in the game, which means no choices will pop up.

"You're not sick like last time, are you? Shayden checked you over himself. At least stay a while longer—talk with Mother and all."

Second. I know perfectly well who the people are—the ones who set up this whole situation and are now snickering behind their hands.

"Hah...!"

Third. With this move, I can put the pressure on those scripted episodes long before they're due to arrive.

Therefore, the best course of action was something like this.

—Rip.

Every last bit of this is something you people brought on yourselves.

From the lowly ones all the way up to the great ones. From the little brat who'd been pulling these pathetic stunts since ages ago, right up to the stepmother who couldn't be bothered to care.

Coming-of-age ceremony, my ass. They could shove the whole thing.

—Shlrrp.

—CRUNCH! Squelch!

I tore into the main course, the turkey, savagely with both hands. Hoisting a drumstick up like a handle, I ripped it apart, and the tender meat tore away in ragged shreds, scattering in all directions.

Juices and scraps of meat spattered across the other plates. Dishes that had been beautiful to look at were ruined in a single stroke.

In that instant, the table was nothing short of a war zone.

But so what if it was a war zone? What business was it of anyone's?

I had exactly one thing to say.

"Thank you for the meal."

Dinner—a meal together. That's what you called me here for, isn't it? As a family.

—Chomp, chomp.

"Man, this meat is delicious. I've chewed it a few times and it just... disappears in your mouth."

Having said my piece, I seized the meat in one hand again and tore into it shamelessly. A man perfectly capable of using utensils, reverting to a caveman in front of everyone.

Every face at the table began to stiffen at the absurd display.

Nobility among nobility. No one would ever have suspected such a thing could happen in a ducal house that sat at the very pinnacle beneath the imperial family of the Pecellos Empire.

Refinement. Grace. Every trace of noble etiquette had vanished without a trace. Karsein's actions served one purpose and one purpose only: to sate his appetite.

Unable to bear it any longer, the two sisters raised their voices first.

"You little bastard...! And here I thought you'd finally learned some manners!"

"What do you think you're doing, Karsein?!"

"What am I doing? Eating breakfast, obviously."

As I answered and went right back to gnawing on the meat, the sisters' expressions twisted further still.

"That's exactly what I'm asking you—what do you think you're doing?! Must you make such a vulgar spectacle of yourself, without a shred of courtesy, and in front of Mother no less?!"

"Ah. Well, fair point. Since we're all sharing, seeing your hands on it like this would make it a bit unappetizing, I suppose. Sorry, sorry. We good?"

"Vulgar brute. I thought you'd finally come to your senses—clearly nothing's changed at all. Someone! Anyone out there!"

Arina, deciding I was no longer worth the effort, moved to call in the servants. Isabella had already pressed a hand to her forehead, doing her level best to look away from the whole scene.

Claire, however—watching and watching—finally could not hold back, and raised her hand against my cheek after all.

—SLAP!

Heat bloomed across my struck cheek.

"Ow, damn it. Why'd you hit me? I'm eating, that hurt."

"You little...! Want another one?! If you did something wrong, you show some remorse...!"

Claire raised her hand again, ready to strike my cheek once more—but mindful of the youngest watching from the other side of the table, she visibly forced herself to hold back. She was also sneaking glances at Isabella, after all.

Meanwhile, blood was running down my cheek, scratched open by her nails. The sting, the sensation of something trickling down—when I touched it, blood was seeping out plainly enough to show a fingerprint.

"Man, this is just unfair. I haven't done a single thing wrong."

"Hah. So you still haven't come to your senses? You think you're in any position to talk back after shoveling food down like a pig?"

"Yep. I do."

"...!"

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

Claire's blue eyes brimmed over with fury. One more word out of me and her hand would surely rise again.

Before it could land, I turned my head toward the doorway of the dining hall.

"Hey, you lot over there! Go fetch Shayden."

"Unbelievable. You cause all this chaos, and now you'll act as if you've done nothing wrong and go get treated by the physician?"

Arina clicked her tongue and ordered the maids again, louder this time.

"Enough! Everyone return to your posts. There's no reason to humor a single word from this worthless wretch."

The maids, who'd had no intention of moving in the first place, stood frozen in place.

Well—it wasn't as though everyone stayed rooted. If even one of them moved, the truth would come out soon enough.

"That slap was nothing more than what you deserved, Karsein. So say you're sorry. Even now. Right this instant."

With a few words from the eldest, I had been branded a degenerate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who'd single-handedly ruined the family meal.

Of course. When prejudice this deep was already piled up—the assumption that whatever happened, it must have been Karsein's fault—there would have been no way to turn public opinion around, no matter what I did.

And the ones contributing most heavily to that pile were these very four people.

Karsein's family, no less.

"Apologize, and quickly. As long as you stop there, I'm willing to let it go."

The pink-head piled on as well. The attitude said it all: grovel a little right now, and I'll forgive you plenty.

But why on earth would I?

It had been, what, several minutes since I sent for Shayden? By now he'd be arriving at the dining hall any moment.

So I didn't back down.

"Honestly, this is just unfair. I ate because you told me to eat, so why is it that every word out of my mouth earns me another slap?"

"..."

"Honestly, if this is how it's going to be, I'd have been better off flat on my back with a cold. No one hitting me, and a perfectly normal meal actually making it to the table. Wouldn't you agree, Claire?"

I put the emphasis on normal, dropping a pointed glance at one more person seated there—and someone else's hair practically stood on end.

"You...!"

Claire's hand was rising yet again when—

"I was told I was wanted."

Shayden, chief physician of the ducal house, had arrived.

Meeting Claire's eyes all the while, refusing to yield an inch, I continued.

"Shayden. As my physician, you examined me thoroughly while I was bedridden. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, my lord."

"What I ate. What went into the dishes. You'd have confirmed all of it, down to the last detail."

"Of course."

"Then explain, completely—why I can't eat the food on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this table. And if I'm wrong, I'll accept one month of confinement as punishment."

At those words, Claire's eyes trembled violently.

The rest were no different. Not just Claire—Arina, Isabella, even Flora.

Sorry to disappoint—but I didn't call for Shayden because I believed I was right.

Karsein had summoned Shayden and then made to leave the dining hall.

"Shayden will look into it on his own, so there's no need for me to stay here any longer, is there? I'll be off, then."

"Do us all a favor and reflect on yourself in advance. Not that it'll lighten your punishment any."

"Do as you like."

His stubbornness was enough to make one wonder how anyone could be so brazen. Without bending so much as a fraction, Karsein walked out of the dining hall.

Claire's gaze lingered on the spot where he'd been, unable to tear away from the table. Arina remained frozen as ever, and Flora had tucked herself firmly behind Arina's back. Isabella, unable to bear watching the scene unfold, had turned her face away.

Any physician might well have flustered at being summoned out of nowhere and ordered to explain on the spot why someone couldn't eat a meal. But even as he'd hurried over, Shayden had not forgotten the diagnostic record from that day.

In the report he'd written, cataloguing every detail of Karsein's condition, the key to solving this incident had—unmistakably—been waiting all along.

Setting aside several portions of the dishes, Shayden began to examine them meticulously. Before long, he dripped a few reagents over the samples, and his jaw dropped.

"Who gave the order for this meal to be prepared?"

"I did, Shayden."

Isabella answered quietly. Her gaze still refused to settle on the table. It was the bearing of someone who could already see how this would end.

"You... ordered this meal to be prepared, my lady...?"

"No—the preparation itself I left to them. I gave the head chef the menu separately."

"Lady Claire... did you, by any chance, know that this menu makes extensive use of Kelvia fruit?"

"Kelvia fruit? I know nothing of the sort. I simply recited a list of dishes and told them to prepare it. I never once told anyone to add anything."

"Haah... I see. Then whoever chose to use this fruit must have been someone other than Lady Claire after all."

Shayden let out a long, weary sigh.

And then.

The truth came to light.

"The young master is correct. This food—none of it should ever have touched his lips."

"What...?"