A Belated Birthday Gift (1)

The damp dress had returned to its original state, as if nothing had ever happened to it.

That was because she had spent that entire stretch of time lost in thought, waiting for the dress to dry — from around one in the morning, until the announcement came that the guest of honor for the coming-of-age ceremony, worn out, would be retiring for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the night.

"Karsein Bagrand..."

She had murmured his name over and over, and before she knew it, enough time had passed for the dress to dry.

None of it made sense. Why, after rejecting the engagement so firmly in the past, had he accepted it without a moment's hesitation this time?

It was around the time she'd begun to feel threatened by the Theresia Marquisate. While searching for the most ideal candidate she could find, the person she'd stumbled upon, almost by accident, had been the adopted son of House Bagrand.

He'd been a suitable match. Aside from his rather tarnished reputation in noble society, as a boy of the same age bearing the name of the Bagrand Ducal House, he'd possessed flawless, optimal conditions.

It seemed she could cut him loose whenever the time came to do so. He held no real power or influence of his own, and he was hardly the kind of man who had the means to restrain her. The fact that he wasn't the type to be seduced by a pretty face had played its part too.

In short, there could have been no one more fitting.

But there had been one enormous problem: every time Harnie tried to bring up the engagement, he would leave only an apology behind and refuse to hear anything more about it.

Not just in letters — she had attempted countless conversations in private settings as well, but he'd always seemed so intent on slipping away from her.

And yet that same man had, without warning, accepted her proposal today of all days...

"No. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter."

Harnie quickly shook her head, shaking off the thoughts. Yes. The reason didn't matter.

What mattered was that she could now bring the engagement with him to fruition.

"I have to find a way to break away from the Theresia Marquisate."

No matter how much help she lent the house, they would treat her as nothing more than a pawn to be used and discarded. Now that she knew it, she had no choice but to get out of the marquisate by any means necessary.

Impatience crept into her heart, but Harnie steadied herself with a deep breath.

"Three days from now. I have to hold onto him, no matter what. You can do this, Harnie."

That was how she soothed her anxious heart.

Three days had passed since then.

The day of Claire's coming-of-age ceremony — which had begun in the evening, stretched past midnight, and flowed naturally into a dawn banquet — passed without any particular comment. There was barely even a mention of Karsein.

The only question was how Arina and Claire would react upon meeting him directly.

He had cleared the episode and moved past it, true, but there was no telling what fault someone might pick with him at any moment. Claire could berate him for not even offering congratulations. Arina, who had criticized his attire, was no different.

And if they decided to stoke the flames under the banner of family, Isabella would be the same. Flora, who had already been given a taste of reality in advance, would show undisguised hostility without a doubt.

Which meant he needed information.

Information that would prepare him for the second crisis he would face after playing through Episode III: Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony.

'If I just sit around waiting like this, I won't have a single hint related to the choices, and the odds of ending up with a bad ending will shoot up.'

So he had to find them.

Since he had no way of knowing who would summon Karsein and what they would want to talk about, he had no choice but to lay out contingencies.

He'd woken early to carve out spare time, and so he resolved to diligently dig for clues throughout the ducal estate.

But no matter how much time he spent searching, he couldn't dig up anything resembling useful ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠information. The real world was nothing like the dot-sized view of the minimap he'd seen in the game — it took an age just to get through a single room.

And so he searched. And searched again.

The moment he stopped in front of a certain room, the Status Window flickered open on its own.

As he attempted to enter a particular area, the same UI he'd seen in the game materialized before him.

'This is... a zone with a danger rating?'

Karsein couldn't roam the entire ducal mansion freely in the game.

Some areas unlocked upon clearing episodes; others required a certain level of intimacy before entry was permitted. Like the episodes themselves, each area had its own conditions for opening.

But there was one crucial difference from the episodes: zones were separately classified according to their danger rating.

Whether an episode had progressed, which companions were present, intimacy levels, side episodes — any number of factors caused this danger rating to shift in accordance with the player's circumstances, but...

'Insidious. Merely entering was enough to incur penalties or drain intimacy, and more than a few zones force-fired a Dead Flag the moment you stepped inside.'

These zones were no joke about carrying risk — they could inflict crippling setbacks. Certain community forums had gone so far as to label them outright as "places that kill you if you go in."

Yet paradoxically, it was precisely these high-danger zones where the greatest number of episode-clearing methods had been discovered.

And now, I had found one thing that had changed from the game.

'This isn't supposed to be a Restricted Zone. It's a Dangerous Zone.'

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

For some reason, its rating had dropped from Dangerous down to Restricted — which meant it had become an area he could now enter.

A quick look around gave him a fair guess as to which room this was. If it was this place, he'd be able to gather more than enough information.

Without further hesitation, he stepped inside.

"Lovely weather today. The young ladies will be pleased."

"No kidding. Days like this, they ought to go on an outing."

Stepping into the room, he was greeted by a faint scent of soap and the chatter of maids. He immediately scanned his surroundings and slipped behind one of the pillars.

As the place where the ducal estate's laundry was gathered and hung out to dry in the best sunlight, the maids working here were noticeably livelier and more spirited than the ones who labored at the outdoor washing yards.

Then, beneath the bustle of the maids' chatter, one of them cut in.

"It's no time to be going on outings just because the weather's nice, girls."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Haah. Well, you see..."

All eyes turned to the maid who had interrupted.

What on earth could have happened to make her sigh like that?

"You all know how Claire's coming-of-age ceremony turned out, right?"

"Of course. It went off beautifully. Finished up clean and tidy, unlike the eldest lady's."

"Come to think of it, you're right. What a shock. I figured this one would end the same way — him screeching and kicking up a storm and dragging the Bagrand name through the mud again."

"Anyway, it ended well. What's your point?"

"It didn't end well."

The sighing maid shook her head firmly.

"I was assigned to that side of things, and you should've seen it — the madam and the young ladies were in an absolute uproar. If this had gone wrong, we'd all have caught the fallout."

"Huh? Why?!"

"Because of that young master."

""Again?!""

At the words "young master," the maids groaned in unison. Twisting their faces and mangling his title to boot — they didn't hesitate to do either.

"Seriously, why? Did he cause some kind of trouble again?"

"Big trouble! The audacity of him — he showed up to the banquet hall dressed as a servant!"

"What?!"

"That's why the madam's summoning him today to hear the whole story from start to finish. You really think none of that's going to spill over onto us?"

That was surely not the whole of it, though.

Their master had appeared dressed like that, and they hadn't caught on at all?

Claire had given a direct order to find that one person, and they'd failed to turn up a single soul?

Isabella would have plenty to say to the lot of them.

And with that, he had his answer.

'Hm. So Isabella is the one who'll be summoning me.'

He tried to listen a little longer, but the maids were too busy tearing into Karsein to say anything useful. Fine — rant away to your heart's content.

Whatever the maids' sour expressions looked like, of the four of them, Isabella was the one predicted to call for him.

There was no need to linger here any longer.

'Isabella... Right. Then I can prepare for it too.'

He headed straight back to his room and began rummaging through his laundry basket.

Camilla, seeing this, jumped and rushed to stop him.

"Y-young master! Please, leave things like this to me!"

"...You've been coming by a lot earlier these days, haven't you?"

"Well... you know the reason, don't you?"

"What is it? Is Claire still giving you grief?"

"It's not that. But I am your maid, after all."

That's rich, coming from her. Sure she is.

"Never mind that. I won't take your laundry, so just let me pull out one thing. I put something in there that shouldn't have been put in."

"Pardon?"

Camilla tilted her head.

Well, that was because the time had come to use it.

After his brief back-and-forth with Camilla, Heron came to find him.

"Young master. The madam requests your presence."

"I'll come right now. Where is Mother?"

"She is in her study. She has no other visitors, so you may attend to her at once."

"Understood."

As he walked toward the duchess's study, he ran a simulation of what Isabella might want to talk about, now that she'd summoned Karsein.

Needless to say, it would be about the coming-of-age ceremony, first, second, and third.

Judging from the maids' conversation in the drying room, there was no assumption that he hadn't attended the ceremony at all — the likely accusations concerned his attire, his timing, and the lie.

It was practically a hundred percent certain that Claire's words had made their way to Isabella's ears.

Whichever question came at him, though, his answer was already set in stone.

Knock, knock.

"Who is it?"

"Karsein. I heard you summoned me."

"Come in, then."

Today, Isabella opened the door for him herself. When he'd gone to pay his morning greetings, he distinctly remembered standing outside until she gave leave for him to enter with due formality.

How unusual, he thought.

And this time, even her manner of receiving him had changed. Isabella, who normally kept working at her desk until her tea arrived and only then moved to the sofa, took her seat on the sofa immediately this time.

"Sit, won't you?"

"Yes, Mother."

With a gesture toward the seat across from her, he took his place with proper courtesy. It seemed a serious conversation was about to begin.

Half out of habit, he glanced up above her head —

Just as expected — the coming-of-age ceremony had taken a bite out of her intimacy.

"Karsein. I had intended to give you a chance with this coming-of-age ceremony. However—"

Tap.

"I am disappointed. Whatever may have happened, appearing at your sister's birthday in such a manner went entirely too far."

Having taken a single sip of her tea, Isabella went straight to the heart of the matter.

And at the same moment, the choices floated before my eyes.

Now that her intimacy had dropped, one correct answer had vanished from the list. If it had been Isabella I'd confronted back then, I could have resolved things easily — but I'd chosen to settle it with Arina instead.

First priority here was not to provoke Isabella's temper. That way her intimacy would hold steady, and the price of the conversation would stay small.

But that only applied when there was nothing to rebut. I had already noticed from the exchange with Arina alone that things wouldn't go that smoothly.

"Went too far, you say. I'm afraid I don't follow, Mother."

When I answered boldly with choice three, the corner of Isabella's eye twitched. But she had no intention of letting me get a word in edgewise.

"You were told to attend the coming-of-age ceremony, so I did precisely that — attended. I did my utmost not to cause an incident the way I did three years ago."

At the mention of three years ago, Isabella fell briefly silent. Perhaps recalling that time, she took a bitter sip of her tea.

"Arina said it to my face, as well. That I had better not ruin Claire's coming-of-age ceremony. So that is exactly how I behaved."

It hadn't been only that, of course — but I had no obligation, any more than Arina had, to lay out everything that happened that day.

"Haah... Karsein. In that case, you've already caused your incident."

Isabella's brow furrowed a shade deeper than before.

"And that 'utmost' of yours amounted to lateness, improper dress, and a lie? That is befitting neither of a noble nor of a member of the Bagrand Ducal House. You managed to commit all three offenses at once."

Three offenses, is it.

It was so absurd that a hollow laugh almost escaped me.

Every time this happened, my blood seemed to run stone-cold. No trace of agitation whatsoever — my head turned over just fine.

"Go and apologize to Claire. She'll be waiting for you by now."

Isabella was hammering it in, cold and unrelenting: this was my fault.

Right. That's simply the kind of person you are.

A lack of concern to this degree — I'd had it pegged long ago.

"Is it wrong that I chose a time when I wouldn't stand out and clothes that wouldn't draw the eye, precisely to avoid friction? Should I have stirred up an uproar in an inevitable collision and ignored Arina's warning? Or perhaps — did you truly believe I never attended the ceremony at all?"

"Karsein. That is sophistry."

"Sophistry, you say. Very well — let's say it is. Then answer me this: at that day's breakfast, the same as when I refused to eat a bite — why is it you never once ask why I was late?"

"...!"

The Kelvia ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠allergy was, at this point in time, the one weapon Karsein could level directly at Isabella.

She had never asked a single question about why he refused the food that day, and only heard about the Kelvia fruit and the allergy long afterward — and now it was the same all over again.

Why Karsein had been late.

That, once more, was exactly the kind of question that could drive a spike of unease into Isabella.

"...Did something happen?"

The mere fact that I bore no fault that day — a single proven point of innocence — had bought me the right to speak.

And the choices had surfaced at precisely the right moment.

I pressed her without pause.

You said I committed three offenses just now, didn't you?

I'll return every last one of them.

[ 1. I have done nothing wrong. ]

"I have done nothing wrong."

I drew out the item I had prepared and held it up for Isabella to see.

"That is..."

"If I have a single crime to my name, I suppose it would be meeting someone in secret."

A bloodstained handkerchief.

The purple handkerchief Harnie had pressed into my hands as she promised me our next meeting.

"Will you call this my fault as well? The way you call it my fault that I wrung the meat apart just to avoid my Kelvia allergy?"