A Belated Birthday Gift (3)

The maids and attendants carried the gifts in one by one, their eyes brimming with barely concealed disgust.

At the fact that such a fortune had been spent on gifts that weren't even for the young ladies of the house. At the sight of all these ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠precious things destined for a lowborn wretch from outside. At the urge — part lament, part envy — that they would rather have used these things themselves.

Their expressions alone made it perfectly clear what they were thinking. This, too, was another round of an unpleasant experience I knew all too well.

Back in my school days, a few of my classmates had been children of employees at my mother's company, and I'd watched them being forced to show up with birthday presents. Because it was the same kind of experience, my response came into sharp focus all the more easily.

The moment I accepted these gifts, my Recognition would plummet through the floor. By any means necessary, by whatever method it took, they did not want these precious things passing into my hands.

Which meant there was only one correct answer here.

"Hey, all of you."

"Y-yes?"

"Come in and each take one thing from the boxes."

The servants — men and women alike — stood there utterly bewildered. It was the look of why on earth would you give us these?

But there were also plenty of them practically drooling. Any single item brought as a birthday gift would have been enough, sold in town, to cover a commoner's indulgences for a long while.

Of course, they won't move right away. That old butler standing firm at the front is the problem.

If anyone so much as hinted, how dare you lot take what was brought as the young master's birthday gift?, they'd find themselves in an impossible position. In moments like this, all it takes is one more word.

"It's a reward from your master, given in thanks for your hard work. Are you refusing it?"

No matter that Heron stood right there — an order from above a butler's station was, quite simply, the order of Karsein Bagrand himself. And just like that, the servants had every justification they needed to take the things.

Only then did they file in one by one and begin carrying off the items from the chests. I could see it plain as day — the barely suppressed glee, the well, what do you know snickering among them.

Not bad. None of this stuff was any use to me anyway, so it's not like I'll miss it.

These were people who despised Karsein to his core — but by sorting them this way, it would be far easier later to pick out which ones were worth running sub-episodes for based on their affinity readings.

Heron, however, looked like a man wrestling with something he badly wanted to say.

"What's the matter? They were gifts given to me, so they're mine. Is sharing them with my subordinates somehow a crime?"

"No, Young Master. Of course not. It is your will, after all."

A poker face without so much as a hair out of place. But I knew. These birthday gifts had not come from Isabella.

How could Isabella — who cared so little for Karsein — have suddenly remembered his birthday, of all things, after all this time? The way she still clung to her prejudice and preconceptions, unable to shake her suspicion, made it abundantly clear there was no chance she had sent them.

Just like the story in the game.

These birthday gifts had been sent by Heron.

"Is that everything you were taking?"

—Yes, Young Master.

"Then everyone except Camilla and Heron, out. I have things to discuss."

The servants who'd received the gifts gladly cleared out of the room. Silence settled over it. Heron seemed to be picking his words with care.

In that case, I'll make the first move.

"You still have more you want to say to me, don't you? Heron."

"..."

"I know that if I hadn't brought it up, you were planning to. And don't worry about Camilla — she doesn't need to hear any of this."

At a slight glance from the old butler, Camilla bowed her head in silent understanding.

Once Heron was ready to speak freely, I laid my feelings on the table without preamble.

"Let me guess — these clothes come with a message not to dress like that again. Sent so I wouldn't embarrass myself, or the Bagrand name, in front of nobility."

"That is not it, Young Master. My lady—"

"Why not? Strip away the pretense, and the 'actual birthday gift' amounts to a jewelry box I'll never use and a message that she'll grant me whatever I ask. Am I wrong?"

"..."

Heron fell silent, his face drawn.

During Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony episode, Isabella had dealt with Karsein's diluted attention by having him appear in a servant's clothes to deflect scrutiny — and so, in this route, she sends him clothing first. This was one of the developments that existed in the game as well, where the belatedly remembered birthday gift gets tacked on as an afterthought.

The game labeled it a "reward"... but there was absolutely no way it could feel good from Karsein's side, receiving this.

"You've sunk low yourself, Heron. Going out of your way to report my birthday to my mother, of all things."

This was no mother's warm, thoughtful gift to her son. She hadn't even known his birthday — only after the butler pointed it out did she take notice and send something. It was a forced, repulsive product of belated realization, wrapped in obligation.

Which meant that, in every way that mattered, these things had come from Heron.

"I apologize. Still, I hoped that in some small way it might ease your feelings, Young Master..."

"Heron."

What an ugly excuse.

No matter how the words were packaged, no matter how sincere the remorse that followed — the fact that Isabella had never cared about Karsein did not change.

"If you truly want to lift my spirits, then next time, say nothing at all. The same goes for today."

With that, there would be no meeting with Isabella for the time being. I was about to tell Heron to take his leave—

"I am but a single butler, unfit to presume the depths of your heart, Young Master. However... I beg you grant me a moment's indulgence."

"It is true that my lady has begun to look upon you differently than she does the young ladies. But you noticed that yourself — and because her way of expressing it is so clumsy, this is the only way she knows how."

He placed one hand over his chest as he spoke.

"I, Heron, have served the Duchess in this mansion for forty years. Because of that, I know better than anyone how clumsy a woman she is. Give it time, Young Master. One day, even this clumsy expression will become sincerity. It will become affection."

At last, Heron drew a small envelope from within his coat and bowed his head.

"Please — even if you do not wish to accept it, take in some small measure of my lady's heart. Extend your leniency once more, as you have before. This old man begs it of you."

A choice I had never seen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before appeared before my eyes.

Honestly speaking, my heart wanted number one, or number three. A birthday gift only noticed after the fact could not possibly carry any real affection. And if even that had only come about because someone else pointed it out, then all the less so.

But judged coldly, this was not Isabella's plea. It was Heron's.

[ 2. Fine. ]

"Haah... all right. Fine. Straighten up, at least."

His manner had been impeccably respectful, and he'd bowed his head while cleanly admitting his own fault. Considering his position as the butler of Bagrand, his dignity could well have suffered for it.

As much as I hated to admit it, the truth was that none of this was his doing. Heron was simply the butler of the ducal house. Compared to the other characters, he was one of the truly innocent ones — a man who had never inflicted the slightest harm on Karsein.

I could have rejected him flatly, without a second thought... but watching a man with no fault to his name keep his head bowed left a bad taste in my mouth.

And besides, this choice might turn out to work in my favor.

"There's no need to go picking apart that clumsiness and holding it up to the light. I'll say it again — I never asked for any of that."

"Young Master, but—"

"Let me make myself clear, so there's no misunderstanding. I simply have no interest in taking my frustrations out on you. I am not trying to bury this incident."

"Understood. I will bear it firmly in mind. And... thank you, truly. Young Master."

As if that small mercy were everything, Heron expressed his gratitude and straightened his back.

"Good. This is the last thing I need to accept, then?"

"Yes. If you will accept the remaining clothes and this, my lady will not grieve over it overly."

What passed from Heron's hand into mine was none other than a blank check.

In a word: money. The message being, spend it as I pleased.

Money, huh.

Karsein had never been the type to indulge in luxury, but in my current circumstances, it could prove genuinely useful.

"Can I go to the bank right now and have this check converted into a draft?"

"Of course. Invoking the ducal house's name, you could buy out an entire mine with it."

"Then have someone cash out this much and bring it to me."

"At once. The amount being... Young Master?"

When I wrote the figure on a slip of paper and handed it over, Heron's face twisted into an expression of helpless bewilderment as he read the number.

"Is there a problem?"

"No. I will bring it to you at once."

He had no real alternative, after all. If I took offense and refused the whole thing again as unnecessary, that would be the worst possible outcome for him.

Before long, Heron gave a crisp bow and took his leave.

The moment I saw Heron out the door, the episode-clear notification popped up. The rewards: several sets of clothing, the money I'd specified, and the trio of question marks I'd seen before.

That last one will reveal itself in due time, no doubt.

Which meant I had a matter right in front of me to deal with first.

"Camilla. How much money do I have access to right now?"

"Th-that is..."

Whether the question was a hard one to answer or not, Camilla's lips fluttered uncertainly.

"Just answer me honestly. My appointment is soon."

"Yes. Then... if I may speak frankly..."

Camilla laid my finances bare, and the picture was pitiful. The only clothes I had ready to wear were the ones from the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, laundered and set aside. Only by accepting today's birthday gifts had I scraped together anything remotely presentable for meeting Harnie.

Good thing I didn't refuse, then.

Far better this, clean and simple with no bitter aftertaste, than walking in to see my fiancée with nothing decent to wear.

"Get ready for another outing, Camilla."

"Yes, Young Master."

All that remained was meeting Harnie.

Returning from the bank, Heron stared at the cash in his hand and fell deep into doubt.

With a blank check, even within a single day, he could have drawn out drafts worth tens, hundreds of times this sum. The Duchess would have permitted it as well.

Yet the money Karsein had ordered him to withdraw was an absurdly meager amount.

...A mere 1,500 Pecels?

That was what lay in his palm. That was what Karsein had commanded him to draw. By a commoner's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠standards it was no small sum, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but still — it was far, far too little.

It seemed to him that at the very least, he ought to have withdrawn enough cash to stuff a jewelry box to the brim with gold coins. That much, surely.

Clutching the envelope holding the pitiful sum, Heron gave up trying to understand and knocked lightly on the door.

"Young Master. I have brought the cash you requested."

"Good. Hand it over."

Camilla opened the door, and Heron held out the cash at once. Karsein accepted it without ceremony and simply went about preparing for his outing.

Heron, steeped in questions, did not withdraw from the room right away — and before long, he worked up the nerve to speak.

"F-forgive me, Young Master Karsein, but may I ask you one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Is the amount you truly desired identical to the value of this cash?"

"There's no need to spend a fortune just to meet my fiancée. What, does it strike you as strange?"

"I only thought... you might carry a little more generously. Since it is a meeting with your betrothed..."

At that, Karsein — who had been straightening his shirt — let out a soft laugh.

"Heron. Do you remember what Flora said to me, the day I first entered the ducal house?"

"Lady Flora... surely said that Young Master Karsein, compared to Young Master Carn..."

As the memory of that first day resurfaced, Heron realized mid-sentence that he had spoken out of turn and hastily shut his mouth.

"Right. What part of me looks like Carn to you? — that's what she said. Called me a stray street urchin and left it at that. And Flora's voice carried through this entire mansion when she said it."

"...! Young Master, that was—"

"I know. That's just how Flora is. But the important part isn't Flora's reaction — it's everyone else's."

For an instant, Heron felt a chill run down his spine.

"I didn't hand those things down to the servants for nothing, you see."

It had not been Flora alone — the one who'd pointedly declared he was nothing like Carn, who'd called him a beggar off the street. Everyone present. Everyone except Isabella had merely kept their mouths shut, but silence had amounted to handing down the very same verdict.

This boy is not a son of the ducal house.

In that fleeting moment of unanimous agreement, Karsein had ceased to be a young master and become a lowly beggar. Every single member of the ducal house had become his enemy, automatically.

"So I ended up with an enemy far too enormous to fight. No matter my intentions, no matter what feelings moved me, everything I did — every gesture, every breath — was read as negative within these walls. And I imagine that holds true even now, ongoing as we speak. So tell me — what happens if I go and accept a birthday gift in a place like this?"

He had understood everything.

Every glance cast his way within the ducal house, every movement — he had been watching them all, missing nothing.

"Do you have your answer now, Heron?"

"...Yes. That is answer enough, Young Master."

It was true.

He understood, all too clearly. Even if Karsein took the blank check and extracted whatever he wished from it, he could never be free of the ducal house's gaze.

He was regarded as a dirty, wretched beggar from the slums — one who must never accept payment, even something as legitimate as a birthday gift. And so he had drawn the line with absolute clarity. With money that was endlessly insufficient as a birthday gift, he had calibrated his every action so as not to so much as graze their sensibilities.

He has truly... changed beyond all recognition.

Composed. Measured. Without a flicker of anger rising, Karsein had made Heron bow his head of his own accord — had made him calmly realize, from this one short exchange alone, that he himself bore the sin of having stood by and watched it all.

And yet Karsein did not reproach him even for that.

Perhaps... I am harboring a terribly irreverent thought at this very moment.

For just an instant, Heron felt something like regret.